An Unheard Call.

Alex Bushnell.

Floor 1

The far away walk through the echoing hallway, The voices far away. Tell-tale sound of walking through the space. So alone, you’d think they were lost. Quiet shaky breath, Loud in this quiet. Windows gleam onto the treading figure.

The wind doesn’t talk, doesn’t interrupt the silence. A slow whistle starts, cutting to another floor, wordlessly

Floor 2

The simple sound of a whistle, wordlessly Absorbing the sound resonating throughout the hallway.

The once loud talking, laughing, turned to silence. The noise turning dull, close to lifeless. The blank space allowing the quiet whistle from the figure. Nobody listening to hear the labored breath.

A corner turned; another area tracked. A lack of breath,

Clear from the whistles. Though the whistle remained wordlessly, Constant. The sound heard from all around the echoing figure. The loud call, unforgettably up and down the hallway. But with all, no one answers the sound in this space. The rooms stay blissfully quiet, preserving their silence.

Floor 3

The whistle quiets, a lack of trust of this eerie silence. An abrupt noise as the staircase is located, a quick breath taken before traveling up. The new familiar space still held things unknown, things wordlessly unfamiliar. Quiet rooms lined the new hallway. Though there was no quickened pace from the figure.

A loud whistle emerged from the moving figure. No one had listened to the call, uncaring silence. All those around, staying oblivious in the long hallway. The whistle grew louder, raspy begging for breath, only ungiven. The darkened rooms wordlessly judging the unknown call throughout the space.

Onto the roof

An unfitting quickened pace filled the long eerie space. Winding stairs revealed to the lonely figure. A hesitant stop, hands placed on the railing wordlessly. One last look on the uncaring space, still staying silent, even as the descent to the roof begins. Shakey breath, as the roof comes to light, away from the heartless hallway.

The roof

The silence of the roof, only hearing the quick breath.

The noise returning to the hallway, though quiet in this space.

The figure steps closer to the edge, the whistle cuts off wordlessly.

The Forgotten.

Alex Bushnell

A forgotten swan follows its own aching heart.

Out of reach, but the swan keeps chasing, to the end.

It is desperate, yet contentedly chasing, never willing to part.

A forgotten swan follows its own aching heart.

The sorry ripples fill the pond, the movement like lost art.

Never tiring of the endless pursuit, the following never to descend

A forgotten swan follows its own aching heart.

Out of reach, but the swan keeps chasing, to the end.