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It's been 12 years now since it broke out; I still remember the days of prosperity, when we were free from the evil infestation that has stormed our land so easily.
One person is all it takes, and one person is all it took. A doctor, just an ordinary man with an ambition. He wanted to make something people would remember him for centuries to come. He was a gentle man, kind and heartily, not dissimilar to my own father before he fell under.
He never really meant for it to happen how it did. He was experimenting, a bit of brain tissue there, a little be here. Just seeing what could be done with the marvel that is human kind. The way he looked at new corpses that were brought in was like a child on his first birthday; such delight as he could for yet more essential parts, yet I always knew he felt for the dead, and prayed before each autopsy took place. He never thought of the consequences; just the idea of him going down as a genius, someone our grand children would look up on as some sort of miracle worker. To be honest, I don't think even he knew what he was trying to accomplish with the experimentation. We all thought he'd aim for the impossible, and endless nights working away seemed to prove that theory right.
Then one day... it was done. He claimed to have found a new cure for illness, in the form of microscopic life that could cure anything from the common cold to a bad rash. Contained experiments on humans showed they infected those who were ill and within a few days, they were fine. This miracle was to be true.
But then when they got loose, they got vicious. No one knows why, but they did. More and more people began to get infected by the parasitic beings and got the illnesses the cure previously destroyed. They couldn't be stopped; all people could do was hope they weren't next.
Then they evolved. To what they are now, the Oddthought Militia that they have become in this very day and age. A war of sorts broke out, a war in which we could not win, we had no means to fight such an army. The darkened hearts soon drowned our soldiers. As the corpses decayed, they got ever stronger. The people of our world could only stare at our fellow humans, ripped to pieces by the invisible force.
Now all live in fear. Such an evolution has caused them to read thoughts; why must such an advancement be so dark within?
No one knows what the 'Oddthought' is. After 12 years of pain, of heartache and death, the Oddthought , which these monsters strike for, is still unknown. You see, if someone who is carrying this virus thinks of the 'Oddthought', the army of militia infest the brain, chew away on that persons very being. They take control of that person and never let go.
That is why our people live in fear. That is why they repeat the same word over in over in their mind, a word they know to be safe. That is while tears roll down their faces at any time. That is why they're screaming at the very back of their minds, terrified as the infection draws ever closer. Fear is no longer an option, fear is a command. The invisible army has won.
Half our population live in fear, half live under the control of the Oddthought Militia. The rest lie littered around the Earth; decaying as the virus lives on. All that is left of them is the same screaming that silenced the world, the same shriek that lives in all today. The fear that also lays to rest with the dead.
Then there's me. High up. No, not a god, simply an almighty figure. I don't know why my father let this loose, but after he was caught by them, after he himself fell under, after he was infested by the darkness, I knew I had to carry on his mission. He shall be remembered now, in the minds of those who are horrified by living in such a world. The Oddthought is now my child, I harnessed it to grasp whatever thought I wanted.
Now I live like my father wanted to; under an eternal reign, the people shall slowly shrivel to nothing, shrouded in the voices of those who died, screaming at them until their minds are but noise. Then the militia, my militia, shall reproduce them. Keep the fear of my father’s brainchild living.
So when my people shout for "Help!"... my militia shall kindly oblige.
Thanks for reading
RiCkOsS
One person is all it takes, and one person is all it took. A doctor, just an ordinary man with an ambition. He wanted to make something people would remember him for centuries to come. He was a gentle man, kind and heartily, not dissimilar to my own father before he fell under.
He never really meant for it to happen how it did. He was experimenting, a bit of brain tissue there, a little be here. Just seeing what could be done with the marvel that is human kind. The way he looked at new corpses that were brought in was like a child on his first birthday; such delight as he could for yet more essential parts, yet I always knew he felt for the dead, and prayed before each autopsy took place. He never thought of the consequences; just the idea of him going down as a genius, someone our grand children would look up on as some sort of miracle worker. To be honest, I don't think even he knew what he was trying to accomplish with the experimentation. We all thought he'd aim for the impossible, and endless nights working away seemed to prove that theory right.
Then one day... it was done. He claimed to have found a new cure for illness, in the form of microscopic life that could cure anything from the common cold to a bad rash. Contained experiments on humans showed they infected those who were ill and within a few days, they were fine. This miracle was to be true.
