The air was dust and it was still, having lost the will to fall, or that will wasn't a part of this place anymore, that nothing could change. All of it: the wrinkled stone, the pale green, the beams and the vast hum of nothing here – lay still, lost from will. Eventually other things would grow into it, and then these hollow shapes would be gone, as well. There was, underneath an outcropping of some former construction, a soft, dark patch. Under a light, it stayed black in defiance and only seemed deeper for the lack of any shadow left nearby. Inviting, cold, and soft. The hand could sink in, and then the rest. It could be entered into, and somewhere inside lay another place that was gone. It was darker. Light had to be brought here from other places. The rocks would reflect with a flash, like startled creatures in deep water. Here, another patch, which did not startle, but asked to be seen, and touched, and given something. The hand could sink in. There was more beyond this, too. No beginning. No end.
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The Artistry Weekly: 7th - 14th - This Weeks Subject: SHADOW