1:07 AMC
"You're A Wolf" - Sea Wolf
Old Gypsy Woman
It's hot out here, I thought as I walked down the road. Paris, my city. She was alive. I bet even if we humans didn't exist anymore this city would never die. The pavement would keep pounding it's usual drone. I walked with no real purpose. I would end up in one of my haunts anyway, no matter in which direction I went. The night was already on me but that didn't make the heat go away. Or my restlessness. It's been this way for a while. Like some sense of impending doom lied heavily on my shoulders. I was afraid to stay too long at home. After a few hours I knew I'd hear her whisper again, her begging. But what could I do? Staying awake all night and wandering the city like a brooding vampire, what good did it do me? By the time the sun rises, no matter how hard I fight, my lids will get heavy and my nightmares will torment me. That's all my life is made of now. Wandering and wondering. Wondering what my days would've been like without the constant reminder that I could've done something different. "'Don't let it happen! Don't let them take me!" I ran my fingers through my hair mostly just to try and see if I could claw the voices out. It never worked though, no matter how hard I dug. I stared at my feet as I walked the cobble stone. One foot in front of the other. "Don't--" SMACK! I caught the figure before she could fall backward. Startled at my own thoughtlessness, I loosened my grip and aplogized quickly, the words nearly slurring together:
"Je suis désolé!"
"Mon Dieu!"
The old woman I crashed into grabbed my hands immediately and stared at me as though she should be the one apologizing. I wondered what my face must've looked like to her. I hadn't slept in thirty-five hours and my only meal wasn't a good one; sweet bread with the most caffiene riddled coffee I could find. Coming back from my flashback I looked back at the old woman and tried helplessly to free my hands from hers, uncomfortable with the closeness and the way she kept inspecting my face.
"Jeune homme," placing her hand on her heart, "a great weariness follows you." She said still searching my face. "What torments you so, child? You look as though you have the weight of a thousand years on your shoulders."
I stared at her flabbergasted, not comprehending what she was saying. Her peppered hair was pulled into a tight bun with small curls sticking out in front of her ears like horns. Her clothes flowed about her and her long earrings jingled with every minute movement she made. Her knobby fingers reached for mine again but I thrust them into my pockets before she could touch them.
"Madame, pardon, I can not stay here. I must go." I tried to circle around her but her fingers wound around my upper arm to stop me. I looked down at them and then at her as if to tell her, you can let go now but the look did not register. She merely nodded her head as if some little spirit were whispering in her ear.
"Oui, oui," she continued, "a great shadow haunts you, child. Sorrow is your companion. Do not let it haunt you, child! Do not! It will be the death of you. Your mind can take no more punishment and your body, well..." she trailed away, looking me up and down with a shrug.
I grabbed her frail hand, annoyed beyong all human capacity, and lowered it slowly. "Mademoiselle, I am flattered by your concern but please, I must go now." I went on, turning around to catch a fleeting glance of her reaching out to stop me again. Now from afar I could see that her image just oozed gypsy. Unbelievable. I thought. I looked forward and felt that same little lingering like she was still on my tail. I turned to make sure but found the alley empty. She disappeared like a ghost at cock crow. I stared back down at my dragging feet, my hands still in my pockets, the perfect picture of walking sorrow, until I finally reached my destination: Salon de Eva. I opened the metal alley door and walked into a bricked in hallway. At the end stood a hefty man in decked out in black slacks and simple black tee. I greeted him with a solemn nod to which he answered with a pat on the shoulder as he opened the door to a dimly lit lounge area. I chose a dark corner to sit in and was immediately brought a bottle of my favourite wine and a glass. Everyone knew me here already. This was my city, my bar, my table, my wine. So constant was I that they would probably feel absence if ever I died. This little thought brought me a small smidge of hope. That someone would actually miss me. A painful smile spread across my face. It felt out of place, awkward; I couldn't remember how long it had been since those muscles worked. With a relieving sigh I uncorked the bottle, poured, and drank. The wine warmed me to the core working beautifully in tune with the soft, drawling music that flowed out the speakers.
After finishing more than two thirds of the bottle, confident that it had done it's duty, I paid my drink, dragged the entire bottle off the table, and walked out. The night air caught me off guard, what with the air conditioner I had forgotten how hot it was out here. I honestly thought I would start sweating with the first step. I dragged my feet to make them move and looked forward at the dark alley. I clicked my tongue when I saw that annoying little gypsy waiting there. I could've sworn she had disappeared earlier. Defeated, I walked forward to met her.
