>>6060686The decrepit memories of what once was embraced his dreams; the abundant oxygen, the endlessness of millennial trees, the antique sharks who proudly boasted of their immemorial existence, claiming their right to the sea. And on the land would go the beggars, the hogs, the miserable, and they would rot over the muds they adored so deeply.
The dead trees, dried by unsustainable agricultural practices, by the fierce sun, dried by the solitude, and forgotten from the collective memory like the elders from the rotten asylums. But the lumberjack remembered, with nostalgic endearment their whines of pain reproduced on his ears, soothing his dreams, whispering, begging to be remembered. Remembered by him who hated them so deeply..
The corpse pounced over him, intending to take his killer along to the depths of hell, the dead tree crushed him painlessly, and the senseless verses of his conscience ceased to speak in rhymeless dumbaseries and focused on all that was real and truthful. The dream had ended. And when he woke up, the dead trunk was still there; unlike his rudimentary house of hermit lumberjack.
The fellow brother trees had become rock, solid and undeniable; undead, for unlike the trunks he once remembered using as walls, the rocks were never alive. With half-asleep eye-sight, on his window he witnessed the very end of his labour, the entire forest, the same forest that had fed him and his victims, had decertified overnight.
You stare at the window perplex, and realize at last.. you don't have a job anymore.
(Since this is the first action here are some examples of actions you can do:
1. Die
2. Talk to the rocks
3. Cry
4. Go outside already
5. See if the Dead trunk in your room has anything to say.
You crave the jungle.
