Wishing I Could Write About You

I sit here and wish that I could write about you

I’d express to you feelings you thought were lost in the catacombs of my thoughts,

I’d tell you of how much hydration was lost

as tears flowed freely and breath–unable to be caught.

I’d remind you of the night that fate matched us together

When I met you, you were the only one I could picture, and for the better;

You taught me so much, whether it’d be about myself or a game about Settlers.

Life then was paradise, when I looked into your pair of eyes, I was often stuck,

Or you could even say I was–paralyzed.

For you, I know I changed because I would feed you truth,

But to the others it’d often be a pair of lies.

Thus love happened sooner than I had ever realized.

You were my pineapple, and I’d often express

That you were the best, my family loved you, including Juicy (our pet), and to this day I would never regret calling you my fucking sunshine, but damn it,

I digress

This isn’t a love poem, because love here has died without you.

You’ve moved on, I’ve progressed and the world knows no looking back to be true.

Which is why I know I shouldn’t write about you.

 

I sit here and wish that I could write about you

I don’t know another I fought so hard with, or against.

Youth made our relationship fiery, constant nights of arguments.

And then we’d make up. Again and again—and to that, God I repent.

Jealousy in our nature, I’m surprised we survived,

So long together and even years later we’d try to revive

Something that had already up and died.

Every time we are together we always recall

The mistakes that the other made, but we’d say it was “my fault.”

And that same time I sit and wonder in awe

How we got so close by being so far.

No matter the lack of communication

We always find our way back to each other and, thus

invite temptation.

So given the circumstances of our situation

I must bid you adieu—

No more lapses to the past, even though you were my muse,

These be the reasons why I shouldn’t write about you.

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For Play

I really liked ‘er ass, an that’s kinda whud-da met her for,

Had a smile-y on my face that was bigger than a’ albacore.

Approached with a swagger, not an amateur to prose

Had to shoot for the moon, when the chance arose.

 

She didn’t look for attention, yet I stood like a soldier

Intentions no longer concealed, abort covert

And when I caught her eye, like a sniper to his scope

She knew  inevitably  her will would be smote

 

The game I spit was was potent– a cobras venom to mice

And what escaped from my mouth, with a python-esque vice

 

A surreptitiously sweet,

soothing serenade set

to steal her soul

Against her behest

 

With the conviction of a back, I attacked her path

I Ochocinco’d this and Deion Sanders’d that

Touching down the field became my next goal

The ultimate prize–reaching the Sugar Bowl

 

She asks aloud in a heated moment how I’d convinced her to stay

I smirk and reply, “All these game be for play.”

Ermac

He opens his eyes slowly. The light of the sun peering through his window heats his chin. He takes in a deep breath and gently lets it out through his nose. His eyes wander around his dimly, sunlit room as he continues to wake. He shifts to his left, moving his comforter off of him and he pushes it to his side. He sits up and drags his feet over the side of his bed and onto the floor. He puts his hands on his knees and as they support his body he peers down to the floor, staring blankly at his feet.

“FUCK!” He screams loudly to no one in particular.

His once calm breaths begin to come out in seemingly uncontrollable spurts. His fingernails dig deeply into his knees and he begins to shake his head. His eyes begin to widen as he becomes more infuriated.

“FUCK!” He yells again. He bites down hard and tightens his jaw. “Mother fuck it all…”

Ernest Macken, called Mac by his close friends, is a thirty-four year old man stuck in the mediocrity of life. He only has time for work, which is as a correctional officer in Susanville, California at High Desert Maximum Security Prison. His wife recently left him suddenly and not only did the loss of her stress him out, but the fact that they could barely keep up with house payments already, he feared he would lose his house.

He wakes up daily to the same routine: Shower, cereal for breakfast, a cup of black coffee and a 20-minute drive to work. As he walks in he is greeted by his co-worker Guillermo, who he sometimes calls ‘Memito’. The skinny, but awkwardly tall man was one that Ernest felt he could talk to.

