Poetry competition CLOSED 8th March 2019 5:14am
WINNER
snugglebuck
snugglebuck
Page:
Stranger Than Fiction
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
A Buccaneer’s Soul
- A Buccaneer’s Soul -
Being a Tale of the Flying Dutchman…
Prologue: The Coasts of Jamaica
Off the coasts of Jamaica, my ship sailed on,
Along Caribbean waves that rocked, in time.
The crew is singing, and drinking much rum,
Whilst I keep to myself, preferring red wine.
I pen, some poetry to a goddess I once loved,
When in other flesh I walked, in times past…
I look out a window, at the gray skies above,
And I turn the hourglass over, as time is fast.
I watch a solitary gull, and it seems so free…
Why do men make themselves prisoners, so?
Even these hearty lads who sail on with me…
We are slaves to the wind and if it will blow!
I sharpen my cutlass, preparing for our task…
As we near English waters, our long lost port.
We seek a safer harbor, where crabs do bask!
Our vessel dares not near the Redcoats’ fort…
No welcome would be ours, only cannon fire.
And so we sail on, seeking a secretive cove…
Where a treasure lies buried, which we desire,
Though not nearly as much as I long for love!
Part One: Bloody Spanish Gold
Captain, they call me, with fear in each voice.
Am I so terrible, or have stories traveled far?
We near the ancient cave; we come by choice,
Guided by the horizon, and many a noble star.
Less noble, indeed, are these greedy sailors…
Who call me a monster without knowing true!
The gold is Spanish, bloody from many wars,
Along with sapphires glowing fairly and blue.
Men died for us to claim it as such is the way,
The bones that guarded it knew the story full.
Telling not of their secrets until the final day,
For the dead are silent, and stubborn as a bull.
The booty is divided fairly, in accord to code,
And soon we set sail again, for French waters.
But on our way the skies darken, evil to bode!
We make fast the hatches on all the quarters…
But soon, we are caught up in a mighty storm,
Of which legends speak of, and seamen fear…
As ‘woe’ cries the gulls ‘you’ll see not morn!’
We saw not the morn, nor the one I held dear.
(Alone upon some windswept crag…
He gazed out long upon the cold sea.
A voice was calling from the depths,
Which kept on saying: “Look at me!”
Of his fortunes, he dared never brag,
For they brought him not: his victory.
So many men had met bloody deaths,
During his voyage of lawless piracy!
Hell dared not accept his own bones,
And so the sea one day called to him.
She craved his passion for her own…
Prepared to drown his every dark sin.
Though he was a legend on the main,
Blood was on his hands, a dark stain!)
Part Two: The Sea Goddess
The sea took the gold, in tribute to a goddess,
As I was cast adrift, the only survivor to live!
I was wrecked on a beach, and in my distress,
I resigned myself, my soul unto death to give.
That is where she found me, most royal lady!
I call her that, for her bearing was imperious.
Though her blood was not noble it beat hotly,
And her way, to speak truth, was mysterious.
‘A buccaneer’s soul, I sense in your breast…’
She said unto me, her eyes dark as the abyss.
‘But all such times are passing, going to rest!’
And she said no more, for lusty was our kiss.
She sang me a song that took me way back…
I was adrift on the melody, her eyes my light.
I forgot about my sins under the flag black…
And my soul was lost in a dance of the night.
Morn never came, and I knew I’d passed on,
Finding peace for a time with she I’d served.
But then I spied dawn’s rays, the warm sun…
And I could not die; for that, I was unnerved.
(The pirate had known all her charms,
That undying goddess, from below…
Not spoken of by men of true reason.
She swallowed his sin, took his soul!
He forgot his name, and his old scars,
Though he could not be pure as snow.
Her time was nigh in that wild season,
And the maddest wind began to blow!
He dove from the crag in dawn’s mist,
His crew beheld his fate from the ship.
By the sea goddess he was so kissed…
And his soul was lost, with a final slip.
But his ship had sunk so long before…
And her crew drew breath never more!)
Part Three: Voyage of the Dead
How long was I captain of the black galleon?
No hourglass was there to track time passing.
She stood at my side, after all that I’d done…
Beautiful as ever, her smile perhaps laughing!
The pale crew, all taken from a watery end…
Those same who had perished under my flag!
