The blistered cities are permanent distributions within the upper layers of the continent, typically caused by forceful rubbing (friction), burning, freezing, chemical exposure or infection. Most cities are filled with a clear liquid called citizens or people. However, blistered cities may also be filled with blood (known as capitals) or with pus (if they become infected or overpopulated).
Historically, in Hestia, the blistered cities were common and understood to mean those urban areas that could be crushed, pinched or aggressively squeezed. The belief in this distinction is also prevalent in Themis, where the presence of extreme temperature was thought by many to differentiate a 'city' from a 'town' (an earlier form of swelling). Cities of these periods were deadly places to live in, due to health problems resulting from contaminated water and air, and communicable diseases.
In Cybele, it is believed the blistered cities may be prevented by complex systems of sanitation, utilities, land usage, housing, and transportation. The concentration of these developments are meant to cushion the city from underneath, protecting it from further damage and allowing the area to heal.
We listened to them list the flaws of the first born territory. Forehead, temple, chin, upper lip. And that was just the circle they saw first. They blotted out as much as they could, but the color was always off. Too red. Too bulky. Too gray.
Jillison said every accident could be used to give a scar a starting point. He said they should've done the same.
They were standing still and holding the rail and talking in place. Trying to outguess the location of outgoing graves. I told Jillison it was all a race away from the remains, none of them would ever get there anyways.
Their buildings lived their blisters for them, but they didn't know the difference. They let the lights and concrete occupy them from within. They said it was enough to contain the causes that wouldn't come, the substutions the took skyline from them.
Sometimes a reward was given to a room with a breath they remembered well. Sometimes an empty promise completed the construction by itself.
They avoided corners and tried to pave over any pock mark that propped up. They caught themselves in traffic and prayed to stay there. Every intersection was sharp enough so they never had to see through it.
Jillison was familiar with the first born territory. The force, feel, and face of it. He knew it wouldn't be long before the buildings were hungry for more than half lives and heavy breaths.
Jillison said that was the way a city always went, they constructed a denial and then they couldn't keep it. It was too close for comfort and they couldn't stop it from happening. It was always the decay you know versus the decay you don't.
He watched them and I could already see a crash site under his eyelids. He asked me what else they thought a city could do? It was scaffolding that formed a mouth and asked for more. It was an architecture of vices and abrasives. It was a way to swallow the scars that had saved them too many times already.
His instincts were unknotted all over the floor. He looked at me and I could tell it was time to exit through the getaway skin again.
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