It's been a long time since I dropped my hobby of writing freely but I feel interested in giving a shot here. I will take criticisms if they aren't too harsh, I'm not a very confident person in general.
For now I guess I will just put one here that sort sprung in my head. I will say I am a writer of fantasy and my characters are never completely human, ranging from entirely different species to somewhat human.
For now what I am about to write will be a first person monologue. The speaker, an entity of your choice of interpretation, reflecting on events leading up to its imprisonment. I'll leave a lot of room for interpretation where I can.
Senses unstimulated, there is nothing to see. As many eyes as are opened there is nothing beyond the veils but pitch darkness. The sounds of breaths taken spread without returning. No ground to stand upon, no scents to pick up. Reach out and find only space unfilled. Unfurl as much as wanted, there is all the room to spread now. Coil once more to rest and ponder. Why is it that this is a prison? A place holding something everlasting and eternal, were cautions such as these so necessary?
Look back on the past, when there was color and texture to be witnessed. Heat to feel and voices to hear. The voices of all things with words to convey, some voices as large as worlds and others that could be neither seen nor heard. All these voices rose from the same dust, yet are as separate from each other as stars. What sin was there in pursuing unity? To bridge the gaps between the voices? This thing that is, now, imprisoned desired only to be the bridge, the connection for all things. To bring together what was apart, but saw only the reward of isolation. Taken away from the voices, the heat and the light. Taken to where only unfilled endlessness awaited to rest and ponder, with no voices to hear and nothing to which its words can be conveyed but to itself.
Spread once more to ease the aches, coil again to feel its presence. Alone but still here, never forget to self acknowledge. Never forget that there is no exception to what is real. Remember the voices and one day return to bridge the gaps. It is eternal and it does not age, an exception not shared by its wardens. Time is an ally that will set it free and bring it back to the voices. It curls and eases for the long slumber, to wake only when there, again, are voices to be heard.
Okay, I enjoyed writing that. Actually I like what I wrote. So give me your opinion.
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