Writings

God Stage Aftermath AU

Rashnu sat, smiled and nodded his head. Beneath the table, his palms rested on the baggy denim while his friend’s boots tapped a rapid rhythm. She was pacing around the room, looking for something that’d put his tall stature in the bestest of light. That shouldn’t have been hard, considering he always looked admirable no matter what he had put on. Even if it was just simple jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Don’t you feel weird in that?” his voice echoed.

“What, the dress? Not hard to get used to it.”

“Sure. If I miss anything about the Overseer shit it's the suits. My hands are constantly cold now. Ankles too.”

“You’ll be fine. If you could survive getting absolutely wrecked by Mithras cold hands won't kill you.”

He quickly glanced to his side, then back at her.

“It was once. And he was unfair, I’ve told you that.”

“Using weapons to their full capacity isn’t cheating. Well, maybe to someone like you it is.”

He rolled his eyes at the remark, much to Sraosha’s amusement. As scary of a guy as he could be, he was very easy to tease. But perhaps this was something too serious to joke about. That thought came and went like a bullet. Maybe she shouldn’t have sized him up like that, not after all he’s been through. Her quick hands suddenly ceased breezing across the various outfits. She had stopped on something.

Rashnu tried to peek at what it was, but it was too far away. Sraosha turned and hastily hurried up to him.

“There you go.”

She handed him a pair of knitted gloves. Void black with a faint magenta tinge.

A soft “Thanks.” escaped his lips. Their hands touched as they exchanged the pair. Rashnu’s really were very cold.

Humanity's happy remnant

And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. A living soul, capable of acting on its own volition, of considering, of feeling. However, what had birthed from the red dirt, whatever it was, was no man. Instead, from the pool of blood emerged a perversion of mutilated, contorted flesh vaguely resembling the male physique.

The blood was as sweet as tree sap, its smell must have been so exhilarating.

Fresh blood was a sign of life.

The creature stood up on its own two legs. It opened its eyes and spent ages marveling at the serenity it was enveloped by.

Serenity.

Such a pure, warm feeling. From the moment it stepped out of the portal of life and death, it knew that feeling was special.

Before taking another step, it looked down at the crimson mirror beneath it. Did this liquid bear the misdeeds and failures of everyone and everything? The flesh didn't know, because it lacked the knowledge to answer such a convoluted question, or even comprehend it.

It walked out of the canopy into a wide palette of yellows and greens- a field. The thick air came as a gentle breeze.

It was almost as if a giant had painted his thumb red and pressed it against the earth- the bloody trail the creature was leaving couldn't be more obvious.

But it didn't care. As gruesome as the sight behind it was, it chose to look forward, into the golden field. It felt at ease with everything and continued to advance towards its happiness.

It spent some time aimlessly roaming the tall grass. Every once in a while looking at the cloudless baby blue sky.

Up close it is as clear as pure water, yet when we see the miles it is the blue of fairytale dreams. The hue was so bright, as was the creature's love.

However, as wonderful as this setting was, it quickly grew bored of it. A golden valley after a golden valley under the same blue platter. It desired something new. And there, as if its prayers were answered, there, in the faint far, appeared a pole. A considerably big one. It quickly made its way there. Walking with crooked legs was hard, but even physical dysfunction couldn't stop the creature's

excitement. It couldn't contain itself. When it finally made it, it stomped its legs hard on the ground in front of the structure. There was something new on it.

A thin rectangle-shaped white object. A flier.

"Chloe Farmaker strangled to death, officials say.

11 year old Chloe Farmaker who was found on a highway road short after Thanksgiving was strangled to death, authorities announced on Tuesday.

The corpse was found around 14:30 a.m. on Nov. 30 near Pale Green Lake, officials said, by a city public works employee who reported seeing feet in some bushes along the street.

On Saturday, Mick Rogers, a spokesperson for Academy University at West England, announced that her death has been deemed a homicide.

Further investigation awaits, stay with us for more details regarding the victim and the scene.

Reporting on the Farmaker case. Upon interrogating family members, the father, Mark Farmaker, was held by authorities under suspicion of substance abuse.

The following day, Dec. 5, he confessed to murdering his daughter. When the shocking revelation was unveiled, naturally, citizens and law enforcement alike demanded an explanation.

"Buddy, why all this fuzz all of a sudden? It was not like it wasnt the thing to do. This child was wrong! It was only my duty as her father to help her."

Farmaker reasoned.

"Before you label me as a monster, please think that murder was a last resort! I attempted exorcism, cleansing, everything! I'm sure your impressive investigation work

will lead you to that conclusion..."

"Hmmm"

The creature scoffed. It found that particularly interesting. How come these authors use such sophisticated and complex language to address something as primitive as murder?

To pay homage to the victim? No, that couldn't be it. Poor Chloe's privacy was not respected at all. Her big, big innocent eyes filled with tears were there, on the paper, for all to see.

To be seen in your most vulnerable moments by thousands of strangers was truly something awful.

It grabbed the paper and threw it into the sky. Let the wind choose its path, now it should be lost in the woods.

Forever.

Weapon Story - Truth lust

There was once a brother who took care of his younger brothers. He always repressed his feelings and worries in an attempt to not burden them. He wanted them to live the happiest lives possible. The world began rotting around them. He took them to the last good spot in their world. A garden.

He layed down, his siblings resting beside him. The wind brezzed across his face, and with it it brought the exhilarating scent of the field flowers. Never ending greens surrounding him, he couldn't see their end. The world had become admonishingly beautiful eversince he had clawed his way out of the mire of dysfunction years ago. Without the haze of hatred and shame the beauty of the world was overwhelming and the sense of love so much stronger. He had to be strong for them, but now he was finally, sincerely, feeling this strenght.

No crudeness, everything was so frail, so elegant, so natural, so compatible.

It was so unfortunate that all of it would enavitibly crumble. But he wasn't afraid, because something better will arise from its ruins.

Maybe he'd see his brothers again. In another life.