Expressions

Our vehicle came to a halt. It was a checkpoint, an entrance, with some men in uniform sitting inside the cabins, which I didn't see. I just sensed their existence around us, one of them coming over to our vehicle and examining. I continued gazing straight ahead on the large expanse of emptiness, only registering my surroundings through peripheral vision. The checkpoint was on a relatively highland compared to its surroundings. What stood behind, I had no recollection of it. I did not remember the place we were coming from. The part of the road we had just traversed laid in oblivion, in complete unknown, with no trace of it in my memory. It was strange. The only thing that existed was an elongated road stretched out before us. The height of our station afforded me an opportunity to observe the vast expanse of land ahead. An arid, desert of orange and brown hues stretched all across. With blurry, foggy impressions of mountains at the horizon all around. The road laid like a carpet f...

There had appeared an object high up in the sky, dashing straight towards the cosmos, apparently escaping earth and its dwellers. It was the early hours of a spring day, but the sun was up at the horizon. The air was still cold and fresh. A man, all alone by himself, was sauntering amid a vast field of lush greens that swayed in the morning breeze. He must have noticed that something was odd with the sky that day. He would have confirmed this conjecture had he looked above right then, for the flying object overhead had now grown double its size, accelerating away from its surroundings. That morning, when it dawned, was inarguably the freshest of the season. The man dressed in his local attire continued walking listlessly amid the fields of green stalks. Any living being might have sensed the mysterious entity right above had there been one other than that lone man, for he did not deign to glance skyward; he had his gaze entirely fixed down at his feet, unperturbed, unstirred. Walking s...

There was complete silence. Only broken intermittently by the casual, soothing strokes of a pen against a paper. Every swooping, cursive movement, unique in the sound it produced. The source of that disturbance being a lone man in a corner. The room was entirely wooden, its floor laden with planks and its roof adorned in rustic woods. The wooden walls spoke of ages. An old cottage of refuge. A lone shack of solace. The room was small in dimensions but possessed a window, through which golden rays of the midday’s sun slanted across the floor, lighting the indoors. The man was busy scribbling on a parchment, which had a yellow hue of its own. He sat on a small wooden chair, so obsolete that it appeared it only had a few more years before it would refuse to endure any more burden, and would crumble to its death not being able to shoulder its own weight. The table upon which the writing was in progress suffered the same fate. There was no other furniture in the vicinity. Nevertheless, the ...