Pacific Northwest Gothic
- Trees crack the sidewalk, roots gasping for air, trying to break free from the concrete prison. If you look at the trees from the corner of your eyes you can almost see them trying to escape.
- Graveyards full of crumbling head stones with names long forgotten. They say if you sit among the tombs and read the faded words you will be forgiven for your sins. The ghosts of the forgotten will smile upon you for trying to remember.
- There are whispers that deep in the desert lay the bodies of the dead; skeletal hands pointing west, towards water. The crows live here finding homes in broken rib cages. The sand littered with the broken jewels of bottles and old wilted leather boots. If you find the place you will become nothing more than bones.
- You can always trust the sea to do what it wants. The sea is it’s own master she finds pleasure in pain and peace. But if you giver her your trust she will let you live. If you wade out into her waters and give her your body letting the rough waves cut against your calves going farther up to your chest above your head letting her have you she will let you live. She will let you live safely for she knows that you belong to her.
- The fog creeps and claws at the horizon it reaches for your soul. You’ve seen it take others. You know loved ones who have disappeared into the fog. You run afraid of what might happen if it catches you.
- Deep within the forest where the ferns and the fur trees are so thick you can barley see the sun. The earth swallowed by moss and lichen here is where the fairies live. Their sharp claws click and their teeth bare craving human flesh. But if you stand still they won’t take you away quiet yet they will leave you to the trees. For they are hungry too.
- If you drive and drive heading east. You will find them town after empty town. Not a living soul for miles and miles, only bare earth. Perhaps you’ll stop to take a picture of an old dilapidated building, a cow skull, wagon ruts. This small town existing only on a small patch of road. So small you don’t expect to see a person. So small you know there are no people. So small you pray no one is watching. When a hand grabs your shoulder you know you were mistaken.
- Here the earth swallows buildings the mud and dirt devouring brick and metal. The trees seem to walk, they look closer then you remember. The rain never stops falling. It falls forever upon endless streets, the worms drowning upon the pavement; you cannot save them any more then you can save yourself. The crows fly in remorseful circles even the buzzards are afraid of them. The only building left standing is the old town hall its brick and marble pillars lopsided but its foundation will be the last to crumble.
- The sea eats away at the earth making it crumble to dust. Back and forth the waves go until there is nothing left. Cliffs and people fall to the sea, but never did you imagine that the world would as well.
- Do not trust the mountains, their picturesque peaks blanketed in snow. Do not trust the mountains, they have taken so many.
- The fishermen are the only ones you can trust, their sea weathered faces stained by sun and sand. Their wrinkles so deep as if cut with knives, their skin as rough as leather. Trust the fishermen their hands calloused and bleeding full of knowledge, every knot still caught on their tongues. Trust the fishermen their eyes dark from too many worlds seen, their hearts heavy with lost. Trust the fishermen for they are the only ones who know what is at the edge of the world.
- The trees creak with secrets. The wind ruffling their dead leaves creating devils that swirl with ghostly fingers pointing accusingly towards the sinners. The trees have secrets engraved in their puzzle like bark. If you want you can feel the wood like brail beneath calloused fingertips. Few can understand the words stuck like amber upon the flesh of the tree but even fewer have tried.
- At night the lake swallows the moon creating moonbeams that dance across its surface. They say if you dare to drink the water you will be able to live amongst the starts.
- They say the trees bring salvation. Whispers of the children born amongst the trees live in every one’s hearts. It is thought that these children grow strong their bones made of powerful oak and their blood pumps with sap from maples. They say their hair is dappled with lichen. They say, they say. If you watch quietly you might catch them as they dance amongst the forest, the trees showering them in secrets of worlds that crumbled, devoured by flora and fauna. When you leave the forest returning home to the city full of weak children, their lungs full of smog and minds programed with rusted mechanics, you will dream of the forest your head full of pine and spruce. These dreams call to you begging you to come back to the trees, to return. To leave behind these men of steal, to come live in the forest, to come home. Do not listen to these dreams. The trees are not your salvation, they will call for you then swallow you whole slowly decomposing your bones.
