Ceasing Pearls

Scattering around the pitless void, the clear liquid beads descended slowly and wearily as if time had been slowed down, defeated dejectedly by an unbeatable force that scars unforgettably. For countless of sands of time, there had been no light nor warmth in sight; no movement of life except for the falling rain-like drops. It was merely near empty and barren, dragging everything down with its dull essence and somber aspects.  The abyss was a sight so caliginous with the degeneration of its own entity, for it had formerly thrived with the effulgence of contentment and vitality; with its own ray of aspiration tragically obliterated and direction disorientated in its misleading surroundings, mere globules resembling tears and raindrops had been left in its despondent awakening.

It was very fortunate that despite its weakened state of soul and being, it was still mobile - slow, but progressing actively nonetheless. The archives of remembrance and accounts had been stored deep in the middle, the miniscule container of consciousness. Only more glistening beads would descend and multiply from those jaded yet longing recollections, but clinging mentally to what was left was all the near empty void had needed, for its former, vast contents had abruptly vanished and disappeared.

How unbelievable, for the pit of endless, unseen locations have finally found a new purpose.

As the fragments of its medium’s vitae elapses, a (...)

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