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ships. vast ships, miles of metal and wires, fog and dust. Ships ghosting over the hidden sea, heading to the dim, half hidden docks. The horizon was black, with grey as it approached the silent, vast, metal travesties. Whisps of dust passed through the holes in the sides, and the scraping of metal on wood was barely heard, stifled in the gloom. Grey figures stood at the prows, silent, menacing. The ships moved in, and waited. Quiet. Stifled. Choking.
They waited on the docks. Their lights shone out, talking to each other with minds of their own. Dimly remembered, dimly foretold. A grand purpose. Ships, endless metal. The water was still as a sheet of glass, but still they moved. The piers, docks, beaches, all smothered with their silent throbbing, the booding dark swallowing one up into the distance, as another moved forwards to eat its way into the last of the light.
The seafront was bleak. Endless street lamps disappearing into the dark, smothered then breathing again. Behind, the city slept. A whine, a whine. His eyes opened, as a silver dart swept over the ships and fled into his mind, crying, crying. 3.21am, fizzling in and out. Voices in his head. Oh god the night before. Before? The night 3 hours ago. Three hours? 3? hours? He rolled over and looked down into the street, his bare arms disturbing the stillness, his movement the only catalyst in an infinity of..3 hours? an infinity of snakes as they crawled along his walls, eyes rolling in his head and he fell forwards and stood up. The voice in his head became more earnest. Dedication of a lost man. He was lost. She lay there, a hole in her head a hole a hole. Click. The gun was behind him, the cool metal rubbing against his hair. He walked forwards into the next room, and the next. There she was, sitting down, smiling. Click. I have crawled through the dark serpentines. Cascading hell. Wires rushed around the next room. Then he was still. He found himself back in his bed. Throbbing. There she was. Click. There she was. Dead.
Crash. A book smashed through his window. Jesus!
He woke up. He had to leave. He knew. An insistence. He fell forwards again and walked on, down and out and up until he was on the street. A small wind swirled around him, he could see the darts of intent as they whistled up and settled in the roofs, watching him, smirking. Endless streets. Broken lights. He began to walk. His coat pulled up around his head, he was a shadow within a shadow, gazing on a world long departed from everything that mattered. Bits of star were lying on the pavement. Pensive. He was pensive. And lost. Dedication of a lost man, this walk. He moved on. On through the streets webs of streets webs silky stripes falling down from on high, on high. In front were fluttering teeth and sparks. The lamposts leered and fell over only to be replaced by themselves, shadows flashing over and over the same empty spaces and guttering candles in low holes flashed and spluttered, burning on the fat of the city. He sank deeper into his coat, drawing out the slow descent into the depths of what lay in front and behind and all around oh ho! how it was all so very, very wrong. His skin crawled as he swept past the last of the street lamps, its gaze burning into his back, the thin red firmness of the light encased in a hazy fog that looked faintly green and polluted in the night, the red looking down and cutting scars on his neck, scars it only had to wait for.
The city was gone, he was out amongst the lights of the seafront. Ahead of him was the line of ships. Lines intertwined and twisting, metal upon metal, flesh crushed in an alien’s grip. Click. The gun was behind him again. A cold sweat. Oh? Oh? So you think this is it? This is nothing. The city has gone, but we still have to sort this. A book on a bed, his life was a book, the pages began to turn, faster and faster, too fast, flicking, pages slapping down on the next, his eyes desperate to see anything they could but it was too fast too fast oh how this was plain sailing, another speck on his vista, the reason for his dedication! Click, and he walked on. Pages slowed, but the corners curled up, waiting. Waiting.
A grey figure watched, and smiled. Menace. Hate.
Click. The bullet smashed through his neck, and out through his mouth. Silent agony. The whole world opened up in his head, and he rushed across memory and dream, terrible expanses of white noise, a keening sound playing through the mouths of children as he walked her through the park. No. you don’t get away now, no no
he was back, the bullet spinning away from him and carrying on, dead straight, dead. he groped outwards, but it was no use terribly slow everything was slow and NOW he moved forwards and NOW he groped and NOW he was forced. He walked on, defiant and upright, following his killer, himself. Lost. He walked on up a pier, the lights fading behind him, swallowed into the morass of metal ahead. He walked on, down, down into the growing canyon of sheets. The page began to turn.
