Thursday, 7 November 2013
One decision. It had seemed innocent, but its fallout reverberated through generations to come. Like a prism turns white into a myriad of colours, so its outcome multiplied, divided and reproduced mutations of further repercussions. Now blind to its original purpose, the carnage was initially invisible, and more dangerous for it. By the time it became apparent, rescue was impossible, cogs turning silently, unstoppable by crown nor red box. The consequences out of reach, dancing before their eyes as if hypnotic, hyperactive burlesque dancers. Regret would reign pensive.
The copyright of this post belongs to Ellen MacRae