Poetry or Prose

The air smells of petrichor, the trees and grass are colored like an icy lake. The sky is a dark charcoal gray, it’s clouds looking as though they are about to burst into tears any second now. The lake resembles dull cotton candy. This park is constantly under a dark shadow, causing every little being that is a part of it to look overcast. The Nobodies Park, that is it’s name. The dead walks here, they kill time here. It is a place for relaxation and reflection. They are not yet in the after life nor are they where alive beings reside. They are the nobodies. They are not infuriated, tormented souls. They simply live within this state of limbo. They aren’t particularly jubilant about it, but they also aren’t bitter with their circumstances. They live within harmony, their minds at peace with their current position in the world. The time spent here is an unknown, and that is perfectly okay with each individual inhabiting this park. You can view it as a somber situation, pitying the souls of those who have not reached these supposed gleaming golden gates of heaven yet. Every being is in it’s own world, with it’s own thoughts, no interruptions. Though they have no worries here, no agony, no obstacles. It is a constant state of serenity.