He saw grey figures, above, alone, distant, dying, defiant. They had no features, just shape, swirling out and around the structures. He looked around and walked into the gloom, purpose for purpose’s sake. His foot got stuck. He pulled it up and it carried on, lifting him up before Click! and he fell back down, crashing into wood that yielded beneath him no! no! Oh! NOW he grasped onto the sides, his fingers digging into the wood, blood wellig up from the wounds he inflicted on it. He screeched and cried out, but the dusty grey choked him, smiled at him, its eyes in his, his in its, what what?
Click. He was back on the pier, walking on, the bullet had fallen on the pier, stopped dead. He fell onto it and hated it, but it eluded him. Then. Then. He got up, he was in the lost part now, beyond everything and in the centre of nothing. Ships, metal, towers, vast horns and sounds collided far, far above, but for him it was dim light and a gnawing knowingness. NOW. the first page turned, and it was on
wires, rushing wires, moved forwards and he looked up as they tore the sky open in front of him and then click! the bullet was flying again and he was it and oh god no. it was her, he was it, she was going to die. the sky fell apart as he plunged headlong into the abyss, the vast canyon of static and the truth consumed him, tore him apart even as he sped towards her swathes of crashing screaming humans beneath and above and around him endless endless oh god oh peace make itendmakeitendnowplease the bullet i cant be the bullet no dont let me be it dont haha this is stupid ahahaha youmoron wake up but and he flew on straight and true and he smashed into her and she diedandshediedandherwhiteskin creasedandburned and it and and and the worldfellapartinbloodandscreamsand pagesturnedandturnedand crashedand broke and tore and fluttered into the maw, the writhing disaster all around him, metal and blood the metal crashed to the ground and the ships bubbled and boiled and then greyfiguresandandand it was black and the sea and city vanished
click
he woke up. Jesus, what a mess. He got up, went for some milk, and went outside. What a nice street! Clean lawns and fresh trees, green and red and yellow and brown and all the colours he’d lost in that nasty dream! crash. a book fell on his bed but he didn’t hear it, and the page began to turn, ever so slowly, and the sky began to take a decidedly dark tinge.
They waited on the docks. Their lights shone out, talking to each other with minds of their own. Dimly remembered, dimly foretold. A grand purpose. Ships, endless metal. The water was still as a sheet of glass, but still they moved. The piers, docks, beaches, all smothered with their silent throbbing, the booding dark swallowing one up into the distance, as another moved forwards to eat its way into the last of the light.
The seafront was bleak. Endless street lamps disappearing into the dark, smothered then breathing again. Behind, the city slept. A whine, a whine. His eyes opened, as a silver dart swept over the ships and fled into his mind, crying, crying. 3.21am, fizzling in and out. Voices in his head. Oh god the night before. Before? The night 3 hours ago. Three hours? 3? hours? He rolled over and looked down into the street, his bare arms disturbing the stillness, his movement the only catalyst in an infinity of..3 hours? an infinity of snakes as they crawled along his walls, eyes rolling in his head and he fell forwards and stood up. The voice in his head became more earnest. Dedication of a lost man. He was lost. She lay there, a hole in her head a hole a hole. Click. The gun was behind him, the cool metal rubbing against his hair. He walked forwards into the next room, and the next. There she was, sitting down, smiling. Click. I have crawled through the dark serpentines. Cascading hell. Wires rushed around the next room. Then he was still. He found himself back in his bed. Throbbing. There she was. Click. There she was. Dead.
Crash. A book smashed through his window. Jesus!