“Mac!” He yelps happily as Ernest enters the locker room to put his belongings away. He hops up and stands patiently behind him as he finishes putting his things away.

“How’s it going, Memito?” Ernest asks as he turns around and shakes the young man’s hand.

“It’s great! I had to tell you first though, Shields is pissed at you! He’s making you stay another overnight!” Ernest shakes his head and passes up Guillermo to wash his hands in the bathroom. “It’s your third time this week Mac, he’s trying to break you. What will you do?”

“I will bash his fucking skull in, that’s what I’ll do.” Ernest thinks to himself.

He walks to his boss’ office, Warden Kenneth Shields, and lightly knocks on his door. A rustling of papers can be heard before the Warden hollers,

“Come in.”

Ernest opens the door and steps into the musty, small office and is greeted by a huge smile that he could only read as meaning, ‘got you cornered’. Ernest sends a polite, ‘eat a dick’, smile back.

“Good morning Ernest, I’m guessing you saw that I have you for an overnight tonight? You’re the best guy for the job. Sorry for the short notice.” Ernest’s slick-haired, smug looking boss says. He begins to turn his chair around and adjusts his thick glasses as if he expected Ernest to accept the duty without question.

“Sir,” Ernest says calmly. “This is my third overnight. I’m not running off much sleep and I need to get home to—“

“To your wife? No. She left you, right? I’m sure you need the money, why complain, Macken?” Shields interrupts.

A spark goes off in Ernest’s brain and he slightly twitches. His face cringes a little, and he forces a smile and a nod. He begins to leave, but Shields calls for him to stop.

“Hey, that behemoth, Khan, needs to be escorted from the hole back into the general population. Handle that. Shut my door behind you, Ermac.”

Ermac?

A cold chill spikes down Ernest’s spine and makes his knees slightly buckle. He squeezes the doorknob tightly and his whole body tenses up uneasily.

“What?” Ernest turns to back to look at his boss. “What did you call me?”

Kenneth looks at Ernest puzzled and scrunches up his face.

“What the fuck do you think I called you, Macken? Get your ass out of my fucking office!” Kenneth bangs a fist on his desk that slides his glasses down his crooked nose and sprawls a few papers onto the floor. Ernest scowls and slams the door behind him.

Ernest walks past Memito’s desk on route to the bathroom.

Ermac, Ermac. We are Ermac.”

Ernest twitches, again, at the sound of the name and looks furiously at Memito, who is rhythmically nodding his head back and forth, as if he were listening to music.

“Memito, did you say something?” Ernest asks exasperated.

Memito looks up, surprised to see Ernest, and shakes his head slowly as he cocks an eyebrow.

“No, Mac. Are you okay? You’re sweating profusely. Yeich! You look filthy!”

Ernest grabs for his head and wipes sweat away from his hairline. He begins to shake his head, confused that such a word, such a name, could make him react so strangely.

“No…nothing, Memito. I… I think I just need some water.”

Ernest splashes a handful of cold water onto his face from a bathroom sink in an attempt to revitalize his sanity.

“Sheena leaving must have really fucked me up,” Ernest thinks to himself, blaming his estranged wife for his troubles. “There can be no other explanation. None.”

Ermac. Join us.”

            Ernest swing his head to the location of the voice and sees only his reflection in an adjacent mirror.

We are Many! You are but one!”

            He swings his head back to the other side and then behind him. All he can see is himself in the lonely bathroom.

“What the fuck, man!? Who the hell is this Ermac!? I’m Ernest” He yells.

“We are but a Legion without you. Join us! Together we will be strong!”

            Ernest’s jaw begins to tremble and slowly drops. He takes in large swallows of air, gasping. He drops to one knee and covers his face with his hand, trying to scramble the nightmare out of his brain. He shuts his eyes closed tightly and looses a muffled scream into his hand.

