Landscape - 17

Over the furry hills, there is the little gleam of light. As the arc of white fades, it is replaced instead by a short span of flickering orange fire the blends into the full-out blood-red roar of the real thing. Further up, the fire fades into a crackle and a star-speckled deep blue like the ocean's depths covers the world. Over a different horizon, it mingles with the sea, the full, sleepy blue of the sky with the light, enticing sheen of the water's surface.

Back at the sunlight speck, trees cover the surface of the rolling hills. Short grass sways gently in the wind, whispering its song to the life that hides beneath even as the tall palm trees by the sea rustle in the breeze, rolling their lullabies onto the sandy shore. Waves wash up, slowly, and fade away. They pull at the dirt, dragging it back into the ocean. White crests disappear along the shoreline where a dark streak shows where wet meets dry.

In between the awakening hills and the sleepy sea rise the great mountains. Craggy cliffs mingle with streaked rock-lined falls. The dark shock of color clashes beautifully with the bright twinkle of the soft snow that rolls from its top. Over the whole scene of hills, mountains, and sea, there is the silent scream of hidden life, tempting, pulling, tugging, pushing.

Ruin - 16

The fantastical realms opened wide before him and he stepped down from the doorway, feeling the thick, cool grass tickle his feet. The fat blades overlapped and slipped between his toes, bent under his sole, curled over his foot. The cool blue skies over head melded into the horizon, thick swirls of the deepest blue dripped onto the green contrast that was somehow the perfect fit. And light wisps of the brightest white decorated the sky with little trails and streaks of shapes. Trees sprouted from the ground freely and their brown trunks were marked masses of various browns.

The whole scene was filled with disgusting masses of bright and dark and colors that should not have ever mixed and yet it fit so perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle. Every plant, every cloud, every hill, every blade of grass and every delicate swish of blue sky had its place. And he did not fit. Everything from his dark purple sweater checked with white and black to his bright blue frayed jeans did not fit. His colors marred the world and so it vowed to mar him.

He moved another step and a blade of grass slit his foot and so was the scarlet of pain released into this kingdom of purity. The steamy wash of fluid splashed over the grass and it ruined the perfection. He stumbled forth and every tiny edge of every tiny blade cut him. And still he would not leave. Every moment he spent, sending out waves of his unhappiness, his anger, his frustration ruined the world.

He rested against a sturdy tree, meant to provide and got entangled within its furious limbs. They flailed against him and the bark dug beneath his flesh and the blood burst from his veins. It poured and it steamed, painting the world its flamboyant color. As the tree tired from its efforts and he refused to leave even though the drops of his blood had left a red-brown blaze and his emotions were roaring from hatred and fury. The sky gathered itself until a blackish blue stain was left and at its center was a buzzing splash of deep gray.

A flash of gold soared down from the iris of the blind eye and it struck him even as the light blue patter spread his impurities far and wide. His flesh was ripped from his bones and they were turned black. And he left, forced by the boot of retribution, while behind him was left the brown of his dried blood and the white of his bleached bones.

Exteriors - 15

The starlit sky glistened with an eerie luminescence that shone down upon us. Long, thin spirals of light illuminated the world, creating shadows behind every plant, rock, and animal. As the light gleamed on the tips of the trees, the forests took on the glow of a snowy wood. But behind the branches of wood and sickly sweet sap lay the eyes that watched even in the darkness. The horrors that awaited behind the green exterior were lying in wait. And we watched each other dance on the rink. Our blades slicing smoothly through the tip of the frozen lake, each carving for us our own paths. We laughed together, smiled quietly, chuckled softly. And the moonlight on our skin glowed and we shone with luster. And the clothes that we decked ourselves in bespoke of a cultured people with their manicured nails, smooth, glowing skin, and beautifully done hair that stood out in a thousand different ways that were declared to be the height of artistic quality. And beneath these amazing exteriors that held perfection in every possible facet lay our inner demons. The horrors that waited behind the pure exterior were lying in wait. And behind the sweet perfume and soft skin lay the eyes that watched even in the darkness. And so, in the moonlight, we laughed and we danced. We twirled and we slid, we spun and we flirted with disaster. But beneath, deep down where the importance truly is, where everything is in black and white, stands out the red candle gleam of evil.