"Jeune homme," she whispered as she walked beside me, "I am worried --"
"Madame, I am worried as well. This old shadow keeps pestering me. I can't get rid of it!" I laughed, throwing my hands up. She disregarded my obvious insult and continued,
"Your life, monsieur, it is slipping through your fingers like sand. An ancient evil awaits your soul's departure. You can not continue on like this otherwise she will have her way! Please for your sake, listen to me words." Hoping to rid myself of her quickly, I stopped and turned to face her.
"Très bien!" I yelled, "Go ahead, speak, say something, tell me your worries so that you may save me from mine!" She only faintly flinched at my outburst and spoke,
"I can save you from this torment but you must follow my directions precisely. If not there will be no hope for you. She will take your soul and devour it for her fury is grand." She waited to let the words sink before speaking again, "Before you get home buy two candles, a bottle of honey, ONE wine rose, and this," she reached for my hand holding the bottle, "this, do not finish it. Keep it! Light one candle in your bedroom and recite these words..." she recited what sounded like a poem. She reached for her satchel and brought out a pen and pad and began scribbling frantically, then handed me the paper. Just to humor her, I pretended to read it and stuffed it in my pocket. Looking back at her I saw the fear in her eyes like whatever she was doing for me would haunt her for years. I chuckled. "Do not laugh!" she screamed. "This is of the utmost importance! Take the rose, place it on a crystal bowl and smother it in honey. Light the contents afire until all is destroyed. It is an offering. The wine, drink some, refill your mouth and spray it on the altar twice. Do all this again in another room and when finishi--"
I let out an exasperated sigh, grabbed her by the shoulders, kissed her cheeks and apologized. "Forgive me, but I can not do this witchcraft. I am not a witch nor do I believe in your methods. I believe in nothing. Here," I pushed the bottle toward her, "you take the bottle, you make the arrangements, the altar, and please, for all that is sane and well, leave me and my soul alone. Where EVER it goes, I promise, it will not be there to invoke your worry." She took the bottle reluctantly, downed a small sip and sprayed it at me. I could've choked the damn words from the old hag's mouth!
"Assez!" I screamed, wiping the wine from my face. I took the bottle threw it against the stone wall, feeling lighter with the tinkling of music the shards made, then glowered at her, "I've enough of your meddling and will have nothing to do with your witchery! You speak of hovering and haunting shadows but the only one I feel is yours! Leave me alone and worry not about whether my soul is snatched or not! Besides, it would be a blessing if it happened NOW just to save me from YOU!" My anger spent, I stalked away from the annoying gypsy, hoping like hell that I was walking alone.
Finally reaching home at dawn, too tired to change my wine stained clothes, I tumbled onto my couch and fell into a dreamless sleep. The first in years. I woke up at dusk with my face smothered into the crack where the top and bottom cushions met. I looked around at my dark living room and heard the faint whispers of my departing torment along with a strange scent. Almost like a sweet perfume. Unable to resist my body's needs, I got up slowly, dizzy with sleep to relieve them. In the darkness a small shuffle startled me. Turning quickly to the source of the noise I found that my window had been open. I walked to it and found a small hump of rubbish on the sill. I looked around suspiciously, trying in vain to remember what had happened the night before. I grabbed it to inspect and felt my fingers stick together. "Ugh!" I threw the thing out and went on to the bathroom. Tired of the filth and with no other alternative, I decided to shower in hopes of cleansing the shroud over last night's happenings. Bending forward to gather my clothing I noticed the red stains all over my shirt. I don't remember fighting anyone, I thought stupidly until finally remembering the gypsy. "Oui!," I said, "the old braud sprayed me with wine!"
This flow of recalled images gave me a small tinge of fear. I ran out the bathroom, to the window and looked below. The burnt honey-covered heap lay there still, one story below in all its withered glory confirming that yesternight's happenings were not a dream.
"Mon Dieu!"
Author's note:
Dude, it's like 3:28 in the morning. From the starting time you can see that I've been writing this damn thing for over two hours. To be honest with you, I was making it up as I went but I am tired now and my body aches. I hope you enjoyed this horrible little peice of fiction and forgive me for not finishing. Maybe someday I will. I just wanted to write a peice with French in it. I'm not bad for a Mexican. Lol. Also, the song compelled me to write something with a gypsy. I've heard theories of their incredible persistance and annoyance but I'm still enthralled with them... She'll probably reappear in another story but for now, she stays here. I'm off now. I'll grammar and spell check later. I'm too tired to do it now. Take care.
i remain respectfully yours, etc, etc.
