Young Writers Society

I rised my head.

Something is different in the usually disguisting late at night city environment.

Precious blinking blue leaves are soothly travelling through the poluted air.

They are trembling while the dark smoke passionately wraps them up with ragged nets and soft loneliness. It torns apart their little sparkling hearts. And the most ordinary thing ever happens – their happiness is destroyed by people’s fear of changes.

Once a crystal beauty,

Now unoticed bluish dirt, curling its way into our dusty civilisation.

I saw those quet blue dreams and they were screaming for some love, for some light, anything that will stop their empty dying. Even pain can make them feel calm while falling in that black sharp cemetary of knife flashes. And there’s nothing painfull in that careless silence reflected in your frozen look.

So they fell. Probably in the canalization.

As the poor silky things were nearing the edge, they saw that divine burning tunnel as coldhearted iron lava. Has anyone ever seen the death of a few little non important blue sparkles? Has anyone ever cared will his dreams die by flaming death since these pretty sky blue leaves lose their purity on such a way? The stinky smog still keeps them warm, but soon their frail skin won’t shine again, together with this kid’s innocent smile and prayer for the crunchy souls of the blue sparkling leaves sawn this night.

Hmm...I’ll never rise my head again.