Tacoma 2

in #writing7 years ago

It is night. It is always night.


The days grow longer as the sun skips across the Earth's extremes on her axis, sheathing towns like Tacoma in an ephemeral umbra. That is, in a physical sense.


In the town, the people drive either like maniacs or geriatrics, ever imbalanced, and regardless of the situation they are quick to anger. Self-righteous and mad on deadly booze that only spares them since they've been drinking since in the womb, they careen about, hoping to strike a thing of importance and make it normal for them. Like a ruinous immune system with cancerous white blood cells, the evil spreads and becomes total.