Many of whom once I had even called friend,
In search of treasure: of which we could brag.
Hands stained with blood from their lost loot,
Their voices chill as they sang almost merrily.
Damned men all, all from head down to boot,
Never caught, by the gallows or hanging tree.
But all things we do have a price to be paid…
And no gold can stave off the hands of death!
On the seas between worlds we sailed, afraid,
My only comfort, was my goddess’s breath…
Until at last, we sailed out of that life forever.
Each man to his fate, be it perdition or peace!
Death makes of each mortal, a true believer…
And there are some torments that never cease.
(They say he arose from his wet grave,
Unable to die till dire judgment day…
His crew shared his fate as heavy cost.
They sail the seas still, all debt to pay!
No matter how much love he so gave,
Unto his ancient mistress in his way…
His soul was fated to remain thus lost.
And so closest to the sea he must stay!
Ferrying the dead to the farthest shore,
Where he himself cannot disembark…
He seeks to redeem himself once more.
In the night, he sails, when all is dark!
Still plotting a course to the next life…
Hoping to escape his eternity of strife.)
Being a Tale of the Flying Dutchman…
Prologue: The Coasts of Jamaica
Off the coasts of Jamaica, my ship sailed on,
Along Caribbean waves that rocked, in time.
The crew is singing, and drinking much rum,
Whilst I keep to myself, preferring red wine.
I pen, some poetry to a goddess I once loved,
When in other flesh I walked, in times past…
I look out a window, at the gray skies above,
And I turn the hourglass over, as time is fast.
I watch a solitary gull, and it seems so free…
Why do men make themselves prisoners, so?
Even these hearty lads who sail on with me…
We are slaves to the wind and if it will blow!
I sharpen my cutlass, preparing for our task…
As we near English waters, our long lost port.
We seek a safer harbor, where crabs do bask!
Our vessel dares not near the Redcoats’ fort…
No welcome would be ours, only cannon fire.
And so we sail on, seeking a secretive cove…
Where a treasure lies buried, which we desire,
Though not nearly as much as I long for love!
Part One: Bloody Spanish Gold
Captain, they call me, with fear in each voice.
Am I so terrible, or have stories traveled far?
We near the ancient cave; we come by choice,
Guided by the horizon, and many a noble star.
Less noble, indeed, are these greedy sailors…
Who call me a monster without knowing true!
The gold is Spanish, bloody from many wars,
Along with sapphires glowing fairly and blue.
Men died for us to claim it as such is the way,
The bones that guarded it knew the story full.
Telling not of their secrets until the final day,
For the dead are silent, and stubborn as a bull.
The booty is divided fairly, in accord to code,
And soon we set sail again, for French waters.
But on our way the skies darken, evil to bode!
We make fast the hatches on all the quarters…
But soon, we are caught up in a mighty storm,
Of which legends speak of, and seamen fear…
As ‘woe’ cries the gulls ‘you’ll see not morn!’
We saw not the morn, nor the one I held dear.
(Alone upon some windswept crag…
He gazed out long upon the cold sea.
A voice was calling from the depths,
Which kept on saying: “Look at me!”
Of his fortunes, he dared never brag,
For they brought him not: his victory.
So many men had met bloody deaths,
During his voyage of lawless piracy!
Hell dared not accept his own bones,
And so the sea one day called to him.
She craved his passion for her own…
Prepared to drown his every dark sin.
Though he was a legend on the main,
Blood was on his hands, a dark stain!)
Part Two: The Sea Goddess
The sea took the gold, in tribute to a goddess,
As I was cast adrift, the only survivor to live!
I was wrecked on a beach, and in my distress,
I resigned myself, my soul unto death to give.
That is where she found me, most royal lady!
I call her that, for her bearing was imperious.
Though her blood was not noble it beat hotly,
And her way, to speak truth, was mysterious.
‘A buccaneer’s soul, I sense in your breast…’
She said unto me, her eyes dark as the abyss.
‘But all such times are passing, going to rest!’
And she said no more, for lusty was our kiss.
She sang me a song that took me way back…
I was adrift on the melody, her eyes my light.
I forgot about my sins under the flag black…
And my soul was lost in a dance of the night.
Morn never came, and I knew I’d passed on,
Finding peace for a time with she I’d served.
But then I spied dawn’s rays, the warm sun…
And I could not die; for that, I was unnerved.
(The pirate had known all her charms,
That undying goddess, from below…
Not spoken of by men of true reason.
She swallowed his sin, took his soul!
He forgot his name, and his old scars,
Though he could not be pure as snow.
Her time was nigh in that wild season,
And the maddest wind began to blow!
He dove from the crag in dawn’s mist,
His crew beheld his fate from the ship.
By the sea goddess he was so kissed…
And his soul was lost, with a final slip.
But his ship had sunk so long before…
And her crew drew breath never more!)
Part Three: Voyage of the Dead
How long was I captain of the black galleon?
No hourglass was there to track time passing.
She stood at my side, after all that I’d done…
Beautiful as ever, her smile perhaps laughing!
The pale crew, all taken from a watery end…
Those same who had perished under my flag!
Many of whom once I had even called friend,
In search of treasure: of which we could brag.
Hands stained with blood from their lost loot,
Their voices chill as they sang almost merrily.
Damned men all, all from head down to boot,
Never caught, by the gallows or hanging tree.
But all things we do have a price to be paid…
And no gold can stave off the hands of death!
On the seas between worlds we sailed, afraid,
My only comfort, was my goddess’s breath…
Until at last, we sailed out of that life forever.
Each man to his fate, be it perdition or peace!
Death makes of each mortal, a true believer…
And there are some torments that never cease.
(They say he arose from his wet grave,
Unable to die till dire judgment day…
His crew shared his fate as heavy cost.
They sail the seas still, all debt to pay!
No matter how much love he so gave,
Unto his ancient mistress in his way…
His soul was fated to remain thus lost.
And so closest to the sea he must stay!
Ferrying the dead to the farthest shore,
Where he himself cannot disembark…
He seeks to redeem himself once more.
In the night, he sails, when all is dark!
Still plotting a course to the next life…
Hoping to escape his eternity of strife.)
Written by Kou_Indigo
(Karam L. Parveen-Ashton)
Go To Page
This is my submission for the contest.
MATMOS
The skyline of Gotham, a lost era,
held captive from a slime underground,
a living dead thing; it’s hard to tell.
The skies fill, darkened with endless
flocks of flying monkeys, screeching
like the locusts of biblical times.
Sycophants: their alarming numbers,
armies of them that grow daily.
They roam the deserted streets with
the sonic scream of those diseased,
manic-eyed monkeys, sniffing the
gutters in the frenzied hunt for
vulnerable ones, of men and women.
Fresh meat; new arrivals like I had
been when I was dispatched by the
ore that they knew would lay me low.
I’ll never forget the echoes of their
sniveling muzzles working the cracks
of concrete and slab breaks in the
sidewalks where weeds never thrive.
Some of us, hot off the ships a few
miles from the visitors’ docks, and
once the cruisers dropped anchor,
and lowered the gangplanks to
disgorge their unwary cargo, would
fall prey to the toxic low tech parasites.
I didn’t let myself be run off, though
thoughts had crossed my mind, and
others stayed in steerage when the
foreboding immigrant ships returned
to distant harbors. Gaunt faces with
glazed eyes without hope when they
had seen others returning to where so
little was left. We knew well of them,
and who, like us, had not spoken up.
No adult or child would trade the ones
waiting, to drag them underground
into slavery, than to go back to the
soot of the satellites; good ones,
who perished with their remaining
kith and kin. Nothing survived. Not
even the burned out husks of their
faith, as carts were pulled by hand,
filled with crippled & elderly, along
rutted roads, passing one smoldering
ruin, in slow motion, after another.
But yet to stay, to turn away as one
body from the empty docks on a day
whose morning was graying over, was
to walk straight into the lesser counter
point of small vermin, and tottering
laser-eyed robotic babies, with shark
teeth bared, diminutive in stature.
Hardly blips on the radar;
blood creatures in the largeness of
the underpond. This radioscape in
increments, swallowing horizons whole.
Lesser carrion, that laid their eggs in
one’s flesh to hatch and leech, subtle
intrusion, while the victim was unable
to realize until it’s too late: they were
being groomed for the Matmos.
At that moment, I might find I was truly
free, to do away with the tyranny, this
abuse making its entrance, because
it knows. Leering pornographically, to
slither unnoticed from its underworld
lair unchallenged, till a clear moment
would draw near. To communicate my
will to those who would listen without
scathing claws of mindless retribution,
recoiled, to strike and disembowel me
in mid-sentence, because it always knows.
