Diary of the Fallen, Day 1.

The drop by drop is filling the puddle, the puddle of broken dreams.
Each night I fantasize of the killing spree conducted by a group of savages in bloody dreams of animals sacrificed for someones foggy illusions of perfection.
Each night a young maiden is praying on her knees for forgiveness to be cast among the humanity so they shall not parish in the eternal darkness and fire of hell. The screams of the un-dead kept Her lady awake during long, cold and freezing winter nights.
Children screaming 'cause of the terror in front of their eyes. Their families butchered by un-godly reapers who's scythes are stained with blood of the victims who are over two hundred years old.
Each night dreaming of nightmares which are coming out of hell as the demons are cutting off their heads in the memory of the great Fallen one.
No one knows where he lays, but what is known is the fact the Fallen shall rise again...