He woke up. He had to leave. He knew. An insistence. He fell forwards again and walked on, down and out and up until he was on the street. A small wind swirled around him, he could see the darts of intent as they whistled up and settled in the roofs, watching him, smirking. Endless streets. Broken lights. He began to walk. His coat pulled up around his head, he was a shadow within a shadow, gazing on a world long departed from everything that mattered. Bits of star were lying on the pavement. Pensive. He was pensive. And lost. Dedication of a lost man, this walk. He moved on. On through the streets webs of streets webs silky stripes falling down from on high, on high. In front were fluttering teeth and sparks. The lamposts leered and fell over only to be replaced by themselves, shadows flashing over and over the same empty spaces and guttering candles in low holes flashed and spluttered, burning on the fat of the city. He sank deeper into his coat, drawing out the slow descent into the depths of what lay in front and behind and all around oh ho! how it was all so very, very wrong. His skin crawled as he swept past the last of the street lamps, its gaze burning into his back, the thin red firmness of the light encased in a hazy fog that looked faintly green and polluted in the night, the red looking down and cutting scars on his neck, scars it only had to wait for.
The city was gone, he was out amongst the lights of the seafront. Ahead of him was the line of ships. Lines intertwined and twisting, metal upon metal, flesh crushed in an alien’s grip. Click. The gun was behind him again. A cold sweat. Oh? Oh? So you think this is it? This is nothing. The city has gone, but we still have to sort this. A book on a bed, his life was a book, the pages began to turn, faster and faster, too fast, flicking, pages slapping down on the next, his eyes desperate to see anything they could but it was too fast too fast oh how this was plain sailing, another speck on his vista, the reason for his dedication! Click, and he walked on. Pages slowed, but the corners curled up, waiting. Waiting.
A grey figure watched, and smiled. Menace. Hate.
Click. The bullet smashed through his neck, and out through his mouth. Silent agony. The whole world opened up in his head, and he rushed across memory and dream, terrible expanses of white noise, a keening sound playing through the mouths of children as he walked her through the park. No. you don’t get away now, no no
he was back, the bullet spinning away from him and carrying on, dead straight, dead. he groped outwards, but it was no use terribly slow everything was slow and NOW he moved forwards and NOW he groped and NOW he was forced. He walked on, defiant and upright, following his killer, himself. Lost. He walked on up a pier, the lights fading behind him, swallowed into the morass of metal ahead. He walked on, down, down into the growing canyon of sheets. The page began to turn.
He saw grey figures, above, alone, distant, dying, defiant. They had no features, just shape, swirling out and around the structures. He looked around and walked into the gloom, purpose for purpose’s sake. His foot got stuck. He pulled it up and it carried on, lifting him up before Click! and he fell back down, crashing into wood that yielded beneath him no! no! Oh! NOW he grasped onto the sides, his fingers digging into the wood, blood wellig up from the wounds he inflicted on it. He screeched and cried out, but the dusty grey choked him, smiled at him, its eyes in his, his in its, what what?
Click. He was back on the pier, walking on, the bullet had fallen on the pier, stopped dead. He fell onto it and hated it, but it eluded him. Then. Then. He got up, he was in the lost part now, beyond everything and in the centre of nothing. Ships, metal, towers, vast horns and sounds collided far, far above, but for him it was dim light and a gnawing knowingness. NOW. the first page turned, and it was on
wires, rushing wires, moved forwards and he looked up as they tore the sky open in front of him and then click! the bullet was flying again and he was it and oh god no. it was her, he was it, she was going to die. the sky fell apart as he plunged headlong into the abyss, the vast canyon of static and the truth consumed him, tore him apart even as he sped towards her swathes of crashing screaming humans beneath and above and around him endless endless oh god oh peace make itendmakeitendnowplease the bullet i cant be the bullet no dont let me be it dont haha this is stupid ahahaha youmoron wake up but and he flew on straight and true and he smashed into her and she diedandshediedandherwhiteskin creasedandburned and it and and and the worldfellapartinbloodandscreamsand pagesturnedandturnedand crashedand broke and tore and fluttered into the maw, the writhing disaster all around him, metal and blood the metal crashed to the ground and the ships bubbled and boiled and then greyfiguresandandand it was black and the sea and city vanished
click
he woke up. Jesus, what a mess. He got up, went for some milk, and went outside. What a nice street! Clean lawns and fresh trees, green and red and yellow and brown and all the colours he’d lost in that nasty dream! crash. a book fell on his bed but he didn’t hear it, and the page began to turn, ever so slowly, and the sky began to take a decidedly dark tinge.
I like.
I read this on the other side, which now I cannot log into because I did this -- 9kd*7@0yujg -- with my password.