Ernest slowly stands to his feet after15- minutes down on a knee and listens. No voices. No whispers.

“I need to sleep. This is getting ridiculous.” Ernest thinks as he lets go of his face. He looks toward a mirror and jumps back suddenly. A figure, dressed almost like a mummy in black garb with a green-ish aura around him, reaches towards him. He looks the figure in the eyes and lets out a shriek.

Ernest runs out of the bathroom in sheer terror and runs smack into Kenneth. Both men bounce off each other and onto the ground.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Kenneth yells. His glasses fly off his face as he hits the ground. He searches for them blindly. “Macken! You dumb fuck! You know I’m blind without my goddamn glasses! When I find them I am going to put my foot up your fucking ass!”

Ernest gets up, his head pounding from knocking into Kenneth, and he runs downstairs. He gallops past the panicked Memito, away from the stern glance of Sergeant Sonja Blaze as she escorted two new recruits, a blond haired man with a scorpion tattooed down his forearm and a man with a menacingly cold stare, through the facility.

He ran down to the last level which is the dark, damp, and incredibly hot area where the worst offenders are held, away from the general population. Ernest, getting his wits slowly back, passes the cell of a deranged follower of the god of thunder, Thor. He was somehow able to take a transformer down and kill over 30 people at a local pool by electrocution. Ernest walks past probably the most famous, or infamous, rather, prisoner, John Gauge. He is a washed up daytime TV actor that mutilated his director after he found out he was being replaced onscreen by ex Japanese baseball player, Kay Ono. He also bashed in the face of his replacement, leaving the young man permanently paralyzed and blind on one side of his face.

Ernest reaches his destination, the cell of Khan. Khan was the leader of a vigilante group based outside of Houston, Texas. He took the law into his own hand and, because of his charisma and freakishly large stature, his followers were completely loyal. The local law enforcement had no real way of stopping Khan and his army of fugitives, that is, until he suddenly gave himself up.

“K.. Kha..” Ernest coughs out, still reeling from the run in with Shields. “Khan, this is CO Mackens, place your hands on the wall. I will be escorting you back into the general population. Your time in the hole has been served.”

Shuffling is heard inside the pitch black cell and quickly quiets down. Ernest presses a button to illuminate the cell and opens the door.

The 7 foot 3 and a half inch man stares at Ernest, through Ernest, rather. Mackens clears his throat again and takes a step.

“Ermac.” The mountain of a man lets out in a low grumble. “You are the Legion.”

Ernest looks at the man in shock. His mouth slowly opens to retort, but is cut off by Khan.

“Accept your destiny. You are not what you think you are.” Khan says slowly. His hands still placed firmly on the wall. “You are the Bringer of my Army. You are the Harbinger of War. Legion! You are ERMAC!

The ground seems to shake as Khan says the name again. Ernest’s heart begins to beat rapidly and his palms become sweaty again. A thick pounding of echoes inside of Ernest’s head and whispers begin to arise from all around him. The voices call for ‘unity’, they call for ‘dominance’ and the call the name Ermac. The noise rips through Ernest’s head violently and beats like a tribal drum. What Ernest believes is screaming coming from the voices, is actually coming from his own lungs. He staggers back, away from the cell door and falls to his backside against the adjacent cell. A symphony of voices chanting, ‘We are ONE’, sing around him as he gasps for a breath of air.

Ernest curls into a fetal position and squeezes his head with both hands, his eyes bulging from their sockets. The cacophony of sounds unexpectedly stops. Ernest, shaking uncontrollably, uses his eyes to search the room. An explosion. Then another. And another. Coming towards him. Another.

“No, not explosions. Steps.” He thinks.

Khan crouches down in front of Ernest and stares in his eyes. Khan’s inhumanly pale eyes calm Ernest. A feeling of euphoria passes over him. He believed his death was imminent.

“Accept your destiny, Ermac. Search for me, again.” Khan says commandingly as he lifts his fist. Ernest’s eyes follow the fist high into the air and, as it rapidly descends, he says goodbye to the world he had come to loathe.

