Troubled Water
written by Eldritch
Nothing is left, right now. Only the wind, he blows over the city, uninhibited, through broken structures and empty ruins. Once there was life, and even if it only was a dying life, there was life at this place. Now all that is left is death. Crosses are everywhere, at every corner, rising in every street. Blood is everywhere and the whole planet is drenched with corpses. The wind carries dust and grains of sand through the broken streets and in the distance a dust-storm is slowly approaching, its dark-brown clouds rolling over the barren wastes outside this concrete sepulchre. Before the collapse, an undying amount of rain struck down from angry clouds upon this city. I remember standing high in HeadOffice, looking through a panoramic window upon the city below, the glass stained and steamy by the perpetual barrage of drops of rain, Slayer in the twilight behind me, sitting in his chair like an idol, drinking an ancient brewage from an equally old crystal goblet. The air was dark above Mort, condensed into a mournful gloom, and below me the lights of Central stretched forth, almost reaching the horizon, a never-ending, sparkling sea of lights. Aspiring to pierce the clouds, the slim twin towers of DarkLement rose high above the roofs of the city, far in the distance; a statuette of Ebon knowledge and spirit, revered by the chosen race, feared and viewed upon with suspicion by the others. Miles below the twin towers the chaotic structure of the ThirdEye MediaDome squatted in the deeper regions of Central, towering above the GrandPlaza, neon lights and monitors surfeiting its surface, showing a barrage of ever changing pictures and sending a constant stream of propaganda to the crowd below; all of them under the watchful gaze of the deep red iris of the company's ThirdEye; scintillating infernally, its lids half closed, as if near sleep, the sphere hovered huge and bloated before the Dome, suspended in the air above the plaza.
Train Of Thought
written by Eldritch


Leaving this city for good. No chance to return to this hellhole again. Never. Prophets say, when you enter SLA, you sell your soul away. Today I bought it back; -but at what price? Here I sit, the broken landscape of Mort racing by, heading towards ... what?, only one thing certain-. Executive Class glowing in soft red letters. Alone in the passenger compartment, the broken remains of my life behind me, racing away from them with every second; alone and unable to move. No power left in my body, wasting away like the planet. Now that I am the truth, they cannot let me live in their midst. Whoever infected me -perhaps they even wrote it into my genes- they chose me from the beginning. The truth. Wave never saw the whole picture. Only glimpsed at parts and guessed that the whole. Lucky chap. Gave him the easy way out. Not me. One of the chosen. Bore the mark from the beginning. Made me- bearing it?

"Tell me, why they let you out", her voice soft and quiet. Completely forgot that she was there, in the dark on the other side of the compartment. Now I can see her eyes glitter, reflecting the orange spot of light glowing at the tip of her Feelgood. "Why don't you smoke something better than Feelgoods? Cigars perhaps?"

"Because. You know that I'm contracted to Feelgood. Every of your whores is."

written by Eldritch

Chain yourself to me.

I am floating over an endless desert. Sometimes there are spectral images slowly rising above the horizon, gently floating upwards, ever changing in their process of ascent, until they reach the racing clouds and dissolve. Some feet below me the sand stretches to infinity in delicate patterns, runes and glyphs written by the wind upon the face of the desert. They mean nothing for me, yet I distinctly remember.

Sometimes I feel soundwaves slicing through the agitated air and I feel their energy touching my essence, joining with it and rearranging it. Like ripples in a pond they spread out from wherever a voice pinched the silence and from there they continue to travel in concentric circles until they reach the horizon and mingle with the images from the fountain and the caves.

A black alley and drops of blood falling through the steaming rain.

written by Eldritch

A grain for a grain, an eye for an eye.

"Kiss me, I'm dying," and her life is running away through my hands.

Her head is heavy in my lap and I hold her for a last time, a last eternal kiss and with my tongue I taste the blood in her mouth and I feel her love, her undying love for me in this kiss, its crimson fluid overflowing into my throat and then she stops. There is no last convulsive shiver and no moan of grief, as it is always shown on TeeVee. Not even her grip tightens around my waist; she simply ceases to be, her lips lose all strength and her tongue that has been caressing my own becomes a piece of meat.

There is no pain, no emotion, nothing, now that she has gone. The rain that is falling through the walkways doesn't matter; the stinking trash around us - me - doesn't matter; whoever or whatever might find me now doesn't matter and I do not care if I will die slowly or explicitly gruesome then; nothing really matters.

written by Eldritch

And so it ends. Not in darkness, but in blood.

With the blade in my hand I took her and blood was our maritial covenant. She never offered any resistance, she knew what was coming. She knew I was coming. Kadmon repenting, closing the circle, laying his judgment upon Lilith.

Thank you, Alice. Your spheres made me remember her, remember her beauty. Remember my duty. Once I opposed you, old friend, but today I carried out your unspoken order. Once I begged for her life, today I took it. You showed wisdom then, not ordering me to punish her, knowing that eventually I would. Was this all part of your Big Picture? Why can't we just leave in dignity, why this fight against ourselves? Why not accept the inescapable and go? Everything must go. Why must we all chain ourselves to futile dying hopes? And why does wisdom always come too late?

The blade is lying on the ground, smeared with blood, in a pool of red wet sand. Her body is lying not far away; still, no longer bleeding, all her hopes torn asunder, all her fears fulfilled. The look in her eyes no longer painful; broken, but never accusing.

The echoes of her last scream still reverberate through the still air; full of anger, frustration and the knowledge of a final rest she screamed out her soul's sorrow when my blade bit her flesh. Not trying to draw away from me, embracing me instead, pressing her body deeper into the blade, rocking gently back and forth, as if she was making love to me. Our first kiss, at the same time our last; deep, long, and full of the darkest flavour.

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