I read this on the other side, which now I cannot log into because I did this -- 9kd*7@0yujg -- with my password.
ships. vast ships, miles of metal and wires, fog and dust. Ships ghosting over the hidden sea, heading to the dim, half hidden docks. The horizon was black, with grey as it approached the silent, vast, metal travesties. Whisps of dust passed through the holes in the sides, and the scraping of metal on wood was barely heard, stifled in the gloom. Grey figures stood at the prows, silent, menacing. The ships moved in, and waited. Quiet. Stifled. Choking.
They waited on the docks. Their lights shone out, talking to each other with minds of their own. Dimly remembered, dimly foretold. A grand purpose. Ships, endless metal. The water was still as a sheet of glass, but still they moved. The piers, docks, beaches, all smothered with their silent throbbing, the booding dark swallowing one up into the distance, as another moved forwards to eat its way into the last of the light.
The seafront was bleak. Endless street lamps disappearing into the dark, smothered then breathing again. Behind, the city slept. A whine, a whine. His eyes opened, as a silver dart swept over the ships and fled into his mind, crying, crying. 3.21am, fizzling in and out. Voices in his head. Oh god the night before. Before? The night 3 hours ago. Three hours? 3? hours? He rolled over and looked down into the street, his bare arms disturbing the stillness, his movement the only catalyst in an infinity of..3 hours? an infinity of snakes as they crawled along his walls, eyes rolling in his head and he fell forwards and stood up. The voice in his head became more earnest. Dedication of a lost man. He was lost. She lay there, a hole in her head a hole a hole. Click. The gun was behind him, the cool metal rubbing against his hair. He walked forwards into the next room, and the next. There she was, sitting down, smiling. Click. I have crawled through the dark serpentines. Cascading hell. Wires rushed around the next room. Then he was still. He found himself back in his bed. Throbbing. There she was. Click. There she was. Dead.
Crash. A book smashed through his window. Jesus!
He woke up. He had to leave. He knew. An insistence. He fell forwards again and walked on, down and out and up until he was on the street. A small wind swirled around him, he could see the darts of intent as they whistled up and settled in the roofs, watching him, smirking. Endless streets. Broken lights. He began to walk. His coat pulled up around his head, he was a shadow within a shadow, gazing on a world long departed from everything that mattered. Bits of star were lying on the pavement. Pensive. He was pensive. And lost. Dedication of a lost man, this walk. He moved on. On through the streets webs of streets webs silky stripes falling down from on high, on high. In front were fluttering teeth and sparks. The lamposts leered and fell over only to be replaced by themselves, shadows flashing over and over the same empty spaces and guttering candles in low holes flashed and spluttered, burning on the fat of the city. He sank deeper into his coat, drawing out the slow descent into the depths of what lay in front and behind and all around oh ho! how it was all so very, very wrong. His skin crawled as he swept past the last of the street lamps, its gaze burning into his back, the thin red firmness of the light encased in a hazy fog that looked faintly green and polluted in the night, the red looking down and cutting scars on his neck, scars it only had to wait for.
The city was gone, he was out amongst the lights of the seafront. Ahead of him was the line of ships. Lines intertwined and twisting, metal upon metal, flesh crushed in an alien’s grip. Click. The gun was behind him again. A cold sweat. Oh? Oh? So you think this is it? This is nothing. The city has gone, but we still have to sort this. A book on a bed, his life was a book, the pages began to turn, faster and faster, too fast, flicking, pages slapping down on the next, his eyes desperate to see anything they could but it was too fast too fast oh how this was plain sailing, another speck on his vista, the reason for his dedication! Click, and he walked on. Pages slowed, but the corners curled up, waiting. Waiting.
A grey figure watched, and smiled. Menace. Hate.
Click. The bullet smashed through his neck, and out through his mouth. Silent agony. The whole world opened up in his head, and he rushed across memory and dream, terrible expanses of white noise, a keening sound playing through the mouths of children as he walked her through the park. No. you don’t get away now, no no
he was back, the bullet spinning away from him and carrying on, dead straight, dead. he groped outwards, but it was no use terribly slow everything was slow and NOW he moved forwards and NOW he groped and NOW he was forced. He walked on, defiant and upright, following his killer, himself. Lost. He walked on up a pier, the lights fading behind him, swallowed into the morass of metal ahead. He walked on, down, down into the growing canyon of sheets. The page began to turn.
