Dust

basically a short story. it kind of ends with a bit of promise for something more I think.

Their tight little balconies all alike and all in varying states of disrepair caused her her to purse her lips in discontent. Hearing many times how sweet and rustic the area looked she knew it wasn't for her. It was too human. The statues discolored by greasy groping hands, organic what-nots ground into the smell of the place. Sighing she finally learned what it meant to not belong somewhere. It saddened her to learn she did not belong here. A place where humanity had time and time again trod history into the stones renewing themselves barely in time for the future.

"This place has a lot of history."

"Oh." She couldn't find dirt. Buried under the dust of … progress.

"Much quieter here than in those cities. We know how to live here!"

"I'm sure."

'Those cities.' Was this not a city. Cities meant people and there were people here. She tried to hold back her tears. She yearned for deserts and forests. Not quiet places. Minds were sharp here. She didn't like it. She couldn't see running for the joy of running. Walking for the joy of a journey. Sleeping for the sake of real tiredness.

She needed the gnaw of hunger in her stomach.

She needed to see her fellow creatures and relate.

Author's Note

ew people