Fictional Prose by New Members

Blood still trickled from his open wounds. The taste of the sword gripped in his teeth was foul, the stain of dried black blood on the blade forced him to work at keeping his gorge down. He was without clothes or armor or adornment. Naked with nary a scabbard. Sweat glistened his muscles as they trembled with the struggle. His fingers searched for purchase, toes curling into fissures of the rock face. His belly scraped the roughness of the stones. Slowly he ascended. Maddeningly slow. The walls curved to either side of him forming a vertical tunnel that rose to the light above. He...

Only love , ultimately , can set me free...
Yet what now is love , other than a cost far too great ?
Shall I give up myself , again , for you ?
Shall I become as you are , or want me to be ?
Shall I break the bonds of togetherness , to find myself
at the brink of the lonely ?
Just for what , is this thing , called love ?
Halfway through the experience , I pause ,
if only to catch my breath...
I tackle it like a dilemma , and hold it , until
it yields...
And then in the release , the ecstacy...
In olofactory feedback loops...