Literature
The River - Monologue
In the deep reaches of an ice-cold river, the blood that runs through a crevice of land. Becoming the bloodstream and running endlessly, never stopping for anything except the heart. The island that stays padded in the center of the river, quietly sitting there, not a noise to be heard.
That’s what it’s like.
My whole entire life has been built upon parts, one falling out the rest going with it. What the core of a machine does; pushes the life source of blood around the system, making everything pump. You take that out and the whole system will fall apart, leaving the machine in nothing more than tiny bits of metal and wiring. Who