|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Dead EarthI’ve reached the top of the building. The sky is filled with dark clouds, as is the usual. The air isn’t as toxic up here as it is down at ground level, so I take the opportunity to take my gasmask off. It’s uncomfortable and makes the air taste stale, but I’ve grown accustomed to it now. I look out across the remains of the city, destroyed and locked in perpetual twilight by the nuclear war that destroyed most of civilization. It used to be called World War Three. Now it’s just called The War. It’s not like any of the other wars fought throughout history really matter anymore.
In the distance I can see the Shamblers starting to form a horde. The Shamblers are those horribly disfigured and mutated by the radiation of The War. We call them Shamblers because most have trouble walking properly with their disfigurements. They’re feral. I’ve never encountered a Shambler with any sort of mind left. They have a tendency to assemble into large gr
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
Keep in Touch!