Even its stench, counting heartbeats,
till the time tolls, and the next follower
du jour is trussed and devoured
like a microwave snack. A production
before the bloated, beady-eyed,
jaundiced blight of flatulence, shape-
shifting from under sewer forces that
creeps with great effort among the
good citizenry of this lesser realm.
Wisely industrious, even serene, under
the beetle-browed scrutiny of the
aforementioned & constantly growing
tumor of bloat that oozes lactose-
intolerant regurgitation, not fit for
human consumption or castration.
But how am I able to enter anything
built using even a small amount of
kryptonite, to plead my case for the
good of all? There hasn’t been one
public phone booth seen, available
anywhere for many decades, for me
to transform into the hero that the
present living generations have
heard about, and they’ve waited for.
I therefore declare myself, Clark Kent,
as Watcher of the Matmos, Lowness of
the Underworld shallows ‘neath its skin
from whence it crawled, dragging with
it, all foul vermin, not worthy to show
itself in the light from every galactic sun.
Let it here be known by all boroughs
throughout the Realm, that the Matmos
misbegotten, is hereby banished. To
return from whence it came. Where
knowledge of it is forever wiped from
the people’s collective memory. That
only I will remember it ever existed,
and for a short balance, continue to
breathe, or whatever it does, to watch
and protect the future from its fate.
Never the Matmos to resurface again.
The waste, its excrement, to turn in
on itself, through every pore, hole,
and cranny. To poison the elixir only
it is privy to imbibe. While I too banish
myself, no need for me to access the
buildings of Gotham. Honored to
make it my lifelong task to assure
that the bile has nowhere else to go.
I wonder if Lois still has her cell phone?
Three worlds intersect in this short story, from: Superman, Barbarella, and The Wizard of Oz.
held captive from a slime underground,
a living dead thing; it’s hard to tell.
The skies fill, darkened with endless
flocks of flying monkeys, screeching
like the locusts of biblical times.
Sycophants: their alarming numbers,
armies of them that grow daily.
They roam the deserted streets with
the sonic scream of those diseased,
manic-eyed monkeys, sniffing the
gutters in the frenzied hunt for
vulnerable ones, of men and women.
Fresh meat; new arrivals like I had
been when I was dispatched by the
ore that they knew would lay me low.
I’ll never forget the echoes of their
sniveling muzzles working the cracks
of concrete and slab breaks in the
sidewalks where weeds never thrive.
Some of us, hot off the ships a few
miles from the visitors’ docks, and
once the cruisers dropped anchor,
and lowered the gangplanks to
disgorge their unwary cargo, would
fall prey to the toxic low tech parasites.
I didn’t let myself be run off, though
thoughts had crossed my mind, and
others stayed in steerage when the
foreboding immigrant ships returned
to distant harbors. Gaunt faces with
glazed eyes without hope when they
had seen others returning to where so
little was left. We knew well of them,
and who, like us, had not spoken up.
No adult or child would trade the ones
waiting, to drag them underground
into slavery, than to go back to the
soot of the satellites; good ones,
who perished with their remaining
kith and kin. Nothing survived. Not
even the burned out husks of their
faith, as carts were pulled by hand,
filled with crippled & elderly, along
rutted roads, passing one smoldering
ruin, in slow motion, after another.
But yet to stay, to turn away as one
body from the empty docks on a day
whose morning was graying over, was
to walk straight into the lesser counter
point of small vermin, and tottering
laser-eyed robotic babies, with shark
teeth bared, diminutive in stature.
Hardly blips on the radar;
blood creatures in the largeness of
the underpond. This radioscape in
increments, swallowing horizons whole.
Lesser carrion, that laid their eggs in
one’s flesh to hatch and leech, subtle
intrusion, while the victim was unable
to realize until it’s too late: they were
being groomed for the Matmos.
At that moment, I might find I was truly
free, to do away with the tyranny, this
abuse making its entrance, because
it knows. Leering pornographically, to
slither unnoticed from its underworld
lair unchallenged, till a clear moment
would draw near. To communicate my
will to those who would listen without
scathing claws of mindless retribution,
recoiled, to strike and disembowel me
in mid-sentence, because it always knows.
