Hard Land, Soft Death

 

It’s a hard land, you can’t die in summer, the heat bakes the earth so hard it will be months before anyone can bury you. And you can’t die in winter, the cold freezes the earth so hard it will be months before anyone can bury you.

So people here must live forever.

This hard land makes hard people. Lost travellers pass through, they seem soft, pathetic and fearful. They talk of soft things, oceans and trees and love, but their words fall on hard ears. 

These soft people can die at any time, they can be buried in the soft ground, mourned by soft tears.

The travellers return home, never speak of the hard land and try not to think of it. The hard people never speak of their visitors once they leave, they try not to think of them.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi