It was village named Anistova, a place far far away from our human imagination.
A place where only cursed dreamers go.
The wind was blowing most savagely, without care, ripping vegetation to its doom. Patches of dry earth swirled and traveled with the wind, battering the cursed dreamers, that always traveled this way.
With every step he took, in the direction of misery, a tear fell from his cold eyes, unto his frozen cheeks.
This dreamer is lost in his world just as many others were.
Walking into oblivion, though knowing it, did not care.
That is the tragedy of such beings.
For they have come so far in such tough times, in the end one small, small, element, cuts them down to what they become, on their journey to Anistova.
Written with StackEdit.
Art https://pixabay.com/en/sky-clouds-sunlight-dark-690293/