Even its stench, counting heartbeats,
till the time tolls, and the next follower
du jour is trussed and devoured
like a microwave snack. A production
before the bloated, beady-eyed,
jaundiced blight of flatulence, shape-
shifting from under sewer forces that
creeps with great effort among the
good citizenry of this lesser realm.
Wisely industrious, even serene, under
the beetle-browed scrutiny of the
aforementioned & constantly growing
tumor of bloat that oozes lactose-
intolerant regurgitation, not fit for
human consumption or castration.
But how am I able to enter anything
built using even a small amount of
kryptonite, to plead my case for the
good of all? There hasn’t been one
public phone booth seen, available
anywhere for many decades, for me
to transform into the hero that the
present living generations have
heard about, and they’ve waited for.
I therefore declare myself, Clark Kent,
as Watcher of the Matmos, Lowness of
the Underworld shallows ‘neath its skin
from whence it crawled, dragging with
it, all foul vermin, not worthy to show
itself in the light from every galactic sun.
Let it here be known by all boroughs
throughout the Realm, that the Matmos
misbegotten, is hereby banished. To
return from whence it came. Where
knowledge of it is forever wiped from
the people’s collective memory. That
only I will remember it ever existed,
and for a short balance, continue to
breathe, or whatever it does, to watch
and protect the future from its fate.
Never the Matmos to resurface again.
The waste, its excrement, to turn in
on itself, through every pore, hole,
and cranny. To poison the elixir only
it is privy to imbibe. While I too banish
myself, no need for me to access the
buildings of Gotham. Honored to
make it my lifelong task to assure
that the bile has nowhere else to go.
I wonder if Lois still has her cell phone?
Three worlds intersect in this short story, from: Superman, Barbarella, and The Wizard of Oz.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
She Loves Me; He Loves Me Not
I'm so in love with her.
I wish had someone to love me.
When I meet her on the street, she looks through me like nobody’s there.
I wish I could meet somebody that cared.
She’s so beautiful.
I’m nothing but a wall flower.
A guy like me would never have a chance with a girl like her.
My biological clock is about ready to stop. I should’ve tried to hook-up with a guy years ago when I had the chance.
I know what I’ll do, I’ll buy her flowers.
What lovely apricot roses, but who is this ‘Anonymous?'
I’ll send her candy.
Mr. Anonymous sent me a box of splendid chocolates. Should I be flattered, or should I be scared?
I’m her secret admirer.
I’ve got a stalker.
I need to get up the nerve to knock on her door and introduce myself.
Dad called and wants me to come over right now, he says he has something for me. He's concerned about this guy shadowing me.
I rang her bell, then I knocked on the door. “Darn,” she’s not home. Wait a minute! She didn’t completely shut the door. When I knocked, it swung open.
Dad gave me this little hand gun.
I wonder where she put those flowers I sent her? Do I dare take a peek around?
They’re not on the table, maybe she put them on her bedroom dresser.
Damn! I was in such a hurry to leave, I must have forgot to lock the door.
Oh my God she’s home! I’ve got to hide and quick, here under her bed.
I need to get to bed.
I can’t believe she’s lying right above me. She’s so close I can smell her sweet perfume.
“Dear God.”
She’s praying.
“I know this sounds foolish, but I ask for but one thing. I ask for you to send someone to love me. A man to be my lover, and hopefully, the father of my children.”
“Your prayer has been answered!”
“What the Fuck! Who the Hell is that?”
“I’m the guy God sent you. I’m underneath your bed.”
I wish had someone to love me.
When I meet her on the street, she looks through me like nobody’s there.
I wish I could meet somebody that cared.
She’s so beautiful.
I’m nothing but a wall flower.
A guy like me would never have a chance with a girl like her.
My biological clock is about ready to stop. I should’ve tried to hook-up with a guy years ago when I had the chance.
I know what I’ll do, I’ll buy her flowers.
What lovely apricot roses, but who is this ‘Anonymous?'
I’ll send her candy.
Mr. Anonymous sent me a box of splendid chocolates. Should I be flattered, or should I be scared?
I’m her secret admirer.
I’ve got a stalker.
I need to get up the nerve to knock on her door and introduce myself.
Dad called and wants me to come over right now, he says he has something for me. He's concerned about this guy shadowing me.