Last edited: Sun. 05. 24. 09 @ 1:48 AMC
Fiction: 05/23/09 | Posted By: blu moon | | Personal | Tags: ghost, gypsy, honey, wine
5:21 PMC
"The Rat" - Dead Confederate
Perhaps it was my overactive imagination. Maybe my fear of religion or my sudden realization that I'd lost it. Maybe the incredible sense of loss and nothingness I felt when the words finally blurted out of me before I could stop myself still torments me. Whatever the case, it's sign after sign after torment after sign. I have nightmares. I've suffered from nightmares since I was seven. Thirteen years changes nothing in my subconcious mind besides the intesity of the fear, the grotesqueness of the images, and the sense of nakedness afterwards. To this morning and its fun. By the way, most of this might not make sense. Allow me clarify, it's a dream, a nightmare, however you want to see it. A product of my overactive imagination and my fear, or lack thereof, of religion. I added some strings of sentences to make the story more cohesive and forward moving but all of the important parts are there.
All For The Show.
I could've sworn I was watching this on T.V. a second ago. I looked around at what surrounded me now. There was no couch, no television, no remote, nothing. Just three men in a group with period clothing on and rifles conversing about how it had happened. The trees were green but when I looked at everything it all seemed fuzzy. Like when you barely wake up and it feels like your eyes are swollen against the pillow. The dirt road to my left was paler than usual, almost khaki, the earth was so dry. I watched and listened to the men. The short, pudgy one interrupted the taller blonde one,
"No, no! You fall first, then I do. Only one survives."
"Are you sure?" says the blonde.
"Positive." He reassures him.
I take several steps backwards as the group seperates and takes up there previously discussed positions. The blonde one runs to my right toward the outer perimeter of trees and falls to the ground face first. His rifle inches from his fingers. I watched this spectacle unsure what to make of it when a child kneels next to him. She surprises me with her appearance infusing herself into the image like an apparition of a dearly departed. The short pudgy one takes only a few steps in my direction without seeing me, stops ten feet away, turns his back on me, and lets himself fall to the ground with a loud "thump" that should've made him flinch. His rifle rolls away from his left hand into the grass. In my mind I feel the small whispered word "priest." The third man, the one with the dark hair, walks away unscathed by the other men's actions. The small, barefoot apparition walks in my direction but says nothing, her eyes fixated on something behind me.
I didn't hear his approaching footsteps or hear him call to her. She merely ran to Him like a missing child to her father. He caught her as she jumped into his arms and wound her little fingers in his hair and robes. I couldn't understand what was happening. Where the hell am I? I could feel his smile when the child finally released Him and I walked away hurt. Just then a voice startled me. A hard smack filled the air and I knew it was from him to me. My brother. I could hear it and taste where my teeth made contact with my cheek with his blow but I couldn't feel it. Like my circulatory system ran on Novacaine instead of blood. I could feel the sensations of being touched but I couldn't actually feel it. All the crushing sensations of emotions and contrived feeling without the discomfort of physical pain or a physical body, for that matter. I fell to the ground from the blow and heard my brother apologize to me. "I'm sorry but it has to be done for the show." Just then the same dark haired, tan skinned aparrition appeared at his side trying to pull his hands away from me. Almost like he could hear her thoughts he turned to her and screamed the words, "I'm sorry! I have to!" He grabbed both my wrists and tied them together to a giant radio tower that, like everything else in this dream, was appearing out of nothing. I looked at the child, unable to speak, begging for help with my eyes but there was nothing she could do. I could see it on her face; her strength was nothing to his. Like fighting air. I cried when the noose went around my neck and was tied to a barrel. There he lit the rope and I watched in horror as the fire spread quickly down the rope. I pulled and tugged and scratched but nothing. I lay there helpless watching Him walk away from me, the child hesitating behind him.
So that's it. I thought. No one will help. It's just me and my thoughts here. Unwilling to give, I pushed myself from the ground and pulled again when the fire finally reached my hair and neck a blood curdling scream escaped me. DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU. It was a mantra in my head. A background noise to the screaming until the rope finally fell to ashes around me. Still pulling, not expecting the sudden break, I fell to the grass. Grateful to my own strength and nothing more. I clawed at the grass until finally reaching the dirt road and looked around. No one was there anymore. Not the dead confederates or the girl or her Father. Even my brother's torment was gone as quickly as it had come. It's all for the show. The words bounced in my skull like an echo in an empty room.
