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Lying every so somberly amongst this gray setting of stone, steel and chains. Chains that embrace it's captive as if it was warmth, but there smiles shall not deceive me. For I've played the firefly's game long enough. Been broken down and reformed from rubble. As I break down others as well. But not as they do. As I do. Discrete, I us their forms of torture use it as a tool of understanding. But as leverage, I dare not speak of my captors since others are too blinded to break me free. I dare not wage war with an army of idiots.
Tears take shape on the soul's windows, but these windows are broken. My perpetual silence keeps the welt in my throat from forming, so the only trace they leave of the is a sting. Better this way, for I dare not wage a war with an army of broken glass
These windows peer up, up, up, into the spiral stretching of cracks, beams, and...a hole. Spreading cadence into this, otherwise, empty facility. Shame such lovely beams of light be wasted on the ruins of my cage. But still I bless it, for it's apathy towards my dreary situation. For it's understanding that without it's essence I would be damned to the fate of any beign using the blackness as their smokescreen. For I dare not wage a war with an army of pure empathy.
Footsteps? A pitch black being, darker than the shadows he emerges from arises. I beckon his name and he only edges closer. I stand with what little fight I have and he edges...closer. He places his hands on my shoulders and whispers in my daunting records-
"You, will be a great 'hero', but there words will come into you as 'b*****d'." The last of his words hang in an echo. A Great b*****d. And then forever, I was changed. However, so subtle that only I perceive. But changed non-the-less. The stain of his black on my self. On my soul. Stained. I am a b*****d.
My chains begin to fade, as though this new status brings benefits. Seemingly free, I run around, and around, and around. I laugh manically and cynically. I notice the light quickly retreat. As though offended by my tattered self. I look up and notice a beautiful figurine. And then I know; I will wage a war of crumbling mountains.
 Kaida Snoe · Tue Jan 11, 2011 @ 05:33am · 0 Comments |
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