In a deep, dark wood teeming with a cacophony of sound lay an occulted kitchen at the tail of a narrow, crooked path.
The path was thoughtfully lain with jade and hematite-lined cobblestones, but flanked by biting brambles on either side.
Warm, nostalgic, almost amorous aromas would lead one to a structure that either incensed or intrigued by virtue of its sheer poignant simplicity.
Heart aflutter with wild imaginings of what may lay inside a forsaken ramshackle cottage sat across a sturdy bridge upon the surface of a pond, curiosity may beckon the wayward traveller to follow the scent inward.
Sitting beyond a red door in the center was only a simple table and chair, made of ebon and oak, respectively. Sat upon the table was a plain, empty earthen bowl, a tarnished silver spoon, and an unassuming banana-yellow radio.
Before the setting was placed a tri-folded slip of parchment on which was scrawled: What do you see?
One might chance a look into the bowl, only to find a mirror at the bottom. Myriads of suggestions may float past the vision. A favorite soup, with memories of home. The mirror splintered into shards in the mouth, drawing blood. A laborious escapade to far away lands.
Spark. Static. The radio came to life, tuning past the ending of one song into the beginning of another. Throaty, jaguar-like laughter gave way to reverent, yet strange organ synthesizer tones that hinted at some promised dread or victory. Perhaps both.
Please, leave your name in the sieve. Yes, we are quite serious. Won't you give us a hug?
The path was thoughtfully lain with jade and hematite-lined cobblestones, but flanked by biting brambles on either side.
Warm, nostalgic, almost amorous aromas would lead one to a structure that either incensed or intrigued by virtue of its sheer poignant simplicity.
Heart aflutter with wild imaginings of what may lay inside a forsaken ramshackle cottage sat across a sturdy bridge upon the surface of a pond, curiosity may beckon the wayward traveller to follow the scent inward.
Sitting beyond a red door in the center was only a simple table and chair, made of ebon and oak, respectively. Sat upon the table was a plain, empty earthen bowl, a tarnished silver spoon, and an unassuming banana-yellow radio.
Before the setting was placed a tri-folded slip of parchment on which was scrawled: What do you see?
One might chance a look into the bowl, only to find a mirror at the bottom. Myriads of suggestions may float past the vision. A favorite soup, with memories of home. The mirror splintered into shards in the mouth, drawing blood. A laborious escapade to far away lands.
Spark. Static. The radio came to life, tuning past the ending of one song into the beginning of another. Throaty, jaguar-like laughter gave way to reverent, yet strange organ synthesizer tones that hinted at some promised dread or victory. Perhaps both.
Please, leave your name in the sieve. Yes, we are quite serious. Won't you give us a hug?
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