Ernest wakes up in a dark room. He blinks, slowly. Pain flushes up and down his seemingly broken body. Whispers are heard swirling around the room. They question their ability to move, how long they had been asleep, where they were. They encourage Ernest to try to move a limb, but he is unable to. They urge him, again, and forcibly lift his arms towards his face. He looks at his arm, which is wrapped up tightly in bandages. His alien attire and location should frighten him, but, surprisingly, they do not. His other arm is lifted and he sees the same tight bandages. He tries to squeeze his fist closed, but pain makes the attempt useless. The voices advise Ernest to let them handle functionality at the moment. Ernest obeys, unquestioningly. Ernest’s hands and fingers move completely by themselves. His legs slide slowly across the gurney. His toes and feet flex and his ankle tweaks itself around.

“What is going on?” Ernest thinks.

We are one now, Ermac. We, the Legion and yourself are now, US!”

Ernest tries to shrug in disbelief but is unable to.

We will take care of you until you completely improve. Trust us.”

Ernest is rolled out of bed and is puppeted towards a mirror.

An uneasy feeling drops through his stomach as he peers at the figure before him. He stares into the same eyes he saw in the bathroom that burned themselves into his memory. He peered into his eyes. But, just as it was in the bathroom, his eyes are now their eyes. At this very moment of realization, Ermac, the Legion of Many, is born.

Lilith

The Tuesday night began as usual. Pete sat down at the bar, nine o’ clock sharp, and ordered a shot of whiskey. Dan, the bartender, quickly wiped down a clean cup and served him up. Pete then immediately began to drown his image in the brown liquor, staring through the cup to the dirty wooden counter. Next, Samael walked in, right on cue. I always wondered why such a young, handsome man as himself, would frequent this dirty hole in the wall. The liquor was watered down, women barely ever entered, and it was always filled with us older, depressed folk. Maybe he liked watching us writhe in the pain of having nothing else to go to. I’d never asked and probably never will, either. He walked over to the jukebox and looked toward me and nodded with a smirk. I tipped my hat and returned the acknowledgement. Maybe he’s just as lonely as us old folk, I certainly don’t know much about him to say otherwise.

He turned on a foreign song, his usual, and I closed my eyes letting the methodical beat on the bongos soothe my mind. Plucks at the guitar and a cello in the background were accompanied by a string of violinists which made the entire song haunting, though eerily smooth. As the song began to rise I took a deep breath and was startled by a beautiful, sweet smell. I opened my eyes to see that a gorgeous young woman had sat in front of me. This was out of the norm. Definitely. She wore a tight red dress that accentuated all the perfect curves of her body, and it ended right above her knees. Her high-heeled shoes matched the color of her dress and her crimson toenails matched her lipstick and fingernails. Her long black hair sat perfectly down the right side of her shoulder. She dug slowly, carefully rather, in her purse, searching for… a cigarette! She pulled one out and looked up at me. Her magnificently dark eyes stared what seemed like through mine and she leaned over and touched my leg. The feeling of another person, a female person, was surreal and the contact literally quaked through my whole body.

“A lighter, monsieur?” She asked with a French accent. Her sultry voice hit my ears and melted my heart. I sat there, mouth agape, seemingly stuck in the world of improbability. Her rosy cheeks perked up slightly as she smiled and she leaned in closer. Her hair gently fell from her shoulder and across her breasts as she put more weight on my leg.

“Would you perhaps have a light, handsome?” She asked again as she squeezed my leg. I shook my body out of its daze and nodded. I reached into my pocket and brought my lighter out, the flame that flickered out was perfect. She smiled and put the cigarette in her mouth. Using my other leg as a balance, she leaned in closer and lit her cigarette. She sat back in her chair and took a long drag. I swallowed hard, staring at the slightly tanned goddess in front of me. She crossed her legs and swayed her right foot slowly back and forth. She stared at me, slightly grinning, and tilted her head back and forth, analyzing me. She took another long drag as I got lost in her physique again.

