monument-designs (July-2025)

Tranquillity The serenity of the square is pierces by the haughty coo of the Quiqui, a shout to the start of the Anzala day. It's unusual to get up at first cry, but art waits for no-one, or so you believe.

You wash up and meet at the Gate of Power - a towering archway that stands a testament to the wrath of a provoked artist. The poor Zebasi souls who thought they could give constructive criticism. Your kin would never permit such disregard for their talent. You sigh, resigned, as you lay a hand on the earthy terracotta, the coarse prattle of the other Anzala washing over you like the fresh breeze of the cold morning. Despite being one of them, you find these discussions pointless as of recent. It's not that you think you're better than them, but you've noticed their artistic tastes have become more violent over time. And that's not quite for you.

Recitals of manifestos ring through the crowd as the horde consider the best way to artistically express their disdain with the local Hoodrick village. You feel your stomach sink—the ideas these savages in silk come up with make you want to hurl. You figure you've had enough of this conversation and leave the hubris of your fellow Anzala behind you as you slowly head west. You don't understand what's come about of your like-minded kin. They used to be all about bragging of their creativity and their artistic ideas, lounging around, enjoying the finer things in life. But now, it seems their chisels have grown in width, and their stones have ample water to be squeezed.

Fortunately, the Anzala way is to value the individual, so your disdain of their new ways isn't seen as treasonous. At least you can be thankful for that, you think as you approach your favourite spot in the village. Before, several of your tribesmen would lay here within this Park of Fortune for days on end while finding inspiration. You'd see all sorts of different artists brainstorming their creations, from sculptors moulding mini figurines out of mud, to poets scrunching up used leaves with 'failed' texts. But now, it's silent. Silence is nice, though, so you find your favourite spot beneath a massive leaf and lay down, as the sun illuminates the finer things in life. Let them fight their pointless war. You're more than fine to lie here in the Park of Fortune, away from the nauseating cries of war. Because here, it's quiet.