Sebastain's Awakening I

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...radiate their orange flame against the walls of the lobby. They twirl and spin, flickering when Finn walks by.

A nearly inaudible hum echoes through, never ending, but always faint. Finn slows his pace when he hears it. “They’re definitely here,” he says. At the end of the lobby a door leads to a final chamber. The closer he is the louder the hum. “It’s definitely coming through there.” Clearing up it reveals to be chanting. They’re opening a gate. “No! This needs to stop before more come through!” Finn yells, lunging to the chamber and down its spiral staircase.

Bottom level, a celestial is bridging a gap to his dimension. Finn walks in to hands held high, reaching for the ceiling. A tall toothpick in a suit. White feathery wings tucked in against his back. He’s facing a large blue floating orb. The wormhole to their world.

From the corner of his eye the celestial sees Finn walk into the room. His focus is taken away from the orb. The orb shrinks and...

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Celestial Hunt

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...Seraphial retracts her wings, appearing just human. A yellow aura begins to surround her. Her bare feet lift from the street. She raises her hands high above her head and makes fists. As she drags those fists down against the air a large bolt of lightning pierces through the heavens, then the atmosphere and land right on Sebastian. Where it lands it explodes and launches him half a block down right into the 20th story of a sky scraper. A hovering start, she releases her wings and takes off after Sebastian while he’s still midair, catching up with him as he slams through the building. She grabs him by the ankles and tosses him further into the building. Then repeats this until they’re on the other side and she flings him through a window right down to the street below...

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Going Dark

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...explode from every direction. His back vibrates each time a bullet hits the brick wall he’s against.

Derrick was separated from his group in the middle of a supply run. The stricken force them to split up.

Trying to get back he came across these pure bloods eager to steal what he’s scavenged and do who knows what to him. It’s never good. And he needs to deliver the loot. Crucial medicines are in his bag. Medicines someone back at camp needs immediately.

Many times the monsters of this world aren’t the stricken but rather the pure bloods. The people who’ve managed to escape the plague of the stricken have only done so through aggressive brutality. The stricken are small potatoes to the thinking pure bloods. People who torture for what they want. Without a moral compass. They kill indiscriminately. They rape and steal whatever, whoever, whenever.

After the fall of the government the law dissolved. Survival of the fittest began but was overtaken by survival of the monstrous.

Derrick is cornered. Wedged into the gap in a brick wall. There’s nowhere left for him to run. His pistol is dry. Panicked, he...

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Contemplation

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...wanders too often for every day words to describe the experience.

A psychopath’s mind is a jumbled mess of cold rationality and brutal, numb disconnects. Raw numeric sequences with zero imagery. A void packed with information for the sixth sense. The one of thought. A sense impossible to explain using verbal language. A psychedelic trip which has to be experienced to be understood.

When the paper and pen work together magic happens. Genius at their job. They manage to decipher anything they’re dealt. The right words become clear. They are fit into the five basic senses. Seen and touched.

Although less of a broken mess, still a broken mess. Those unrelated might never understand what each word means or stands for. But all that’s really important is for my corrupt eyes to get the ideas they convey.

Once the echo has been removed from the walls of my mind and converted to words it’s easy to face them.

Part of me is scared. A coward. Afraid of what these twisted thoughts might mean. I control their world on paper, though. I am the Alpha and Omega of the thoughts that lands before me.

And I’m all powerful. Gifted the ability to read and comprehend versions of me that no longer exist. Abusing...

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Staying Alive II

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...shrieking of screamer ghouls buries the whimpering of the grumblers. It hits Alex like nails on a chalkboard, amplified by the migraine. They’ve caught his scent. He opens one eye to assure his lead pipe is nearby. He’s kept the pipe since it first saved his life and remained the one reliable weapon he can use. He tried others, but they didn’t go too well. Like the time he tried to use an easier to wield kitchen knife, but was forced to get too close to a screamer and almost died.

The pipe is there, but fizzy. The migraine makes it hard for Alex’s eye to focus or gather the right amount of light. Things turn out to be fuzzy, nearly shapeless blobs that are too dim or too bright. He grabs it from the edge of the bed where he flung it. His grip tightens around the base of the pipe. “I could do this,” he tells himself.

Alex’s only chance for survival now lies in getting out of the building and away from the horde before they reach him or see him. They’ll inch closer tracking his scent. As long as they don’t lay eyes...

 

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Completionist

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...Erase these
Fakers
Take these
Take hers

Think first
Reverse
This curse

Counting black
Saddled and back
To battle, and that
Paddle can’t handle
The peddle to the metal
With a rebel
It’s settled
Don’t meddle

Fiddle in the middle
Newer flow getting brittle

It’ll harden
And pardon
My word garden
Close, but far when
I start, then
I’ll smarten the coastal stow and stay
the stow away thoughts left to say
To play in the background
When the volume makes that sound
It fades to black how
Smart ass fat beats now
Do last but stand loud...

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Sleepless

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...are persistent with their illusions. They’re confusing. Faded narratives tell fuzzy stories. And morph into something else entirely. Too fast to draw conclusions from, there is no concrete fact in these visions.

With no other stimulation above, the world from below rises. Its inhabitants loud and chaotic. Methodically, they proceed to break what’s left of me. Tearing my will down is all they hope for. Opportunists who’ve waited for a lack of distractions to raise...

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To Know

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...Lies self-told as I got old to convince myself they’re worth their weight in gold
Bold tides collide and perspective modified
It clarified that the glow I saw, although still raw, was mine

It cleared, I have reasons to be here
A season of treason to convention and tradition
The condition of ascension
With no permission, on a mission
Dematerialized material vices
And I can’t recognize why I decided to be on the side I decided to be on
But I’ll capitalize on the capital size of this awareness.
It’s only fair when I stare this in the face...

