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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2231376-A-Lachrymose-Wasteland
Rated: E · Fiction · Dark · #2231376
What may be a sanctuary for one, it might be a deterrent for others.
         Year 2001, mid-June. It was morning and the sun did its best to bathe whatever lied beneath it with warming, inviting sunlight. But the warm caress of the sunlight or the early morning would do very little for the area underneath the sky. In fact, one would think that the Vale of Tears in Wonderland would be a place of solitude, an escape into a fantasy of serenity away from the restraints of reality. It would also be such a place for imaginative minds to wander freely without any judgment or opposition whatsoever.
         But none of the peace, serenity and freedom existed within the scenery of this particular place. Upon entering, one would be greeted by a rotting sign depicting the solemn name of the wasteland. The vines encircling the sign would only pale in comparison to what was ahead. The area was thick with dark shades of green everywhere, emerging from the depths of the earth to touch the sky, or prevent the sky from stretching down. The vegetation wasn't the kind to wholeheartedly welcome newcomers; rather, the vines snaked around one another and curled around aged, weathered trees to create dense packs of vegetation that darkened the enclosed area. This was surely not a place for people occasionally caught under the spell of claustrophobia or feared that certain types of monsters remained hidden within the darkness waiting to pounce.
         It was humid on this particular morning and the air felt hot and heavy with moisture that seemed suspended in the air. The combination of dew on the leaves, droplets dripping down the vines and moisture within the soggy earth left a viscous, dirty odor that would make a swamp beam with pride. Not many inhabitants existed within; the rancid, mucky atmosphere left little room for the calls of birds, the incessant buzzing of bolterflies or the chatter of insects. Occasionally, a gentle wind would blow its way through, but even its soft cries were muffled by the vegetation. The only music provided was from the large river of fallen tears in the far distance, deep within the Vale of Tears.
         Besides the less-than-desirable state of the Vale of Tears, it was still considered a sanctuary away from reality's embrace or punishments. It was solitude for one particular young maiden, though she will remain nameless. But the rancid nature of the area serves as a harsh reminder for the rest of Wonderland: nothing exists here but the sour air, the bitter taste of the tears that flow in the river and the constant feeling of despair, sadness and loneliness to all residents and newcomers.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2231376-A-Lachrymose-Wasteland