The Game
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WpMetadataNoticeLaatst gepubliceerd maa, feb. 18, 2013
In a lowly-populated part of America, there's a Nature Reserve, for birds. It's a lovely place overall, with its oak-trees, and cool lake. But this place, is more than what meets the eye. It is in fact, a hunting ground. The man that owns the Reserve, is in fact a ruthless killer, who will stop at nothing what-so-ever. He takes a girl that no-one will miss. And he wll smuggle them into his Reserve, via the Jeep he owns with the dog-cage in the back, which is supposedly used for his dog; a Blue-Spotted Heeler. The Reserve, is an enclosed, and therefore deadly, area. Bordered by an electric fence, this place is hell in Winter and at night. Especially when you have to run through ancient, crumpled leaves and thorns in bare feet. Especially when you can't wear anything but shorts and a shirt that doesn't fit properly. You can't brush your teeth, you can't brush your hair. You can't even wash. You can only play the Game.
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A place where true love expires, good people get fired and beings are nothing but dust. Where stalkers are heroes, society makes zeroes and madness is not in the crust. Some people are killers, and that's just the pillars of what is essentially rust. When you feel you are mad, but that isn't so bad in a world that is oh so unjust. They'll kill you by car, or from quite afar in a world where all life is fleeting. Don't try to protect, you'll just end up wrecked, for you know their hearts are not beating. They'll kill you my sweet, and not drop a beat, for my story is only just heating. Power means all, even more for the small, but power has a habit of retreating. The bodies mount up, many lives will breakup, as I'm here to just tell a story. Don't look in the hill, though it is quite a thrill, I've heard it can get quite gory. Don't play with the heart, and don't think you're too smart, or you'll die with none of the glory. All are mad from the start, but you played your part, in the world of pure purgatory. Alas look a ghost, be careful you're not toast, you must want to see what I see. Society is ruthless, protection is fruitless, for in madness is when you are free. Perfection is dead, from the wounds we all bled, a cruel fate we did not foresee. While outsiders are safer, if only by a wafer, you can still hear them utter a plea. Now my story is frightening, but oh so inviting, so come now and give it a whirl. I can promise some danger, so don't be a stranger, watch now - we will see it unfurl.

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