He saw grey figures, above, alone, distant, dying, defiant. They had no features, just shape, swirling out and around the structures. He looked around and walked into the gloom, purpose for purpose’s sake. His foot got stuck. He pulled it up and it carried on, lifting him up before Click! and he fell back down, crashing into wood that yielded beneath him no! no! Oh! NOW he grasped onto the sides, his fingers digging into the wood, blood wellig up from the wounds he inflicted on it. He screeched and cried out, but the dusty grey choked him, smiled at him, its eyes in his, his in its, what what?
Click. He was back on the pier, walking on, the bullet had fallen on the pier, stopped dead. He fell onto it and hated it, but it eluded him. Then. Then. He got up, he was in the lost part now, beyond everything and in the centre of nothing. Ships, metal, towers, vast horns and sounds collided far, far above, but for him it was dim light and a gnawing knowingness. NOW. the first page turned, and it was on
wires, rushing wires, moved forwards and he looked up as they tore the sky open in front of him and then click! the bullet was flying again and he was it and oh god no. it was her, he was it, she was going to die. the sky fell apart as he plunged headlong into the abyss, the vast canyon of static and the truth consumed him, tore him apart even as he sped towards her swathes of crashing screaming humans beneath and above and around him endless endless oh god oh peace make itendmakeitendnowplease the bullet i cant be the bullet no dont let me be it dont haha this is stupid ahahaha youmoron wake up but and he flew on straight and true and he smashed into her and she diedandshediedandherwhiteskin creasedandburned and it and and and the worldfellapartinbloodandscreamsand pagesturnedandturnedand crashedand broke and tore and fluttered into the maw, the writhing disaster all around him, metal and blood the metal crashed to the ground and the ships bubbled and boiled and then greyfiguresandandand it was black and the sea and city vanished
click
he woke up. Jesus, what a mess. He got up, went for some milk, and went outside. What a nice street! Clean lawns and fresh trees, green and red and yellow and brown and all the colours he’d lost in that nasty dream! crash. a book fell on his bed but he didn’t hear it, and the page began to turn, ever so slowly, and the sky began to take a decidedly dark tinge.
They waited on the docks. Their lights shone out, talking to each other with minds of their own. Dimly remembered, dimly foretold. A grand purpose. Ships, endless metal. The water was still as a sheet of glass, but still they moved. The piers, docks, beaches, all smothered with their silent throbbing, the booding dark swallowing one up into the distance, as another moved forwards to eat its way into the last of the light.
The seafront was bleak. Endless street lamps disappearing into the dark, smothered then breathing again. Behind, the city slept. A whine, a whine. His eyes opened, as a silver dart swept over the ships and fled into his mind, crying, crying. 3.21am, fizzling in and out. Voices in his head. Oh god the night before. Before? The night 3 hours ago. Three hours? 3? hours? He rolled over and looked down into the street, his bare arms disturbing the stillness, his movement the only catalyst in an infinity of..3 hours? an infinity of snakes as they crawled along his walls, eyes rolling in his head and he fell forwards and stood up. The voice in his head became more earnest. Dedication of a lost man. He was lost. She lay there, a hole in her head a hole a hole. Click. The gun was behind him, the cool metal rubbing against his hair. He walked forwards into the next room, and the next. There she was, sitting down, smiling. Click. I have crawled through the dark serpentines. Cascading hell. Wires rushed around the next room. Then he was still. He found himself back in his bed. Throbbing. There she was. Click. There she was. Dead.
Crash. A book smashed through his window. Jesus!
