The dichotomy of realities conceives a distortion of the present. The houses that became homes, dressed up with tiny gardens to match the available lawn left to the ones who care. Attractive colors burst through the morning fog, attempting to belie the actuality of poverty overrun throughout the neighborhoods. Each home fenced in from the front, expressing the fears that lie behind the doors of each house, or is that each home?

The night rain has ended; dawn is upon the world. The night creatures have already turned themselves in to their comfortable nests except one who must have lost track of the moon and the sun. While most nocturnal slink into their nests, she attempted to walk proud, hair in disarray, the skeletal body jerked and stumbled in clothes too small and stiletto shoes too big. The wetishness of the pavement compounded the difficulties, and yet she struggled stealthily to hold her head up.

Her face was aged beyond her years, displaying a hardened life of an unfortunate woman, still painted from the dusk. Time passed sooner than the remedy spilling through her veins; each faltering step brought her closer to her destination; abandoned homes awaiting arrival. The spider woman walked amongst the streets of gated homes protecting the occupants from the ugly truth of their vicinity within the outer edges of the ghetto.

 

~~jules sortor

3/28/14

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