PurgatoryDecrepitsun

Screams turn to script the bleached powder of crushed souls etch into the ebon stone landscape to form empty words The scribe blots the words he so desperately wishes to convey and merely smears lie and deceit into empty words Learning lost in retelling a story full of indelible emotion fades like white powdered dust that refuses stay or form anything but empty words

My name is Tyler... My name means tiler. Yes, quite literally a mason. Like a mason my work is messy. The grout sticks everywhere. The pieces of broken rock and tile coat the floor. Many people think my work environment is too hazardous lest they wear masks to keep clean. I, myself, wear earplugs to block out the harsh and unforgiving machinery. Very much like a mason, I am silent. I talk only when addressed and say only what is necessary. My favorite moments are spent in dust and debris of marble and granite. One does not truly see the quality of my work until I go back, with scrub brush in hand, to complete the laborious task of "clean-up."