A Collection of Poems and Short Stories

World Within

The rain and mist that fell around them was not the life giving water it had been in the world above them. It was thick and refused to be easily washed away. It's sickening scent clung to every surface it touched and no one could escape it. It was the rain their master danced in. The rain their master drank like wine and it flowed freely from their captives and slaves.

Each crack of the whip was like a crash of thunder and each shriek a bolt of lightning. The rain flowed from their flesh like a river flooding its banks. It pooled in a lake the size of the sea, it's scent drifting from the surface and lingering in the air.

The searing heat of their world did little to help the smell of the liquid their master adored. Each day, the heat would appear like a flash of light and linger throughout the day then disappear and leave crimson ice behind. The heat was more than just heat. It gathered in their throats, choking them with its heavy hand. It baked their skin each day, leaving blisters and burns on their skin. As the world plummeted into darkness, the air that had been suffocating left their lungs and left them gasping for breath. The cold seeped into their bones, freezing the flesh and leaving their bodies dead in various places. In the morning, they would thaw, then burn, then freeze again. They dreaded and adored both the night and the day. One brought relief to the pain the other had caused and brought with it it's own agony.

One thousand years they had remained in this world. Nine hundred years they had induced agony on mortals, telling them selves with each crack of the whip that they deserved their punishment. No longer were they human, but mere creatures that did the biding of their master like trained dogs. No longer did they feel the pain of inflicting the same pain they had suffered for one hundred years. They had broken. They had become the heartless beasts they had sworn they would never become.

Pain was now their friend, Death their master, scream of agony their music, and blood their wine. Their souls had become as dark as the heart of their master, their eyes holding nothing but morbid glee. They laughed at the fear in their victims eyes, danced to the screams that tore from their broken throats, and sang along to the sobs of the people they broke. 

And in the world above, through the orbs of which the sun rose and set, their voices raged under the black river that flowed from the olive scalp that split the rivers. In the world above, each breath was taken and felt in the world of agony. Each scream that echoed through the blistering world within deepened the frown of the mountains that stretched across the olive plains and furrowed the forests that grew above the blue seas. Each crack of the whip, each cry of the broken, each laugh of the heartless creatures, broke the barriers between the worlds. Should the wall crumble, they would be released, and the olive mountain, within which they were held, would become the creature they had become. 

A/N I want to hear your thoughts on this one. What do you think of the ending?