I rang her bell, then I knocked on the door. “Darn,” she’s not home. Wait a minute! She didn’t completely shut the door. When I knocked, it swung open.
Dad gave me this little hand gun.
I wonder where she put those flowers I sent her? Do I dare take a peek around?
They’re not on the table, maybe she put them on her bedroom dresser.
Damn! I was in such a hurry to leave, I must have forgot to lock the door.
Oh my God she’s home! I’ve got to hide and quick, here under her bed.
I need to get to bed.
I can’t believe she’s lying right above me. She’s so close I can smell her sweet perfume.
“Dear God.”
She’s praying.
“I know this sounds foolish, but I ask for but one thing. I ask for you to send someone to love me. A man to be my lover, and hopefully, the father of my children.”
“Your prayer has been answered!”
“What the Fuck! Who the Hell is that?”
“I’m the guy God sent you. I’m underneath your bed.”
Written by snugglebuck
Go To Page
aflame, asunder
She proceeded,
unaware of curse
previously cast upon her.
Nervous energy urged her forward
as dozens filled the cafe.
diners shared laughs and drinks
unaware their lungs filled with last breaths.
along with wearing the vest,
Khava swallowed volatile chemicals,
held explosives in anal cavity
ensuring bio-projectiles
would hurl outwardly for maximum target damage.
here culminated a brief life's work.
amid her shrill exaltations
to the Most High
she pressed ignition button.
incendiary combustion AND Shaman's invocation
simultaneously released.
the sorcerors hex induced
Khava's time-sense to a slugs crawl.
anguish terrorized her soul
as skin, muscle, ligaments
ripped off bone for hours,
not milliseconds.
Amid her own twisted shrieks,
she watched her youthful body tear into
hundreds of chunky scraps
horribly aflame, asunder
fleshy husk, molten guts, sharp calcified fragments
simultaneously propelled
in 360 anguished degrees
of three-dimensional direction.
Burnt innard's alien odors
touched her nasal receptors.
the sickening taste of herself
accompanied
as Khava's head,
in the slowest
of freeze-frame motion,
dropped
to freshly
un-occupied ground
unaware of curse
previously cast upon her.
Nervous energy urged her forward
as dozens filled the cafe.
diners shared laughs and drinks
unaware their lungs filled with last breaths.
along with wearing the vest,
Khava swallowed volatile chemicals,
held explosives in anal cavity
ensuring bio-projectiles
would hurl outwardly for maximum target damage.
here culminated a brief life's work.
amid her shrill exaltations
to the Most High
she pressed ignition button.
incendiary combustion AND Shaman's invocation
simultaneously released.
the sorcerors hex induced
Khava's time-sense to a slugs crawl.
anguish terrorized her soul
as skin, muscle, ligaments
ripped off bone for hours,
not milliseconds.
Amid her own twisted shrieks,
she watched her youthful body tear into
hundreds of chunky scraps
horribly aflame, asunder
fleshy husk, molten guts, sharp calcified fragments
simultaneously propelled
in 360 anguished degrees
of three-dimensional direction.
Burnt innard's alien odors
touched her nasal receptors.
the sickening taste of herself
accompanied
as Khava's head,
in the slowest
of freeze-frame motion,
dropped
to freshly
un-occupied ground
Written by drivelicious13
(alon aLion)
Go To Page
Exodus Hill
(from the Chase across the Plains – the Defiant Heart)
The seven ran for two days, only stopping to eat and sleep a few hours at time knowing the enemy was a day behind them. They were going to try to lose them in the forest, but when Joven climbed up a tree, he looked back and saw dust rising in the distance.
“They’re gaining on us” Joven cried out, twenty feet up on a branch.
“How far?” Elio, the squad leader yelled back.
“Fifteen maybe twenty miles” Joven responded. “I just can see them yet”.
Elio thought for a second. “They’re running at full speed. They’ll reach the tree line by dusk.”
“They’ll be tired” Lobos added. “We can take on them in the cover of darkness, set up a couple of traps and…”
“We don’t know how many of them there are” Marte said catching his breath.
“Quiet! I’m trying to think” Elio shouted at the group. “Their trackers will know we’re still in the forest, too risky. The hills leading to the mountain pass are two days away and we don’t know if the phantom regiment will let us through,” he paused for a second looking at Robels. Robels was bleeding from his wounds.
