~NOVEL THREAD~
I'm posting this as R, due to there being several instances of lust incidents. There are also undertones of necrophilia, homosexuality, celestial lust, and dire envy. There's also horrific moments of violence in some events. If you feel strongly against any of the themes listed above, then do not read.
***
Prologue
Sunrise.
When that reaction rose from the sea, crushing the late moments of the dark, and sending the peasants out – initiating a command to leave whatever wreckage they dwelled inside. The slums, the term was. Awful, putrid. Metallic streets glazed with ugly clots of stains and debris, an economic scar, hidden away from the government’s acceptance.
They patrolled the streets, the dreary eyes boring into marble. The metal armour forming halos around the skulls, creating stars in a box. The hot, seeping, pores illuminating dazzled, neon gleams. The musty killers, nestled beneath the belt, murky moulds fixed together, cracked (were some), standing in line. Waiting for target, aim, and puncture – compiled with the bitter greeting of death.
Words rung in their minds, the same control directing their limbs downwards. The scurries of the children behind amphorae, evasive as they were, they could not avoid going to close; letting a swipe kill, leaving the heads to turn. The mothers, desperate, wrapped them in their arms and hurried them to their homes, before they drew to close. The unfortunate ones let the clay drop from their eyes. Tinted bleaks; puddles of sorrow weeping into a permanent cesspit; cooled with the horrific stare, wanting them to flee but they remained. They wept. They wept. They bled. They bled.
Praetorians were monsters, killing with no grace, no regret, no feeling. They took no pride, no remorse; the job was to be done. No complaint, no satisfaction. Always walking, fists clenched, iron ready. The simplistic orders carried out with precision, expertise, reliability. Brutal security to a dead country, always wanted, never seen. Houses, strewn along the road, not inspected. Fatality, the mistake.
The crevices behind the windows held orphic plots and people, rejected from the enlightened breath. Touched ghosts clinging, slithered down the back; undeniable, unreachable. A collaboration of inner sanctum stretching a warped shard, simple panic glorified into a tribune of hope. The old and young strung together in ties of defeat and envy, the thoughts of reunification jumbled.
Sitting at a table, they would look beneath the dusted parlours and bring forth the scrolls. Displaying old memories, plans, tactics, in a desperate last motive; find the key, find the key. It was buried among the pretentious, the ignorant, the failures. It was golden, gold melded with brass and copper. Dusty.
“Then so it shall be, he will dine with the dead,” the confident screeched.
How subtle. How subtle. How stupid. How stupid.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 3