“I am Lilith, I came here to meet you.” She said, her smile widened and showed white teeth. The name made me perk back slightly. What a strange French name, I thought to myself. She extended her hand and looked to me questioningly.

“Oh!” I finally blurted out. I coughed, clearing my throat and extended my own hand. “My name is Adam. It is a pleasure. Definitely a pleasure to meet you. Lilith, you say?”

She nodded,

“It is a Jewish name, quite peculiar, no?”

“Quite. So, Lilith, what brings you out here to this hell hole?”

She shook her head softly and leaned in to whisper in my ear. As her voice hit my ear drum all the blood rushed from my face.

“I told you, handsome. I came for you.”

I felt as if she meant something by it, but I didn’t know what. The kids always came in here speaking what seemed to be a different language to us older folk. I could care less what she meant though, this attention was ravishing.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked her and turned toward the bar. Before I could look all the way away from her she grabbed my face and brought it back into her gaze. She stood up from her chair and embraced me with both arms, smothering my face in-between her chest. As she released me she leaned down and gave me a soft kiss on my cheek.

“Don’t worry about anything else. I just want you, handsome.”

I swallowed hard again, confused by the intentions of the flawless woman standing in front of me. I tried to lean away a little, to catch a glimpse of her eyes, to see if she was just fooling with me, but she brought me back and held me close again.

“Don’t you want me, handsome?” She asked me as her scent filled my nostrils. “Aren’t you lonely? I know I am everything that any man could dream of.”

“You’re stunning.” I croaked out. “Shouldn’t we leave though? Aren’t we doing too much in public?” I began to look around, knowing I’d catch the jealous eyes of my comrades. As I scanned the room, I took in a short breath of shock. We were alone.

“What in the…” I quietly said to myself. I pried the clinching woman to the side as I looked for the bars’ usual customers. No Samael, no Pete, no Terry, and, where the hell did Dan go!? I looked at the woman again, her smile was even bigger. I got an evil feeling from her and it made me even more uneasy.

“Where did they all go, Lilith?” I asked her quieter than I expected.

“Where did who go? You are all that matters, handsome.” She leaned in for another kiss and I tried to back away, but my body couldn’t resist. As her soft lips touched mine, I began to feel my strength give way to her. A feeling of anxiety fell over me. I had made love before, but it had never felt so, strange. She grabbed at the back of my head and nudged at me to stand up. I stood to my feet and she unbuckled my pants and dropped my underwear. She grabbed at my member and stopped kissing. She smiled and sat me down again. As she touched me my body began to feel weaker and weaker. I could only sit back and try to relish in the attention that the beautiful Lilith was giving me. She pulled her dress up slightly and pushed my chair back against the bar counter. My head bobbed back and my eyes began to flutter, as if I were going to faint.

“Glad I could work with you, handsome.” She whispered in my ear devilishly and let out a frighteningly high-pitched laugh as she sat upon my lap, again embracing me, squeezing the life out of me.

 

I open my eyes to a bright light and loud talking.

“Holy shit! We thought we lost you, buddy!” Dan says. He and Pete are standing above me as I lie on the ground. I could hear Terry in the background, calling the paramedics. I look around the room woozily, trying to find Lilith.

“Where did she go?” I whisper out of breath.

“Where did who go!? Who are you talking about?” Dan asks surprised.

“Her! Lilith! The beauty in the red dress.” I say agitated.

“What in the world are you talking about? It’s only been me, Pete and Samael! Right when Terry walked you nodded right off that barstool!”

“She was here… Lilith.” My eyes close and my breathing slows.

“You ever heard of, um, Lilith, Pete?” Dan asks to which Pete shrugs. “What about you, Samael?”

