The Distant Metropolis
The first thing you notice is not the sound, but the smell. It is a thick, cloying scent of burnt sugar and ozone, a scent that clings to the back of your throat like a bad taste you cannot spit out. You are standing in the middle of a road that used to be the A9, but the signs are gone, the asphalt is buckled, and the sky above is a bruised purple that does not move. You are holding a jar. It...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen