Saturday, March 5, 2011
A Blood Red Sky
There was another quake. The infinite weight that crushed him into the mass was . . . less! He could squirm about! He could use one hand to free the other!
And . . . there! He heard something! A deep rumbling . . . a cranking sound. A machine?
Another quake . . . and light!
There was a crack in the mass of corpses above him, and a tiny, glorious spark of red light.
He threw himself into action. He clawed at the bodies around him. He felt their blood streaming beneath his nails.
And . . . then . . .
He burst to the surface!
He forced himself out of the blackness, out from the blood and bodies, between the skulls and the rotting flesh.
He stood on a mountain of the dead.
But he didn’t look at them. He only stared upward, into a blood red sky, and felt the icy air fill his desperately working lungs…
He was free.
And . . . there! He heard something! A deep rumbling . . . a cranking sound. A machine?
Another quake . . . and light!
There was a crack in the mass of corpses above him, and a tiny, glorious spark of red light.
He threw himself into action. He clawed at the bodies around him. He felt their blood streaming beneath his nails.
And . . . then . . .
He burst to the surface!
He forced himself out of the blackness, out from the blood and bodies, between the skulls and the rotting flesh.
He stood on a mountain of the dead.
But he didn’t look at them. He only stared upward, into a blood red sky, and felt the icy air fill his desperately working lungs…
He was free.
Monday, February 28, 2011
He found new strength in hate
He found new strength in hate.
He’d born to absent parents who’d been too busy with the careers to give a shit about him. He’d grown up bullied and beaten on playgrounds and in classrooms. And then, as an adult, he’d gone from the failure to failure. He’d had no friends, no family . . . known no gentle touch. And then . . . the dissertation committee.
Bastards! Stinking pompous bastards.
And finally . . . finally . . . he was Here.
That’s quite enough, thank you very much.
The hate grew in him. The hate saved him. It filled him. It gave him new energy.
He would be avenged. He would find out who put him here. He would track them down and destroy them.
He’d born to absent parents who’d been too busy with the careers to give a shit about him. He’d grown up bullied and beaten on playgrounds and in classrooms. And then, as an adult, he’d gone from the failure to failure. He’d had no friends, no family . . . known no gentle touch. And then . . . the dissertation committee.
Bastards! Stinking pompous bastards.
And finally . . . finally . . . he was Here.
That’s quite enough, thank you very much.
The hate grew in him. The hate saved him. It filled him. It gave him new energy.
He would be avenged. He would find out who put him here. He would track them down and destroy them.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sometimes there were corpse-quakes
Sometimes there were earthquakes. Or were they corpse-quakes?
Whatever . . . suddenly, the pile of death would move, quiver. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, the space he had been so carefully digging with his fingernails would fill again after such a quake.
But, he found it was easier to claw the space out again. And each time there was a quake, the weight on his chest was a little less. He redoubled his efforts.
Why was he here?
Was he in hell?
What had he done to deserve this?
Nothing. Somehow he knew. He was guilty of nothing. At least nothing so hideous as to be consigned here. No. He was simply in the hands of something with a capacity for infinite sadism.
Just then the mountain of the dead around him trembled again. For a moment, it seemed that the space he’d been so carefully constructing would collapse once again. But, then it held.
Another quake shook the mass. He worked harder.
Then . . . slowly . . . the hatred came to him.
Whatever . . . suddenly, the pile of death would move, quiver. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, the space he had been so carefully digging with his fingernails would fill again after such a quake.
But, he found it was easier to claw the space out again. And each time there was a quake, the weight on his chest was a little less. He redoubled his efforts.
Why was he here?
Was he in hell?
What had he done to deserve this?
Nothing. Somehow he knew. He was guilty of nothing. At least nothing so hideous as to be consigned here. No. He was simply in the hands of something with a capacity for infinite sadism.
Just then the mountain of the dead around him trembled again. For a moment, it seemed that the space he’d been so carefully constructing would collapse once again. But, then it held.
Another quake shook the mass. He worked harder.
Then . . . slowly . . . the hatred came to him.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Hellgate will return!
Hello, Everyone,
Sorry for the long, long, LONG delay...(three years? Oy!)
But, look for future additions real soon. Hellgate will return.
Sorry for the long, long, LONG delay...(three years? Oy!)
But, look for future additions real soon. Hellgate will return.
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