He woke up. He had to leave. He knew. An insistence. He fell forwards again and walked on, down and out and up until he was on the street. A small wind swirled around him, he could see the darts of intent as they whistled up and settled in the roofs, watching him, smirking. Endless streets. Broken lights. He began to walk. His coat pulled up around his head, he was a shadow within a shadow, gazing on a world long departed from everything that mattered. Bits of star were lying on the pavement. Pensive. He was pensive. And lost. Dedication of a lost man, this walk. He moved on. On through the streets webs of streets webs silky stripes falling down from on high, on high. In front were fluttering teeth and sparks. The lamposts leered and fell over only to be replaced by themselves, shadows flashing over and over the same empty spaces and guttering candles in low holes flashed and spluttered, burning on the fat of the city. He sank deeper into his coat, drawing out the slow descent into the depths of what lay in front and behind and all around oh ho! how it was all so very, very wrong. His skin crawled as he swept past the last of the street lamps, its gaze burning into his back, the thin red firmness of the light encased in a hazy fog that looked faintly green and polluted in the night, the red looking down and cutting scars on his neck, scars it only had to wait for.
The city was gone, he was out amongst the lights of the seafront. Ahead of him was the line of ships. Lines intertwined and twisting, metal upon metal, flesh crushed in an alien’s grip. Click. The gun was behind him again. A cold sweat. Oh? Oh? So you think this is it? This is nothing. The city has gone, but we still have to sort this. A book on a bed, his life was a book, the pages began to turn, faster and faster, too fast, flicking, pages slapping down on the next, his eyes desperate to see anything they could but it was too fast too fast oh how this was plain sailing, another speck on his vista, the reason for his dedication! Click, and he walked on. Pages slowed, but the corners curled up, waiting. Waiting.
A grey figure watched, and smiled. Menace. Hate.
Click. The bullet smashed through his neck, and out through his mouth. Silent agony. The whole world opened up in his head, and he rushed across memory and dream, terrible expanses of white noise, a keening sound playing through the mouths of children as he walked her through the park. No. you don’t get away now, no no
he was back, the bullet spinning away from him and carrying on, dead straight, dead. he groped outwards, but it was no use terribly slow everything was slow and NOW he moved forwards and NOW he groped and NOW he was forced. He walked on, defiant and upright, following his killer, himself. Lost. He walked on up a pier, the lights fading behind him, swallowed into the morass of metal ahead. He walked on, down, down into the growing canyon of sheets. The page began to turn.
He saw grey figures, above, alone, distant, dying, defiant. They had no features, just shape, swirling out and around the structures. He looked around and walked into the gloom, purpose for purpose’s sake. His foot got stuck. He pulled it up and it carried on, lifting him up before Click! and he fell back down, crashing into wood that yielded beneath him no! no! Oh! NOW he grasped onto the sides, his fingers digging into the wood, blood wellig up from the wounds he inflicted on it. He screeched and cried out, but the dusty grey choked him, smiled at him, its eyes in his, his in its, what what?
Click. He was back on the pier, walking on, the bullet had fallen on the pier, stopped dead. He fell onto it and hated it, but it eluded him. Then. Then. He got up, he was in the lost part now, beyond everything and in the centre of nothing. Ships, metal, towers, vast horns and sounds collided far, far above, but for him it was dim light and a gnawing knowingness. NOW. the first page turned, and it was on
wires, rushing wires, moved forwards and he looked up as they tore the sky open in front of him and then click! the bullet was flying again and he was it and oh god no. it was her, he was it, she was going to die. the sky fell apart as he plunged headlong into the abyss, the vast canyon of static and the truth consumed him, tore him apart even as he sped towards her swathes of crashing screaming humans beneath and above and around him endless endless oh god oh peace make itendmakeitendnowplease the bullet i cant be the bullet no dont let me be it dont haha this is stupid ahahaha youmoron wake up but and he flew on straight and true and he smashed into her and she diedandshediedandherwhiteskin creasedandburned and it and and and the worldfellapartinbloodandscreamsand pagesturnedandturnedand crashedand broke and tore and fluttered into the maw, the writhing disaster all around him, metal and blood the metal crashed to the ground and the ships bubbled and boiled and then greyfiguresandandand it was black and the sea and city vanished
click
he woke up. Jesus, what a mess. He got up, went for some milk, and went outside. What a nice street! Clean lawns and fresh trees, green and red and yellow and brown and all the colours he’d lost in that nasty dream! crash. a book fell on his bed but he didn’t hear it, and the page began to turn, ever so slowly, and the sky began to take a decidedly dark tinge.