Written by Minhee Ho

It was dark

The black sky starless

The moon pale and sickly.

No light bled through the curtains

No colour

but for the grey shadows of that peculiar time

between night

and day.

Amidst the darkness rustled the water of a lake

Moaning with each stir of the wind

Saturated with the impure

filth of regret

Dirt of desperation

And occasionally,

The faint, flickering ripple of hope

So sporadic one wondered if it was even there at all.

The lake was isolated and desolate

Concealed by a tangle of undergrowth

A fabric of thick brambles and withered grey leaves.

No footsteps burdened the land

For no human nor animal had ever dwelled there

It had no one

and nothing

to serve.

It spent its days wilting beneath the scorching sun

Shivering

under the sinister roar of the wind

And sobbing

beneath the curse of its uselessness.

It despaired,

Welling over its lack of use

And sulking for its unwantedness.

Its moans could often be heard,

It wailed for attention,

A demonic shriek that seemed to scratch the air

It grieved

A terrible dissonance that tore at one’s heart

It groaned at its uneventful life

Slowly drowning

within its very own self-pity.

For who is one

Without purpose