Silently the scene dissolved and of the mist was born a new one. I walked into a warehouse that reminded me of the Restaurant Depot except this would be where churches came to shop. The Church Depot. I giggled to myself at my humiliatingly stupid joke as I walked through the building. Only when I tried to move forward did I actually feel how cramped the space was. In every direction stood the Virgin Mary carrying her infant Jesus, a dark nun clutched a book and a rosary staring at nothing in particular before her but with the wisdom of a thousand years on her face. A saintly looking monk walked with Bible in hand down a never ending patch of grass. Everything screamed holy except me. I kept walking until I found him, the owner. A ginger man that looked like he always had a smile on his face. Like tragedy never touched him.
"I see you found the place alright. Follow me." He waved one long fingered hand at me to follow him. I did for lack of anything better to do finding that the building wasn't all about statues. Several seats and upholstered couches appeared out of nothing beside us. I continued surveying the items until losing myself in them. I looked up startled to find that I wasn't following anyone. Fuck. I walked forward, searching until a rumbling growl emitted a giant head. A creature with rows of sharp teeth and bleeding red eyes stared back at me, growling. I screamed and crouched to the floor frightened. I tried to make myself as tiny as I felt against the demon, feeling my heart pound against my chest like an explosion waiting to happen. I could hear the taunting, the movement, the growling until finally it just ended with the taunting. My brothers again. I'm never going to catch a break, am I?
"I didn't think you'd get so afraid. It looks good right? I made it by hand with plaster and stuff." I watched shocked at this horrible little man's trickery as he pulled the giant head off and chuckled to himself. It wasn't so much the surprise that frightened me but the feeling that every little demon inside myself felt like it looked just like that creature. It hurt me to know that my brothers would taunt me about something as serious as that. What did they know about my inner demons? What did they know about loss? I whimpered quietly to myself until reaching a room full of more religious statues and artifacts. The room was warm like a church. Wood lined the walls and two small pews stood in the middle of them creating the sensation of a small confessional. The only thing that protested otherwise was the religious figures tossed about in storage and the wide window that held a view to another room of the same proportions and holding the same items. Overwhelmed by the sanctity of it all I walked out to find my brothers amidst the cushioned couches and an old record player the size of a nice living room cabinet. I walked to them and was surprised to see them gawking at something. I looked in the general direction and saw nothing but air and statues.
Just then I noticed the eerie silence. So quiet you could almost hear your ears ringing against it trying to convince you, "it's not as quiet as you think." I looked around again and noticed something different. The statues. They looked alive. Animated. Their eyes were all wide and some of the saints mouths hung open. I let out an audible gasp. The little apparition from the forest appeared just then. I hovered behind her like a spirit sensing she was the only sane one here. Her face was composed, almost smug, as she stared in the same direction of everyone else. Just what the hell is everyone looking at?! I was frustrated that everyone could see but me. I walked into the space and felt a small stir of wind. Almost like there was a presence there and you could feel the emptiness of the place it occupied. This time angry at having missed it and unwilling to be part of the spectable, I went back to the confessional room and was unsettled to find the same expression on all the statues there. Staring behind me like whatever had everyone in a trance had followed me here. I screamed at the statues. "Stop it!" but they held their stare. I opened the curtain to the next room and found the statues faces pressed against the glass. I pounded on it hoping to break them but nothing happened. Angry and frightened I closed the curtain and ran out of the room again.
Again the same stares greeted me. The same gawking at something I couldn't and wouldn't see. A hysterical laugh came out of me as I spinned around at all the gawking. Then I felt like I understood finally. He was laughing at me. He was toying with me. Sending me in different directions with sign after sign. Telling me to follow Him. To see Him. Nu uh. Not anymore. I thought to myself. I looked at everyone and saw that they were no longer staring behind me, wide eyed but they were watching the owner of the building. He carried a small hero sandwich in his left hand and spoke in phrases I couldn't hear and felt that even if I could hear I wouldn't understand them. In that short second I caught a small glimpse of something. A glow maybe, an aura? Something behind the owner's eyes that wasn't his. I couldn't stand it. Everyone saw Him. Everyone felt Him. Everyone heard Him. Everyone but me. I was obstinate. Unwilling to let myself believe. I growled in frustration and grabbed the owner's sandwich and tossed it to the ground as His fleeting spirit escaped, smiling again. I cursed him. I cursed him like I did this sustinence. I smashed my foot into the sandwich like a three year old on a tantrum, letting my anger propel my actions. I crushed it hoping He understood me. Hoping He would leave me alone. He's taunting me. I thought. He knows I can't see Him and He plays with me. His fleeing aura woke everyone up as I ran to the confessional with the owner on my heels.
