Writer. Dreamer. Realist.
'They say war changes a man. Experiencing sights and sounds that he never thought possible. Feeling new levels of terror and survival.
The pale morning light filtered through the snowy white haze of the sky to fall on the broken horizon.
They took Mummy yesterday. They never made a sound as they came in the night. Snow had fallen earlier and the blanket of white was flawless as I slumbered.
The smell of ash greeted him as it did every morning. Dreams of inferno and death fading with the rising sun, how long had it been he wondered. Two years, or was it three.
On his knees he sinks into the soft mossy blanket underneath. Caged by bows of pine and oak his privacy is enforced, he is kept from the dappled sun.
The sky is swallowed by a bulbous blue sun, pulsing with arduous flames. Mountain tops begin to melt and the clouds burst raining down.
Walking through empty fields of an apocalyptic world I cannot feel the sun. The smokey air scrapes my lungs clean filling them with rust and dust.
Through nights jaws she went, the blinding darkness wrapping itself tight. The rocky floor jagged and unforgiving to her bare feet as she strode further into the blackest heart.
I put a brave face on for you all to see. The smiling polite young man expected of me. Can't you see my eyes don't smile at you anymore. Filled with a pain of betrayal they look to the floor.
My gilded gates are no match for their venomous lips. They chew their way in with hollow words and gestures. My collected walls scattered like paper on the wind.
Careful when you touch me. I would not want to hurt you so. It's not my intention to cause harm. Ragged edges is all I have to display. A poorly assembled state of emotion.
The fire that kindled all life sparked furiously at those attending. On the small island surrounded by silver waters they gathered for the first time since man.
They were coming. They had to be. The city once so free now suddenly felt like a cage. Every turn leading to a dead end, every square a trap.
Up high the angels sing, golden voices of sweet serenity. Tones granting feathery wings of purest white. Joyous trumpets sound in chorus and triumphant melody. A parade aglow with a saintly sun.
Just to let everyone know I'm still here. Opening eyes to the dark void, an endless abyss of shadow and death. The very whites blotted out by the suns denial. Irises dilate and drink in the blackness.