“We need to meet them and fight them” Robels said.
“We don’t know how many…” Marte said when Elio cut him off. “Yes, we don’t know how many, but Exodus hill is just a day away. We can be there by morning and fight them inside the chamber!”
They all paused for a second looking at each other. Joven climbed down quickly. “It’s our only chance. I don’t think they have more than thirty, we can take them on in the chamber” Elio added.
“Yes” Toledo Vale, still carrying his dead friends’ tags around his neck said with his low husky voice. “They’ll be so confused, they’ll lose all strategy when their feet lift off the ground.”
Simon who had been quiet since they had buried their old platoon leader spoke up. “If we get there by morning, it’ll give us plenty of time to rest and confront them.”
“Then we all agree” Elio said.
They walked all night long. Joven, several feet ahead made sure there weren’t any traps. Lobos tried to cover their tracks and throw off their scent. By first light, they saw the edge of the valley and Exodus hill another seven miles away. Joven climbed up a tree to make sure it was all clear.
Once in the open they started running at steady pace. An hour into their run Lobos yelled out “They’re gaining on us”.
A squad of about forty men had cleared the trees and were several mile behind. As Elio ran next to Lobos, they all started smiling. They had reached Exodus.
Joven, the fastest runner, reached the hill first. He knew perfectly where the entrance to the old wreckage was.
They ran into the dark tunnel as the lights flickered. Engines whirred in the distance in the levels below. Joven pushed the heavy door open leading to the large dome shaped arena. The engines kicked in and the magnets locked the door only to become unlocked when the engines quit. A few seconds later, with all seven inside, the engines kicked in again and they became light, their feet came off the ground, their stomachs turned, all their gear became weightless like feathers.
By now Joven had started counting the seconds as the engines turned on and off, finding the pattern. The mechanism of the old wreckage, the U.S.S. Exodus, buried under dirt and grass, oddly enough still worked after so many decades. When the engines whirred, the anti-gravity chamber turned on and off for seconds at a time.
Marte was almost four feet up in the air when it turned off and he slammed to the metal floor landing on his feet. They counted and when the engines kicked in, Marte hovered in the air again.
They rested for nearly an hour, memorizing the seconds and the pattern: on five, off four, on six, off three, on twelve, off two, on fifteen, off eight and so forth. They could go full on the offensive when they were off.
Joven, never scared of heights, jumped at the right moment and floated ten feet up, swimming through the air reaching the chains that dangled from the ceiling and hung there by one hand. Lobos, now with dark camouflage face paint, hung upside down on the wall like a ghost, steadying himself on the wall hooks. Marte prepared the arrows with poisoned tips, ready to let them fly. Toledo Vale, on the opposite side of the arena held a ten foot heavy chain that slammed on the floor but picked up with ease like a silk scarf in slow motion when the gravity hit zero. Elio, Robels, and Simon stood strategically around the arena. They secured their feet on the floor hooks so as to not float way, ready with their palms on the pommels. They heard them coming down the tunnel.
“Ready?!” Elio yelled, his voice echoing and then getting lost in the dome as the engines whirred. The old playground was now a battle ground as they drew their swords.
(from the Chase across the Plains – the Defiant Heart)
The seven ran for two days, only stopping to eat and sleep a few hours at time knowing the enemy was a day behind them. They were going to try to lose them in the forest, but when Joven climbed up a tree, he looked back and saw dust rising in the distance.
“They’re gaining on us” Joven cried out, twenty feet up on a branch.
“How far?” Elio, the squad leader yelled back.
“Fifteen maybe twenty miles” Joven responded. “I just can see them yet”.
Elio thought for a second. “They’re running at full speed. They’ll reach the tree line by dusk.”
“They’ll be tired” Lobos added. “We can take on them in the cover of darkness, set up a couple of traps and…”
“We don’t know how many of them there are” Marte said catching his breath.
“Quiet! I’m trying to think” Elio shouted at the group. “Their trackers will know we’re still in the forest, too risky. The hills leading to the mountain pass are two days away and we don’t know if the phantom regiment will let us through,” he paused for a second looking at Robels. Robels was bleeding from his wounds.
“We need to meet them and fight them” Robels said.
