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Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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[Ehaema] Breathe

Quiet. That particular flavor of quiet which is "hushed." A hush smells of dust and fabric. It sounds like a breath that lingers on the far side of the Now, unsure whether it is to be born as a gasp or a sigh. A hush is not silence, self-sustaining and impenetrable. A hush is a parasite which moves into spaces infested by noise and clamor and drinks them dry. Sometimes hushes are benign, sometimes indifferent, and sometimes violent.

All hushes that have existed up until this point in time have had a limited lifespan. Some believe that a final Hush is coming - that when the curtains draw closed in the theater of the Real, and the house lights dim, and the last usher has joined the dust that she or he once fought so valiantly against, then a final Hush will fall and never rise again.

Others feel that it is a cycle. The universe will breathe, then speak, then hush, then

breathe, then




forever into the vast distance - out past the cities of Now and the suburbs of Soon and the trailer parks of If and the unclaimed wilderland of the Unreckoned.

A hush is here, now. And it will last infinitely until it ends, until the end of this thought, until the end of this sentence, until the bridge between Soon and Now crumbles and is washed away by the currents of the Then, until you Decide, until you Will, until you...


Image source: Neville S