The explorers were a small group. Red hadn't said a word to anyone, only silently marveled at the expanse of sun blazed dunes, wind howled dust devils, and now the bleached forest of rock pyramids. Under her breath and surely too quiet for anyone to notice, she hummed to the tune of the wind whipping through the labyrinth of structures. Red wondered if someone made them, or if they were natural, or even a digital construction Process.
Not the later, she decided with a smile hidden behind the scarf covering her face from the nose down. They were too alive, too beautiful to be a Process.
Red was so busy internalizing the melody of the echoing wind that she didn't notice the others were scattering to seek shelter by the nearest pyramid. When she did notice, her eyes grew wide, for the size not of the modest pyramid they were huddled against but by the magnitude of the storm coming towards them. It was a behemoth. The breath of the world...
Luckily the nearest person to her was close enough that it distracted her, and she moved with them to also seek shelter.
network
[Red's used to technology but the technology here is so far different from that which she's used to. It's all so cold here, impersonal, separated from herself and everyone else like a metal chime unsettled by the wind rather than a warm breath joining a breeze. She spends a great deal of time thinking before she sends out a message. Red wonders, is she the chime, the wind, the breath, or the breeze?
And which will answer her?]
Bruised knuckles on wood shown Why don't you look inside You think it'll answer for you Like we're meant to collide
My answers are my own When the knocking dies out That door will stay shut Ringing echoes of doubt
Your fears tears in a downpour I don't hear them anymore You'll never look inside Fearing bruises against the door
Red || Transistor
The explorers were a small group. Red hadn't said a word to anyone, only silently marveled at the expanse of sun blazed dunes, wind howled dust devils, and now the bleached forest of rock pyramids. Under her breath and surely too quiet for anyone to notice, she hummed to the tune of the wind whipping through the labyrinth of structures. Red wondered if someone made them, or if they were natural, or even a digital construction Process.
Not the later, she decided with a smile hidden behind the scarf covering her face from the nose down. They were too alive, too beautiful to be a Process.
Red was so busy internalizing the melody of the echoing wind that she didn't notice the others were scattering to seek shelter by the nearest pyramid. When she did notice, her eyes grew wide, for the size not of the modest pyramid they were huddled against but by the magnitude of the storm coming towards them. It was a behemoth. The breath of the world...
Luckily the nearest person to her was close enough that it distracted her, and she moved with them to also seek shelter.
[Red's used to technology but the technology here is so far different from that which she's used to. It's all so cold here, impersonal, separated from herself and everyone else like a metal chime unsettled by the wind rather than a warm breath joining a breeze. She spends a great deal of time thinking before she sends out a message. Red wonders, is she the chime, the wind, the breath, or the breeze?
And which will answer her?]
Bruised knuckles on wood shown
Why don't you look inside
You think it'll answer for you
Like we're meant to collide
My answers are my own
When the knocking dies out
That door will stay shut
Ringing echoes of doubt
Your fears tears in a downpour
I don't hear them anymore
You'll never look inside
Fearing bruises against the door