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STICK Stagnation, eternal death, an unchanging life bereft of joy or pain, safe and stopped, quiet and secure, no longer growing, passions all but forgotten and dreams all but dead. This is the most terrifying of prospects. A spirit stuck and going nowhere. Limbs planted firmly into the parched rock. Chains firmly tethered to scorched stone. Tired limbs clinging desperately to mossy, rotted fruit. Dried and desiccated leaves falling uselessly from crooked fingertips. Every meaningless day a dying heart-leaf falls to the cracked waste below, taking just a little more life with it. We MUST change. |