MAN HUNT
- Reads 21
- Votes 3
- Parts 1
- did you hear it? the sound of raspy breath panting behind you. it tickles, creeping through the crevices of a hollowed out spine. running its hands across the warmth of decaying skin. feeling the curves of sunken hipbones, through empty lakes, swimming in rib bones. the remnants of old war ships.
sometimes you can still hear the clanging of swords, bashing teeth against sores. distant murmurs of disputes, and lose limbs.
piece by piece, bleeding of superficial wounds, bruises that have never healed. the improper contraction of steady heart palpitations, weak knees. trembling hands. hard hard beats.
did you hear it? perhaps you were too enamored with the disappearing girl. like quick sand, she's sinking into enveloping white sheets. becoming a fossil among clouds, decomposing into shallow graves. her veins mapped out like a treasure map, x marks the spot.
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The boy had never been scourged by dread, not really, untouched still of startling agony to become his reality. He spotted the imposing cliffside meaning to change that by mere accident, kept in defiant remembrance still of this heavenly music descended upon Earth from Heaven, magnificent, majestic and entrancing, this blue ship which had came last night to conjure mystery and great brilliance vibrating with splendor and glory born, like summer sunshine brought unto gloomy night, unlike anything ever heard of. He paused in thought to look at what was dangling from these rocketed walls, instilled immediately by mortal agony. What encountered him there was awful, horrific, spun from his nightmare to turn to atrocious truth. They left a message for him, these strangers, a message for all mankind. All the people from the town were nailed on the colossal rock with obsidian spikes the size of fists, hidden in the darkness as horror always lurked there within. Blood, everywhere. The spikes ripped skin open, tore their bodies apart to let it be a grotesque image, the self-portrait of Death itself. Stiff pale limbs, grossly tangled together, a myriad of heads decorating empty space. A few mutilated legs and arms lay motionless on the bottom of it, of the mere terror, the waves had yet to reach and clean the crime scene, crimson rocks and red sand carnation furthermore. The details swam and blurred his view. He was thankful, for a glimpse sufficed a lifetime. When the dark ship came, it didn't only warn the people of the Destruction following behind, they carried it themselves, bestowing it willingly and with intent, purpose, unknown and arbitrary as it may seem regardless. People rumored among their crowds that they were in fact the cause, the real Bringer of Death. The Harbingers of Cruelty. The Black Squad, Side of Doom. Known perhaps better by their most famous name, the Skeleton Crew. _ complete
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