"Tear down this wall!" I screamed at him. He stared at me confused, I probably looked like a real head case now. "Tear down this wall! He's behind this wall. I know He is! Tear it down!"
That did it. No one was watching me anymore. Again they stared at the space I indicated. I collected a mallet and began crashing down the wood and sheetrock. Placing all my anger and frustrations and fears into the blows. By the time most of the wall was destroyed I looked up and caught a fleeting image of Him. God Incarnate in all his glory hidding behind a wall while all the statues animated themselves only to stare at his overwhelming light. I couldn't look. I didn't want to. He was too bright and I was too angry and too lost. My body hadn't been my own since the beginning. I was a ghost that hung to nothing but my former owner's tragedies. I cried. I screamed. And I cursed Him again. Unwilling to be part of the spectacle.
You laugh at me. I thought amid another hysteric scene.
"And after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them:
Then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst,
And said, 'Peace be unto you.'
Then saith he to Thomas,
'Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands;
And reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side:
And be not faithless, but believing.'
And Thomas answered and said unto Him,
'My Lord and my God.'
Jesus saith unto him,
'Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed:
Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.'"
- John 20:26-29 King James Version
Life: 05/17/09 | Posted By: blu moon | | Personal | Tags: fear, nightmare, religion
5:56 AMC
"Worms of the Earth" - Finch
To Me & The Left.
What can I possibly tell you that you haven't already heard before? Things will get better? You'll come to accept it as a part of normal life? "He's in a better place. He doesn't suffer anymore." You just keep repeating that to yourself until your mind eventually melts away into an empty shell. There's nothing there. Nothing left to think. Just reminders. Oh, this is what his hair looked like when he combed it this way. This is what his skin smelled like when he came in from the sunshine. This is how his hands felt when he warmed them for me on cold days. You try with all your might to fold yourself into the tiniest form, stretching and bending into the smallest awkward positions until your muscles ache with the over exertion of trying to hold yourself together. Your head is pounding, tired and tired and tired. Your cheeks never stop feeling wet and you think absently "how long can I keep this up before I dehydrate myself?" It almost feels like forever.
They knock, they pat your back, they tell you it's okay, "Things will get better." Hugs and hugs. As if they could make it all go away. If it were that easy I wouldn't bother with these antics. So everyday you wake up and the same listless routine continues. Days feel longer then they should because you don't see his usual smile. You don't see those tiny gestures that reminds you that he's there. The blade next to the sink. The boots in the corner with the watch inside ticking away as a reminder. The smell of warm musk in the air. Every insignificant little gesture means more now than ever. You drag your feet and continue your same human needs and tasks as if your body weighted tons. Like the entire sky was lower than it should be and crashed specifically on your shoulders. There's no waking up without that feeling. You don't know it's morning without the weight. Slowly but surely the day drags on.
Come nightfall you smash your face into the pillows that smell exactly like him and try with all your might to smother yourself. Smother and smother. And just when you feel that last aching pulse of air threaten to stop you hear yourself scream. It always sounds louder in here than out there. And just like that you snap open your eyes to the shadow and folds of the fabric. You inhale deeply that same warm sunshiney scent and remind yourself again, well, things will get better.
In the end, the scents fade, the textures in touch wipe away, the unique timbre of his voice seems farther than you remembered. It gets harder to focus on it without the constant presence. All you have left is your cloudy memories of what was once there and after a few months you surprise yourself because you're not fighting to hold yourself together anymore. You don't crouch yourself into a dark nothing and you don't smother yourself in pillows. The absence is there, you feel it, you do, but this time not as acutely as before. Now you feel a bigger one.
It gets hard to believe that a loving and caring and all knowing being could be cruel enough to make you love so devotedly only to snatch it away and watch you crumble to dust beneath him. That someone who created everything, the air, the grass, the trees, your own heartbeat can be just so damn vengeful and cold. It gets hard to believe that a better place exist when there's so many inconsistancies in the meanings. There's no room for faith where you're going. There's you and that's it. And that's very damn hard.
My days have passed away, my thoughts are disappated, tormenting my heart.
They have turned night into day, and after darkness I hope for light again.
