Latoeb

“ It could be said, of course, the first was strong, a driving force. With courage, steel, in triumph loud, his drive to make his father proud. The second son enjoyed his drink, it left him time enough to think. And on the day of the Collapse, he took one of his famous naps. The third knew how to hold his breath, for he knew secrets, love and death. Alas he never spoke on this, he never told of things amiss. The prince with designation four, exhaled no cry, but monstrous roar. Not ivory or ebony, no lineage to Sun, it never could be heir or son. The final time the queen gave life, a being of eternal strife. The queen brought forth a one undone, it’s only name was None. ” — Corvo Telgasa, Ambassador of the Golden Proletariat

Asphalt gave way to gravel, and gravel to dirt in a matter of seconds. City lights and the sun in tandem illuminated the low clouds enough to see the pine tree silhouettes in the thirty foot span between us and the highway. The two-door sedan steeped in winter's breath, while we sat idling in the driveway. Two stories raged with low efficiency dull electric lights. Highway noise couldn't fit between the pine needles, instead we heard a dull commotion, our breathing, and hair metal on the sound system. Brambles sprawled and flowed across the ground, all but suffocating them. A capsized basketball hoop lay pointing towards the corner of the house, downhill from the highway and almost entirely ensnared by blackberries. It didn't fall from a place that you could play from. Where was it before? This vortex of lack, slacking and depravity made my ingenuity, curiosity, and my very drive, fear for its existence. From the future: Gasp! my privilege!