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Mirror on the Wall

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Loud machinery wakes me up. Can’t see a thing. There isn’t enough room to spread my arms too far out. There’s almost nowhere to move my feet. Panic immediately consumes me. I frantically attack the inside of the container.

The walls.

Floor.

“AHH!” Slips from my lungs, bursting through my vocal cords and out my mouth. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!”

Images of coffins and the movie Buried raced through my mind. Poor Ryan Reynolds was fucked straight through that film!

Nothing budges or moves. This box is static.

A deep breath calms me enough to organize all relevant thoughts. Understanding my environment becomes priority number one.

I’m cushioned in by walls to my back and sides. A surface frictionless smooth before me. Increased resolution reveals glass.

The padding inside is whiter as I see more. A grey featureless wall twenty feet away appears. It stretches the entire view on the other side of the glass.

Out of sight shines an electric blue light. It’s barely there. The wall is just bright enough to…

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On The Edge

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...stand closer together and merge into one observer. A living shadow obsessed with the nearest star. Dozens of ballet dancing fireflies twirl out of the woods. Spinning and dancing around this bigger deformed shadow.

Birds glide away into the sun. They become silhouettes themselves and vanish between the sky and ocean.

The shadow divides into two and face the emptied forest...

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Staying Alive

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...in view, a small military unit and several civilians back up past the alley. Alex debates coming out and joining them, but before he could decide to do so they’re out of site on the other side of the alley. Following them is a horde of infectees. Hundreds deep. He figures keeping his silence is the safest bet. In all probability they’re going to die in a few short moments.

In the last two days Alexander has seen the infectees attract more of their kind. They travel in packs. The assumption is that the same situation is taking place. He devises a plan to creep away in the opposite direction of the horde. If done with good timing it might be clear enough to move unnoticed. To escape the area undetected. He’d be the ghost of the apocalypse...

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Watch Docs

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...one of them just died. The symptoms are identical in the one I’m watching and she has just begun to seize. No words describe the horror I feel. This patient that isn’t even mine. Dr. Krapovski left me in charge while he tends to his recently deceased other patient. I’m alone.

The nursing staff scrambles into the room with a crash cart. A couple of deep breaths and I focus. Pull back onto the game. The balls on my court.

A nurse hands me levetiracetam and I sent it right through the patients IV. She rapidly calms to a full halt before her monitor flat lines.

The nurse preps the defibrillator. I apply both paddles. “CLEAR!” I say. The girl’s body jumps, chest...

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Relive

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...skies for a way to save her or kill myself. The celestials have abandoned space and time. The Count was lost for how many times the day was relived. It could be in years by now and I’d never know.
It’s irrational that memory is retained if the entire space-time of a day goes in reverse. Memory should be lost in the reverse order that it was learned, but I remember it all. I should be unaware of this loop. Perhaps this is punishment for the way I’ve lived my life.
It has beaten me. Countless times I’ve given in and simply witnessed her die. It’s not malicious. It’s destiny. It can’t be helped. I’m trapped.
She’s still quite...

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The Creator

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...coming back later to look through it is more alluring. There will be gems if there is enough to search through.
The creator knows what the purpose of their world is because they’ve made it clear. Later working on disguising each word and adding a poetic twist. Metaphors. The time to fix will arrive. And then the universe shall be enjoyable. And then the universe will be entertaining for its inhabitants and observers.
But none of this is possible if the world, the universe never gets made. There must first be something to fix.
To create without restraint is true discipline. To drag whatever out of imagination land. To dive deep and pull out emotional and personal truths is a skill which requires immense focus.
All white empty canvases require artists to give them purpose. To be brought to life. Something is better than nothing, and a little bit of momentum might snowball.
And clever words might imagine...

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Sniper

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...drop to my chest. Crawling to the vantage point reduces the chances of getting spotted. It's more time to get the shot ready..

Grains of sand find their way to my skin as my uniform presses against the desert.

The sniper is on my back, Remington M21. I draw the gun, put it on the bipod and move to the edge of the hill.

Endless white flashes pop in and out of the darkness below. The silhouettes of guns held by bodiless arms are briefly visible after each trigger is pulled.

All this has to go ignored. I’m here to accomplish a mission. The sniper across the path has to be dealt with immediately. They’ve taken the life of several American soldiers and this has to come to an end.

From this vantage point I should be able to locate the shooter. The night vision scope is equipped.

Commence scan.

Down on the path the convoy is still halted. Surrounded by the enemy. The American soldiers are using their vehicles for cover. Hostile vehicles are...

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Held Back

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...the pretender isn’t strong enough.
Not to calm fears of recoding the system.
Not to forget margin for error.

Zipped lips with sick slick words and an unpickable locks tick quick building up for the explosion.
Increasing pressure meeting resistance must be equal or greater in energy value to said resistance to avoid collapse. Overfilling can result in a system breach and total failure of resistance.

Imaginary handcuffs for the judged
Ignorance holds the key.
A prison cell of conformity.
Embodied...

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The Circle

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...but he tries to relax. He can’t seem to stop kicking and flailing wildly.

As James struggles to hold himself up the rope swings left and right. Bounces up and down. Tightens as it twists and turns making it increasingly difficult to grip.

“How do I get out of this?” James tries to focus, “How do I pull myself up and over?” but he can barely keep it together. Images of family members and his children keep getting in the way. His mind wanders against his will. He rather keep it on solutions. Active and capable. But his rational mind believes it’s too late.

Struggling with which...

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