If I wait hell is my house, and I have made my bed in darkness.
I have said to rottenness: thou art my father; to worms: my mother and my sister.
Where is now my expectation, and who considerath my patience?
All that I have shall go down into the deepest pit:
thinkest thou that there at least I shall have rest?
- Job 17:11-16 DV.
Life: 05/06/09 | Posted By: blu moon | | Tags:
10:42 PMC
"White Flag" - Dido
JEREMY; Don't Put Your Evil On Me
Jeremy could feel his head pound against the insides of his helmet. He ran forward; a thin sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead and upper lip. His legs growing tired with the weight of the armor, his body bracing for battle. A guttural sound escaped his lips, surprising him with its intensity. He raised his sword in preparation for the first swing downward, his shield held secured to his arm, before him, ready for any invading attack. He could feel his hands itch, burn; his knuckles fading into white from the sheer grip of his hands on his weapons. Another guttural yell emitted him. The world appeared to slow, making the run toward Death ever longer. A delicate Monarch fluttered above, seemingly oblivious to the battle about to ensue beneath him. Jeremy could nearly count the seconds between each rise and fall of its wings. Everything silenced around him. The primal screams of his comrades and enemies muted by his shallow breaths within the helmet. The pounding footsteps of the clashing armies quieted to allow the butterfly opportunity to make noise with its wings. The only thing protesting otherwise was the ever pounding of the Earth beneath Jeremy’s feet. Like a heart beating beneath the soil, bu-bum, bu-bum, bu-bum. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. This is it. This is it. Turn away, Jeremy. Retreat. This is it. Retreat. JEREMY! RETREAT!
Impact.
Everything snapped forward. The volume was back on again. Body slammed against body. Swords against shields, against metal, against flesh. Warriors wailed in agony, others in anger. Jeremy was pure and utter fury. His will to survive stronger than ever. Three bodies clashed against him from behind, forcing him closer than intended to his enemy. His shield scraped against the other man's armor. He let fly his sword, anger and strength behind every swing. It slammed into the man's shoulder just as the man's slammed into Jeremy's shield. His eyes focused between the small slits of his helmet. Nothing existed outside of this moment. It was him or Jeremy; he could feel it in his bones. His sword seemed to have lifted of its own volition only to slam down against the side of the enemy's armor. The man let out a scream. This is it. Withdrawing his sword, Jeremy saw the crimson overflow from the man's armor. A deep gash in it proved that Jeremy's strength was heightened and matched only by his will to stay alive.
Another fighter dove forward, thwarting Jeremy's attempt to finish the man off. The more he killed, the less he'll have to worry about. Clang, crash, clang. This next one was eager to make Jeremy pay for his actions. I won't have it! Jeremy let pour his anger through his swing. Crimson flowed in a deep river from above the man's shoulder. That's two. He was unstoppable. He could feel his fury flow through him. Leave him alone and he'll take down the entire army in mere seconds. A man fell next to his feet; Jeremy continued forward. Eliminating any obstacle in his way.
That’s seventeen.
Eighteen.
Twenty-four.
His body was aching. His head continued, as it did before, to pound against his helmet. Threatening to send it cracking in shambles around him. He could feel his arms and legs protesting to the over exertion but his will was stronger, forcing him to continue forth. Behind him lay bodies. Men dead, men dying, men fighting. Fighting, like Jeremy, to get home to love and life.
Thirty-two.
Jeremy could feel the sweat drip out of every pore. He couldn't think of anything but getting to the other side alive. Forward and forward he went, swinging and blocking and swinging again; he was a man possessed. How long had it been now? Two hours? Five minutes? He didn't know. Time seemed to stop, allowing the men amble opportunity to fight without any disruptions until finally, the noise seemed smaller. The moving less intentional. Several men around him fell to their knees in exhaustion.
One last swing, Jeremy.
Finally Jeremy removed his helmet, let go his sword and shield with a crash and looked about him. Nearly fifty men, including the commander stood inspecting their work as well.
I don't really know if I'm here at all.
And before he knew it, the dream was all over.
Life: 12/13/08 | Posted By: blu moon | | Tags:
6:00 PMC
"Closer to God" - Nine Inch Nails
I have decided to use this world as strictly writing. No more life updates.
I will write. Maybe Fan Fictions. Maybe my own scenes or narratives. Or dreams. Just whatever needs writing will be here.
Hardly any poetry though.
Um, enjoy it. I guess.
Life: 12/13/08 | Posted By: blu moon | | Tags:
