The Scent of Falling Rain<br />By atfirstdawn<br /><br />*Mature content warning<br />*&copy; Keira Morrison/ atfirstdawn 2013<br /><br /><br />This is how I see the world; a rotting husk, a festering corpse sweating under the heat of the sun, its putrid stench clotting the air and making it impossible to breathe. <br /><br />The overpopulated city is still a crushingly lonely place; its inhabitants are all dosed up on narcotics, sex and murder. In this city, suicide is an abstract concept; the bodies of the dead are all victims of violence, empty soulless lives with nothing to lose with the event of death. <br /><br />The streets of this city are haunted corridors; pedestrian highways for the perpetually sick and slowly dying. Sunken eyes in shallow faces of hung heads ignore their gaunt reflections in the rain soaked pavements and scuffed metal bridge floors; avoiding eye contact with the strangers looking back at them. <br /><br />Those of this city who are still capable of feeling vague physical sensation actively seek those who live to torture and maim the bodies of others. Sex no longer sells and the consumer no longer seeks self-preservation; the auctions held in back alleys are auditions for the lost and the hungry who seek reality in suffering. In this city murderers and rapists are the core clientele of faceless corporations and the victims are willing volunteering employees, their payment; a vague sense of physical confirmation that they are alive before a certain end. <br /><br />There is no end to the city; the high tar-black towers act as if they were the bars of a prison cell, a comfort and a fitting allusion to the submissive inhabitant population&hellip; natural synergy at work. <br /><br />Those who dare to live, to make a living in this city, to survive, are those of us who are wholly unfeeling. Those of us who will not ignore our own reflections but who instead will look and see nothing, not even a stranger. Those of us who will not bow down in an alleyway, be bound and gagged and await an intimate end brimming with final realisations. Those of us who survive are not looking for meaning or proof of existence&hellip;<br /><br />We dare to live long enough so that when we die, face down in the gutter, eyes, nose and mouth-first into the bile, excrement and filth of the city streets, we are nothing but poison for the rats and sub-creatures who will forage our bodies for food and give nothing back&hellip;<br /><br /><br />---------------------------------------<br />Render by <a target="_self" href="https://gishzida.deviantart.com/"><img class="avatar" src="https://a.deviantart.net/avatars/g/i/gishzida.jpg?1" alt=":icongishzida:" title="gishzida" /></a>