But then when they got loose, they got vicious. No one knows why, but they did. More and more people began to get infected by the parasitic beings and got the illnesses the cure previously destroyed. They couldn't be stopped; all people could do was hope they weren't next.
Then they evolved. To what they are now, the Oddthought Militia that they have become in this very day and age. A war of sorts broke out, a war in which we could not win, we had no means to fight such an army. The darkened hearts soon drowned our soldiers. As the corpses decayed, they got ever stronger. The people of our world could only stare at our fellow humans, ripped to pieces by the invisible force.
Now all live in fear. Such an evolution has caused them to read thoughts; why must such an advancement be so dark within?
No one knows what the 'Oddthought' is. After 12 years of pain, of heartache and death, the Oddthought , which these monsters strike for, is still unknown. You see, if someone who is carrying this virus thinks of the 'Oddthought', the army of militia infest the brain, chew away on that persons very being. They take control of that person and never let go.
That is why our people live in fear. That is why they repeat the same word over in over in their mind, a word they know to be safe. That is while tears roll down their faces at any time. That is why they're screaming at the very back of their minds, terrified as the infection draws ever closer. Fear is no longer an option, fear is a command. The invisible army has won.
Half our population live in fear, half live under the control of the Oddthought Militia. The rest lie littered around the Earth; decaying as the virus lives on. All that is left of them is the same screaming that silenced the world, the same shriek that lives in all today. The fear that also lays to rest with the dead.
Then there's me. High up. No, not a god, simply an almighty figure. I don't know why my father let this loose, but after he was caught by them, after he himself fell under, after he was infested by the darkness, I knew I had to carry on his mission. He shall be remembered now, in the minds of those who are horrified by living in such a world. The Oddthought is now my child, I harnessed it to grasp whatever thought I wanted.
Now I live like my father wanted to; under an eternal reign, the people shall slowly shrivel to nothing, shrouded in the voices of those who died, screaming at them until their minds are but noise. Then the militia, my militia, shall reproduce them. Keep the fear of my father’s brainchild living.
So when my people shout for "Help!"... my militia shall kindly oblige.
Thanks for reading
RiCkOsS
Muh, one final POP. I was quite happy with that, too.
Cheers for the comments (and a subtle POP ;-)).
Bling! :-) Liked that chief.
God, I meant to write 'good one'.
g-odd one.
It's been 12 years now since it broke out; I still remember the days of prosperity, when we were free from the evil infestation that has stormed our land so easily.
One person is all it takes, and one person is all it took. A doctor, just an ordinary man with an ambition. He wanted to make something people would remember him for centuries to come. He was a gentle man, kind and heartily, not dissimilar to my own father before he fell under.
He never really meant for it to happen how it did. He was experimenting, a bit of brain tissue there, a little be here. Just seeing what could be done with the marvel that is human kind. The way he looked at new corpses that were brought in was like a child on his first birthday; such delight as he could for yet more essential parts, yet I always knew he felt for the dead, and prayed before each autopsy took place. He never thought of the consequences; just the idea of him going down as a genius, someone our grand children would look up on as some sort of miracle worker. To be honest, I don't think even he knew what he was trying to accomplish with the experimentation. We all thought he'd aim for the impossible, and endless nights working away seemed to prove that theory right.
Then one day... it was done. He claimed to have found a new cure for illness, in the form of microscopic life that could cure anything from the common cold to a bad rash. Contained experiments on humans showed they infected those who were ill and within a few days, they were fine. This miracle was to be true.
But then when they got loose, they got vicious. No one knows why, but they did. More and more people began to get infected by the parasitic beings and got the illnesses the cure previously destroyed. They couldn't be stopped; all people could do was hope they weren't next.
Then they evolved. To what they are now, the Oddthought Militia that they have become in this very day and age. A war of sorts broke out, a war in which we could not win, we had no means to fight such an army. The darkened hearts soon drowned our soldiers. As the corpses decayed, they got ever stronger. The people of our world could only stare at our fellow humans, ripped to pieces by the invisible force.
Now all live in fear. Such an evolution has caused them to read thoughts; why must such an advancement be so dark within?
No one knows what the 'Oddthought' is. After 12 years of pain, of heartache and death, the Oddthought , which these monsters strike for, is still unknown. You see, if someone who is carrying this virus thinks of the 'Oddthought', the army of militia infest the brain, chew away on that persons very being. They take control of that person and never let go.