Samael stands with an arm resting at the jukebox and the other in his pocket, waiting for his song to end. Dan turns away from Adam and asks again,

“Lilith, Samael, Adam is over here blabbing about some Lilith! You know what he’s talking about?”

The song ends and Samael begins to walk out. He stops next to the slowly fading Adam.

“Accept your fate, men. You will all meet my dear succubus soon enough.” He walks the bar laughing quietly to himself.

First Draft of Miniseries! No title yet

I loved the way she said ‘balloon’. She said it as if she were blowing bubbles. Her ecstatic ‘baugh’ sound perfectly matched with the ‘loon’ that would come out lazily. She was my star child. My link to the Heaven’s above. My essence in this void of nothingness, my shining light, my everything; and it was my task to find her.

 

Twenty-eight hours earlier, our humble home was ransacked by the Kami’s. The Church of Kami is a weird fucked-up religious cult that had determined that my daughter of seven years was somehow the third Messiah. I had been asleep, only for a second, I swear I only closed my eyes for a second! But that was all the time they needed. I had felt, for some time now, that we were being watched, but I figured that unintelligible paranoia was what came with the territory of being a father.

 

As I fell into my slumber they snuck in and threw restraints and a blindfold on me. They pushed me from my chair and I laid helplessly on my chest. I couldn’t tell how many infiltrated, but I knew immediately they weren’t coming in peace. I struggled to free myself from the cold, metallic, body-cuff, but was unable to. I screamed out to my daughter, Angelica, to hide, but I knew it was too late. I couldn’t hear her. Only the muffled shuffle of feet across my carpet as the goons moved around my house.

 

Suddenly everything stopped. No sounds, no breathing, no moving. Nothing. I perked my head up slightly, trying to sense something, anything. My blindfold came off and crouching down, only inches in front of my face, was Him. Black, beady, soulless eyes which sit in a ghostly pale face with equally pale hair stare back into mine. His hair falls right above his eyebrows in a fashionable bowl-cut style. His face is abnormally skinny and sucked up unnaturalistically from years of fasting and usage of the previously outlawed ‘Cure’ drug. His thin chapped lips crackle into a smile as he sees in my eyes that he is recognized, either that or he believed I recognized this situation was going to be fucked up very quickly.

 

“It is not nice,” He begins. His rancid breath strikes my nose and makes me grimace. An air of superiority soups from his mouth as he enunciates every syllable, seemingly letting his tongue touch every letter. His slow, monotonously high-pitched voice would be comical in any other situation though. “To hang onto and hide things that do not belong to you. You are filthy. You are the type of pestilence that panicked the Herd astray and made the Forsaken appear.”

 

The face of the Kami cult, Dulche-Dulche, stood to his feet and stepped back. The seemingly ageless man in a violet velour one-piece bodysuit sighed and stared at me. The eccentric man flaunts a style of clothing he claims to have worn back in the “Before Time”. His attire is always wildly colorful and attention grabbing. From leggings that turn into boots and shirts that fall down past his ankles. Most of his clothing wouldn’t fit through a normal sized door because of the angles and other protuberances his clothing often has.

 

Dulche-Dulche is a slender man with a mask on for God. He calls himself, and those that follow him, ‘Soldiers of the Herd.’ The ‘Herd’ being the last of humanity left after the atrocities that occurred after the second coming of the Messiah. The government disintegrated and a movement of religious ‘enlightenment’ gave birth to the Second Crusade. The wave of massacre and genocide that swept across the globe crippled the already declining population. Our world was blown to pieces. Nuclear fallout poisoned the oceans and sullied the land. Earth, now, is nothing more than a poisoned desert surrounded by an even more toxic mass of water.

 

Dulche-Dulche looked toward one of his men and motioned toward me. The man lifted me effortlessly and sat me back in the chair. The cold restraints tightened and dug even deeper into my skin. I winced slightly, but stared at Dulche-Dulche.

“A child with wings, the one who fell from the Bastion of Heaven,” he stepped toward me and lifted his slender leg and put his pointed heel boots on my chest. He nudged me back slightly and the chair lifted so that only the back legs are on the floor. “This child will lead us to the Third Coming of our Messiah.”

He nudged me back further and chuckled. His right hand slowly reached up to the left side of his mouth and he rubbed at his lips with his wrist, as if removing drool.

 

“You should thank me for not letting my Angels rip you apart. Goodbye.” Dulche-Dulche kicked me back and I fell to the floor hard. I rolled out of the chair and caught a glimpse of the men leaving.

“NO!” I screamed out to the assailants. The restraints, aptly named the ‘Python’ by its distributors, squeezed even further into my body. Breathing became difficult as I tried to exhale. I didn’t care though, I didn’t know how, but I had to get her back. I had to get my daughter.

 

Knowing the failsafe for the device I began to hold my breath. Because this device was made for peace-keeping and not being lethal, all one has to do is cease movement for 60 seconds and it will detach itself. Of course, complete lack of movement for a minute is much harder when your captors move you around to reset the timer.

 

As I sat and waited for the Python to release I began to think of a way to get my Amgelica back. I knew for a fact that Dolche-Dolche was taking her back to Heaven, but getting to Heaven, especially the journey past Heaven’s Bastion, was much easier said than done. Hell, I didn’t even know if I actually could get into Heaven. I’d heard stories from back in the days when merchants and even Hunters of Forsaken would speak of being invited to Heaven’s Bastion and seeing the entrance of Heaven. Though each account was somewhat different they all saw a heavily guarded door with “Heaven” written plainly across the door frame. Never have I heard of what goes on past those doors though.

 

Getting to Heaven’s Bastion would be an immense task itself. The heavily guarded military base is a mass of land lifted five miles above sea level and held there by anti-gravity technology. The Church of Kami would lead one to believe, especially the children, that it was the miraculous grace of God that lifted the land mass that ‘slowly’ rises to Heaven. When in actuality the military moved the mass of earth upwards for two reasons. With most of the Earth in ruin, the Bastion would be a military regulated Mecca in which all things must past through it to be certified as ‘pure’. Anything un-‘pure’ is illegal. This leads to the next reason in why the mass was moved upwards. The crater left behind is used as a water purifying area and pure water is heavily sought after. 98% of the water is shipped directly to the Bastion, while the rest is given out to the highest bidder in the outskirts. It’s funny, even when hell befalls Earth and its people, money still reigns supreme in man’s mind.

 

Though I didn’t understand the exact technology used in keeping the land afloat I knew that seven bases around the mass kept the generators for the anti-gravity machines running. The only way to reach the Bastion is by a flight machine from the Before time. These relics from the past are only flown to The Bastion and back to the Earth. The only people with the knowledge to fly the ancient machines are the elite military force named the Angels.

 

The Angels are funded by the Church of Kami and jointly governed by the military, though the Church really holds all of the power. The men and women of the Angels are imbued with the purest form of the adrenaline pumping drug, Cure, and have been trained to die protecting the Will of God. The Angels are faster, stronger, more reactive and almost animalistic in their approach to a fight. The first prototype Angels were used in the Second Crusade to obliterate the last standing ‘Earth government’ and turned the tide of the war in the Church’s favor.

 

Click.

The restraint finally unlocks and I am able to free myself. I quickly try to gather myself and move to the edge of my living room.

Pay to Play

She stood by the door

About a foot under the awning

She bade me to come in

Lack of willpower leading me to another sin

She told me she was down for anything

Ready to act crazy

But before we began, she had to say,

Y’know babe, for this, you gotta pay to play

An act so precious

Given up as a commodity.

A question I ask, as not to be funny

But in all reality, what is love to money?

They reply to ‘love giving’ as just another grind.

A tool to get by

But what was once worthwhile

Is given up as easily as a car eats miles.

A fair trade, is a laughable statement at best.

