Yellowed memories cling to the buildings. Visitors find it quaint. Perky geraniums exude sickly sweet fragrance, covering scents of decay.
From windows above, the Brothers watch, approving what they’ve made. Under stones, in dark and damp, we’ve come to hate the laughter of the tourists.
Someday, we’ll break free and remake the world that was.
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Written for the 55 word challenge here.
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