It Begins with a Keystroke ( Blinks) by AzraelLordoftheNight, literature
Literature
It Begins with a Keystroke ( Blinks)
It begins with a keystroke. Click. Then the world around me dissolves, like so much sand, falling apart…
Before my eyes, planets and stars. A blistering burst of canon fire flashes. A battle. Exploding ships and stations. Explosions ripping metal, ending lives, in silence. Blink…
A city. Oasis in a dessert. Bullets fly. Blood gushes. Rocket hits building. Rumble falls, bounces off a tank. Tank fires. Car destroyed. Pain. Blink…
Men screaming. Clad in armor; full plate, chainmail. Blues killing Reds. Reds killing Blues. Swords sing. Shield crash. Axes fall. Men die. The ground churned to mud. The dying trampled and drowned.
The Eighth Day
On the first day, God created the night.
On the second day, he made things hot and cold.
On the third day, he made victory and defeat.
On the fourth day, he made pain.
On the fifth day, he made death.
On the sixth day, he made man and said "Good luck."
And on the seventh day, he rested.
Crew of the Victory by AzraelLordoftheNight, literature
Literature
Crew of the Victory
Crew of the Victory
There she was imperious in her stillness. She hung there, floating in space like a sleeping titan. We entered through a thousand hatches and airlocks, bringing with us a thousand histories, and a thousand friends, and a thousand foes. We brought memories and stories of friends and family left far behind. Now we are one, the forgotten, anonymous enigma that exists in and runs the bowels beast.
The low growl of the N-space engine echoes in the superstructure. She lurches forward, startling the world with her son life. Worlds shrink back as her shadow graces their surface. All the while we go unnoticed toiling to keep the
12th birthday contest by AzraelLordoftheNight, literature
Literature
12th birthday contest
A young woman named Sharron loved making art, and practiced doodleing all day long to become the very best in all her town. But one day, she was completely stumped. She looked around her room, full of art pieces featuring mystical eagles, sci-fi landscapes of a futuristic Philadelphia, and a portrait of Ian McShane that looked so real, you could start a conversation with it. But nothing inspired her. Had she really created everything there was to create? Depressed, she looked out her window, and made a wish on a nearby hut for inspiration to return to her. The next morning, she sprung out of bed, and used her skill in doodleing to create the
Writing in Blood by AzraelLordoftheNight, literature
Literature
Writing in Blood
The scholar sits beyond his desk.
Reaching forward he places his box
Of tools and tricks
And deeds done well,
Upon the farthest edge.
Rom said sheath he draws his weapon to end all wars.
And unto his battle field it is set.
Where its tip lands
The land weeps red.
His weapon declares the end of all things
Its black writ calling for blood.
Now he sheaths his mighty pen
And brings said sheath from the farthest edge,
To walk among the dead.
Whom his weapon of ink and blood,
Hath claimed upon this day.
To Live as Death by AzraelLordoftheNight, literature
Literature
To Live as Death
To Live as Death
Gods die and mortals fall
As I rend flesh and soul
Bleed, bleed, all call for blood.
The thrashing,
The rending,
The pain and the screams,
Tortures of the flesh.
Gods die and mortals fall
As I rend flesh and soul
The thrashing at noght
Under my sheets,
In bed.
The rending of my hair from my head
As I howl at the night,
Crazed,
Mad.
The pain and the screams
Curdling and terrible,
Ring the same
Death,
Death I am Called.
Dance
How shall we dance,
Us frivolous men.
Shall we dance as our nature,
Wild and free.
Or shall we be is they want us,
Pensive and be gloomed.
Reading into every word,
Seeing into every fault,
Crimes against us.
Is that how we shall dance,
Dull and slow,
Endlessly looking
For a knife in our back
Guided slyly,
By the friend who dances before us.
Is this how we shall dance?
How shall we be?