| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| dfgray44 |
Posted - 18 Jun 2012 : 09:37:00 AM
~17th. 21 hours. delta | tesla | raphael | gambit
:Burnt sackcloth drapes across the stars over Victim's Slant. The walls of the old cathedral on the hill are pitted from the prying mouths of the last starving children trapped inside. Chalky tongues had searched the bulwark of saints for the strength of the other side. Mindless of an open door.
:My fingers brush across the craggy surface where their breathing finally dropped to the floor. Dust from the tall ceiling spills a slow rain when I speak, lit up by the last westerly light of the gloaming.
:No age had seen this age coming, and when the thing came, all Time chose to lift away from the Earth and leave, like a planet-sized ghost careening off a cliff into the vault of heaven -- the birth of a diaphanous mirror-moon to see through to forever.
:Far over the horizon now, at the bottom of the globe, deep blue ocean begins to drip upside-down into the ink of night.
:To the North, a rat in a dead old woman's home is busy; onyx-bead eyes darting, oblivious to the apocalypse and the fresh rearrangement of sky law.
|
| 4 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| the_eye |
Posted - 20 Jun 2012 : 09:57:15 AM
Skunk, you don't have to delete your posts... We all already know you're sexually obsessed. 
|
| dfgray44 |
Posted - 20 Jun 2012 : 02:19:36 AM
~19th. 1 hour. delta | zebra | ophiuchus | ptolemy
:Two clicks west, outside of Crystal Rust.
:I spot them from across a deep gulf expanse. Flashing on and off. This means they see me. No need to acknowledge.
:Two of them. Paper-thin bodies. Thinner, really. And silver. I'd read about this in the New Scripture...they're purely two-dimensional, here. Turn sideways, stand still...they don't exist.
:A slow rush of hot air - the fallout wake from their emigrating star - scoops into the hollowed gulf and then back up, curling any sparse unsuspecting clouds.
:Their shining narrow movements and the drying speed at which they work register as a throbbing ache in my head, just absorbing the vision of it as I'm logging now, part-wobbly/dazed, like a dull crack at the back of the skull.
:Turning away, out of the brightness. A warning light is saying something liquid has infiltrated my arm moni.tor a.nd keyboar_d. oH lookk_s.. L)ike==ITS go(ing,,ouT_-_onME___
.____.._::_______~_--_____::::__________|||.|
|
| whitelila |
Posted - 18 Jun 2012 : 11:44:55 PM
~17th. 21 hours. delta | sentinels | raphael | apocalypse
: A thin wind. The hatching of babies. Hunger drove them forward, creeping toes on cool wood floors that masked burning rage under its varnish.
: In a damp hole. We are suffocating in the rotten womb and can smell the death and pain lurking on pointed nails.
: Why Lord have you forsaken us? Our brothers are eating our unborn flesh as our mother screams us a lullaby. This is the end. The lizard King ate my eyes.
: Mm. Baby, lower.
: The back of my throat is on fire. The puss runs down it warm and thick. Mm. Warm and thick.
: I have lost my train of thought. [/i]
|
| skunk |
Posted - 18 Jun 2012 : 11:03:33 PM
~17th. 2205 hours. delta | tesla | azure | felix
: Victim's Slant. There's no one left up there now. All is still.
: The moaning. We couldn't stand it. We prayed all day for it to end. Prayed to whomever would listen.
: Late now. The day waning. Dusk's mantle drawing down, all across the tired land. This, then, is the end.
: Minutes, seconds, moments. With time's last pulse they come to us on the Night: dreams and delusions and fragments of lives lived, they come to us to so briefly take form in this dying world of ours, like snowflakes in twos and threes, alighting for just a moment upon the barren ground.
: Minutes, seconds, moments. The things we'd treasured, the things we'd coveted. Those jewels and stones and gems, those hopes and dreams and ambitions and all the myriad gods we'd clung to in our poverty. Great teachings. Sacred books. Hallowed prayers.
: And now.... now the day and the night are one and the sun darkens the sky and the last cries of the children have been carried upon the wind into the next age, and far above Victim's Slant a bell tolls from some lonely tower.
: This, then, is the end.
|
|
