The city was a pretty thing, even when it was half submerged in swamp water. Every building was made out of obsidian black, which glinted darkly in the sun and shone like tombstones in the mist. The people were also black, black clothes, black hair, black lips. The only thing that wasn’t black was their skin, which shone whiter then bleached bone. On good days, you could see the streets bustling with people getting to work, children to school, shopkeepers to their shop. The best day was always Halloween, when the city would set up competitions for the best costumes. The worst days would fill the city with mud and water. People dragged their feet to work, and some wouldn’t even try, falling into the mud and curling, curling, curling into themselves until they were nothing more then a fetus. Children would cry as they walk, their brown tears staining their cheeks and mothers would throw their handkerchiefs from the windows and watch them wash away in the water. When night fell, fights would break out, friend against friend, wife against husband. Sometimes a person would jump, but most times people didn’t care enough. Then the sun would rise, and water would be gone, and the men would go out and shovel the mud. Sometimes a handkerchief would be found and a husband would wash out the stains and return it to his wife and for that moment things would be ok again.
Hello! I'm back again. Still trying to figure out what to put on this site but I'm working on it. Going to have a mixture of things, I think. Stay tuned!