You fulfill another’s carnal desire,

To consume your needs of today,

You tell the poor soul, ‘You have to pay, to play.’

As much as my body quivered for another

I knew then it was time to go.

Knowing the aftermath, of playing this game

I felt it better to be alone, then to pay this dame.

Business is business,

Yeah, I understand that fact.

But to have me pay for a contradiction,

Something worth everything and nothin’?

‘I beg for forgiveness darling, but,

This ain’t my type of party.

You’re  beautiful, and with you I’d love to lay

But you’re an expendable service, I’ll never pay to play.’

The Oddities

To whom ever receives this:

This, friend, is my last night alive on this plane of existence. I have heard through the rustling of the leaves, the susurrus of the night, that I will not escape my plight. They speak to me every night, the Oddities. The men, the women, and the children of the night speak to me and tell me they will abduct me and devour my entire entity. These whispers, these faint stabs at my sanity have driven me to record this.

Please do not take these words lightly. For weeks they have gotten louder and louder. The voices have gotten closer and with each passing hour of the night I swear I can hear them running through my room. Running up my walls. Slamming my floorboards and scratching at my windows. Why, one night I even saw one. I SAW ONE! It ran past my window, a child, it had to be. It’s little black body climbed up my wall in my pitch black room. I heard and tracked its breathing until it crossed the light the moon cast upon my floor. As it entered the light it stopped and stood to its feet. What was once a crawling mass of what I believed to be flesh, rose to an immense height, stretching all the way to my ceiling! A considerable jump, if I do say–

Forgive me. I heard them. They spoke my name. They are calling for me to come outside… I won’t go. I won’t I cannot I have to finish. The little thing GREW to at least 15 feet and from it sprouted what looked like flowers and stems and roots and branches. It whispered for me to accept my fate and walk outside. I screamed at it. I screamed a shrill of an insane, tormented soul. It immediately shrunk down and crashed out my window. I swear I experienced this. I swear, I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear.

Forgive me. I must. Compose. Myself.

God, I hear them louder… A bigger one, on my rooftop. Knocking. Knocking. They know I hate the knocks. I hear creaks all throughout my home now. A harmonious melody that is fit only for a circus. I am beginning to reek, I cannot leave my house. The trees, I haven’t spoken about the trees! They are moving. They have moved ever so close to my house. Not over the decades I’ve lived here, no no no no no no nonononononono. Over the past WEEK they HAVE MOVED over. They have uprooted and now stand in front of my house. I used to be able to see the hilltop where I used to play as a child, but now the oak I used to play in fills my entire window. Am I going insane…

?

They are inside now. I felt a dramatic drop of temperature, they trespassed through my front door. MINE. The knocking, knick knocking, blick blocking. They are inside. I can’t take this, I cannot. I feel another scream surmounting inside. I want to give up. But I have heart. Hearth. Hearth….

I had to move, ever, so, cleverly, cautiously, connivingly into the bathroom. My last stand. It would be the shitter, yes.. Yes yes yes, it would be yesyes yes. I have so much to do and yet. No time, in which to, do it, in. They broke a glass down stairs and are scratching at my bedroom door.. The knocking followed me into the bathroom. I guess he heard me moving.

Hmm…

How peculiar.. Could that be?

This new sound they have emitted. They are… laughing.?

My bedroom door has been busted down. The laughing has turned to screaming. They are screaming and laughing and whispering and talking and breathing and knocking and coming. They scream like men.

Maybe I’m screaming.

This is it. I will leave it at this. This is the end. This is the conclusion. This is my last breath. I will not kill myself. I will not. My finger is on the trigger, but for them not me. Not me. Please not me. Please not me, not me, not me, for them, for them, for them not me, for me. For me.

They are sending some kind of insect inside. They stink terribly, but won’t approach me… I wonder why… Why do I even wonder, I wonder.. I am done.

They are breathing under the door. They are playing with the knob. I should probably hide in the shower, but what difference will that–