The scavengers were old. They were very old people, maybe older than dust. But dust disguises itself as human.
Words are like strings coming out of my mouth. ...Or my fingertips, in most cases.
Madness string 5131
When any current moment is over, it immediately begins to lose all shape and color. Like a fish pulled out of water and left to die on land, its colors pale and it flops helplessly around until its life energy ebbs beyond a certain point and it dies. However, there are some moments that refuse to die. As they weaken, they stumble and lurch through the now, wreaking havoc. Colliding with lives and events, they leave their mark, aroma, their scales, on everything they touch.