Reverberant empty citadel on mushrooms. Constructs made of Nilla Wafers and White Icing. My “Helloooo!” carries on through the village, echoing like rings on a tree stump; On and on until it reaches a barren, empty end and can go on no longer. Wind whistles and sound amplified somehow. Like someone forgot to turn down the gain on the wind machine. Crunching along through graham cracker crumb pathways, looking for footprints in desiccated coconut. Crouch down, waiting. I see a relic and touch it. It is cold and no longer rules this present time. There is no energy, no heat left on it. This dead society, can we make it speak again? I look up at sugar-hardened windows and there is a woman standing there. But as soon as I see her she vanishes. She must be some sucrose ghost. It can’t be real. But having nothing to do but investigate, I trudge along, swallow my fear, and get on with it. I find the gingerbread building, gumdrop lampposts around it still intact.

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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