The Destroyer of Sound

The devices of Twenty.

From day-1 he laid himself at their mercies.
Lungs that barely filled.
A perfect crush.
He imagined this was the way it was beneath their curl - full life wholly extinguished in the total grip. No side would be exposed to a tunnel of cool air.

Tired of another state that couldn't make up its mind on a season; the blankets came on, the blankets came off and then on again.

Light peaked on the horizon, ducked out curtly and reappeared through the haze. To the east he could see the shore, but it wasn't answering. Slowly the sounds overhead gave themselves up to the inexorable roaring, their life-blood ebbing. whooosh. He was in their curl.

.........



.