“We don’t know how many…” Marte said when Elio cut him off. “Yes, we don’t know how many, but Exodus hill is just a day away. We can be there by morning and fight them inside the chamber!”
They all paused for a second looking at each other. Joven climbed down quickly. “It’s our only chance. I don’t think they have more than thirty, we can take them on in the chamber” Elio added.
“Yes” Toledo Vale, still carrying his dead friends’ tags around his neck said with his low husky voice. “They’ll be so confused, they’ll lose all strategy when their feet lift off the ground.”
Simon who had been quiet since they had buried their old platoon leader spoke up. “If we get there by morning, it’ll give us plenty of time to rest and confront them.”
“Then we all agree” Elio said.
They walked all night long. Joven, several feet ahead made sure there weren’t any traps. Lobos tried to cover their tracks and throw off their scent. By first light, they saw the edge of the valley and Exodus hill another seven miles away. Joven climbed up a tree to make sure it was all clear.
Once in the open they started running at steady pace. An hour into their run Lobos yelled out “They’re gaining on us”.
A squad of about forty men had cleared the trees and were several mile behind. As Elio ran next to Lobos, they all started smiling. They had reached Exodus.
Joven, the fastest runner, reached the hill first. He knew perfectly where the entrance to the old wreckage was.
They ran into the dark tunnel as the lights flickered. Engines whirred in the distance in the levels below. Joven pushed the heavy door open leading to the large dome shaped arena. The engines kicked in and the magnets locked the door only to become unlocked when the engines quit. A few seconds later, with all seven inside, the engines kicked in again and they became light, their feet came off the ground, their stomachs turned, all their gear became weightless like feathers.
By now Joven had started counting the seconds as the engines turned on and off, finding the pattern. The mechanism of the old wreckage, the U.S.S. Exodus, buried under dirt and grass, oddly enough still worked after so many decades. When the engines whirred, the anti-gravity chamber turned on and off for seconds at a time.
Marte was almost four feet up in the air when it turned off and he slammed to the metal floor landing on his feet. They counted and when the engines kicked in, Marte hovered in the air again.
They rested for nearly an hour, memorizing the seconds and the pattern: on five, off four, on six, off three, on twelve, off two, on fifteen, off eight and so forth. They could go full on the offensive when they were off.
Joven, never scared of heights, jumped at the right moment and floated ten feet up, swimming through the air reaching the chains that dangled from the ceiling and hung there by one hand. Lobos, now with dark camouflage face paint, hung upside down on the wall like a ghost, steadying himself on the wall hooks. Marte prepared the arrows with poisoned tips, ready to let them fly. Toledo Vale, on the opposite side of the arena held a ten foot heavy chain that slammed on the floor but picked up with ease like a silk scarf in slow motion when the gravity hit zero. Elio, Robels, and Simon stood strategically around the arena. They secured their feet on the floor hooks so as to not float way, ready with their palms on the pommels. They heard them coming down the tunnel.
“Ready?!” Elio yelled, his voice echoing and then getting lost in the dome as the engines whirred. The old playground was now a battle ground as they drew their swords.
never never land
im walking through a mirror
into never never land
i notice theres no talking here
time flows through an hour glass that ran out of sand
the air feels like liquid
its filling up my lungs
you walked through the mirror too?
don't listen to the walls with there wagging tongues
why are the portrait eyes moving?
my face is looking like wax,melting
at this game, im losing
why is the room tilting
funhouse mirrors
oh such fun
i wish i could see clearer
but that cant be done
you used to know me
not anymore
i decided to
strike a brand new chord
its at this point
i decide
i was born to be nobody
in this never never land
now the walls are closeing in
its getting hard to see
as the ligjhts dim
in this darkness
i can be
me
into never never land
i notice theres no talking here
time flows through an hour glass that ran out of sand
the air feels like liquid
its filling up my lungs
you walked through the mirror too?
don't listen to the walls with there wagging tongues
why are the portrait eyes moving?
my face is looking like wax,melting
at this game, im losing
why is the room tilting
funhouse mirrors
oh such fun
i wish i could see clearer
but that cant be done
you used to know me
not anymore
i decided to
strike a brand new chord
its at this point
i decide
i was born to be nobody
in this never never land
now the walls are closeing in
its getting hard to see
as the ligjhts dim
in this darkness
i can be
me
Written by yourdarkboi
(kersionix)
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