That is why our people live in fear. That is why they repeat the same word over in over in their mind, a word they know to be safe. That is while tears roll down their faces at any time. That is why they're screaming at the very back of their minds, terrified as the infection draws ever closer. Fear is no longer an option, fear is a command. The invisible army has won.
Half our population live in fear, half live under the control of the Oddthought Militia. The rest lie littered around the Earth; decaying as the virus lives on. All that is left of them is the same screaming that silenced the world, the same shriek that lives in all today. The fear that also lays to rest with the dead.
Then there's me. High up. No, not a god, simply an almighty figure. I don't know why my father let this loose, but after he was caught by them, after he himself fell under, after he was infested by the darkness, I knew I had to carry on his mission. He shall be remembered now, in the minds of those who are horrified by living in such a world. The Oddthought is now my child, I harnessed it to grasp whatever thought I wanted.
Now I live like my father wanted to; under an eternal reign, the people shall slowly shrivel to nothing, shrouded in the voices of those who died, screaming at them until their minds are but noise. Then the militia, my militia, shall reproduce them. Keep the fear of my father’s brainchild living.
So when my people shout for "Help!"... my militia shall kindly oblige.
Thanks for reading
RiCkOsS
One person is all it takes, and one person is all it took. A doctor, just an ordinary man with an ambition. He wanted to make something people would remember him for centuries to come. He was a gentle man, kind and heartily, not dissimilar to my own father before he fell under.
He never really meant for it to happen how it did. He was experimenting, a bit of brain tissue there, a little be here. Just seeing what could be done with the marvel that is human kind. The way he looked at new corpses that were brought in was like a child on his first birthday; such delight as he could for yet more essential parts, yet I always knew he felt for the dead, and prayed before each autopsy took place. He never thought of the consequences; just the idea of him going down as a genius, someone our grand children would look up on as some sort of miracle worker. To be honest, I don't think even he knew what he was trying to accomplish with the experimentation. We all thought he'd aim for the impossible, and endless nights working away seemed to prove that theory right.
Then one day... it was done. He claimed to have found a new cure for illness, in the form of microscopic life that could cure anything from the common cold to a bad rash. Contained experiments on humans showed they infected those who were ill and within a few days, they were fine. This miracle was to be true.
But then when they got loose, they got vicious. No one knows why, but they did. More and more people began to get infected by the parasitic beings and got the illnesses the cure previously destroyed. They couldn't be stopped; all people could do was hope they weren't next.
Then they evolved. To what they are now, the Oddthought Militia that they have become in this very day and age. A war of sorts broke out, a war in which we could not win, we had no means to fight such an army. The darkened hearts soon drowned our soldiers. As the corpses decayed, they got ever stronger. The people of our world could only stare at our fellow humans, ripped to pieces by the invisible force.
Now all live in fear. Such an evolution has caused them to read thoughts; why must such an advancement be so dark within?
No one knows what the 'Oddthought' is. After 12 years of pain, of heartache and death, the Oddthought , which these monsters strike for, is still unknown. You see, if someone who is carrying this virus thinks of the 'Oddthought', the army of militia infest the brain, chew away on that persons very being. They take control of that person and never let go.
That is why our people live in fear. That is why they repeat the same word over in over in their mind, a word they know to be safe. That is while tears roll down their faces at any time. That is why they're screaming at the very back of their minds, terrified as the infection draws ever closer. Fear is no longer an option, fear is a command. The invisible army has won.
Half our population live in fear, half live under the control of the Oddthought Militia. The rest lie littered around the Earth; decaying as the virus lives on. All that is left of them is the same screaming that silenced the world, the same shriek that lives in all today. The fear that also lays to rest with the dead.
Then there's me. High up. No, not a god, simply an almighty figure. I don't know why my father let this loose, but after he was caught by them, after he himself fell under, after he was infested by the darkness, I knew I had to carry on his mission. He shall be remembered now, in the minds of those who are horrified by living in such a world. The Oddthought is now my child, I harnessed it to grasp whatever thought I wanted.
Now I live like my father wanted to; under an eternal reign, the people shall slowly shrivel to nothing, shrouded in the voices of those who died, screaming at them until their minds are but noise. Then the militia, my militia, shall reproduce them. Keep the fear of my father’s brainchild living.
So when my people shout for "Help!"... my militia shall kindly oblige.
Thanks for reading
RiCkOsS