Disgustingly Wrong - 14

The matted fur on his back was filled with bristles and thorns. He knew not where he was but if he did, he would have realized that over the dark green hill that covered the setting sun lay the house that he had left. His stomach growled and he began to limp forward; the pad on his front right paw had worn clean off and blood leaked from it slowly and continuously. His nose was jammed with the general smell of decay that hung around him. He began to walk in circles, twisting his body and flattening the grass. Then he curled into a ball and lay down, whimpering. His dark red tongue slipped out of his black muzzle and pathetically swiped across the tip of his nose. His vision blurred and he knew he must close his eyes or the sleep would not come. A fly buzzed out of the bushes and settled on his wounded paw but he was too exhausted to care. His eyelids slid down over the fuzzy patterns and colors and his tail gave a flick upwards, accidentally brushing the scratch on his thigh by mistake, sending a wave of electric pain crawling down his foot and causing a spasm which upset him but got rid of the fly.

He gave a snort through his nostrils and relaxed. The pain melted away and his chest began to rise and fall rhythmically with his breathing. The sun set and the stars popped out overhead, the representatives of our dead, littering the sky with their eerie twinkling luminescence. Then slowly, they began to fade from their places to be replaced by the slowly expanding arms of the sun, catching them all three at a time. As its warmth descended upon our hero, it was obvious that something was disgustingly wrong. Fog, like from a graveyard, had gathered around his body. It filled every nook and crevice and it extended tiny tendrils in between his hairs but there was not a drop of dew. As the sky lightened into its cheery blue, light twirled around his body merrily. The same fly swooped in, exploring, and there was not a sound as it began to feed on the blood pooled around his paws.

Virus - 13

He winced at the tiny stab into his arm and he could feel the liquid shooting into his veins, cold as ice and yet it burned him, leaving him feeling raw inside out. He lay back and gasped, the pain slowly leaving his fingers and toes and drawing upward, collecting, getting worse as it ebbed from the edges of his body and growing stronger as it flowed upward. He began to shake from the pain and the progression of the disease slowed. The disease that had transformed his family into cold-blooded murderers who killed in the name of the devil. He missed them and knew he would know no peace until he was with them. The ice-fire licked on his vessels, on his organs. It pooled around the major arteries, travelling ever upwards.

The pain was at his heart, gathering until he longed to dig his fingers into his flesh and dig out the organ. He began to claw at his shirt, tearing long gashes in the fabric and stabbing his nails into his chest. All of a sudden, the virus surged upwards into his neck. It sped up, gathering into his skull where the pain was terrible. From the inside, a constant shrieking headache tore at his sanity. It clawed at his mind. It preyed on his weak barrier around all he held precious. It tore a gash through his protection that he heard as an awful sound in the room. The clawing of nails on a blackboard, the screaming of a dying person, the sound of nails on glass. And then there was the snap of a broken mind...

In the Cold - 12

He sat, alone by the window, watching the tiny crystals of snowflakes drift down from the grey skies. Over the horizon, past the brown hills and black roads, he could see a strip of the clearest sapphire blue, always out of his reach. The fire crackled behind him and the world was silent. His reflection stared past him, gazing into the room with hazel eyes. The living were gone from his side and the bright sun was reflected on the ocean that flowed on his cheeks.

Butterfly - 11

The aged man lay on the bed, his aching body shivering uncontrollably. He arched his back and the sheets rolled off his speckled robe. He heard them rustle on the floor and he smelled the dust. He saw the wooden ceiling, dark swirls, light splashes. The pain eased away and he lay back to rest. His body straightened out and his clear blue eyes pierced through the hazy light. His fingers clenched around the smooth wooden railing that circled his bed. The pain faded completely and the dust stopped falling. Leaves froze outside his window, their grace kept forever in slight curves and twists. The sunlight stopped shimmering. The shadows deepened and light burst in clear color. His room door opened and he saw a young man standing there. The boy held a long scythe and wore the long black robe. His hood was thrown back and he had dark, curly black hair that contrasted amazingly with his pale face. He had light hazel eyes that somehow saw through the old man and yet saw him exactly.

He stepped forward to the bed and held forth the scythe. He paused, holding the weapon poised slightly over the man and swung through. There was no pain, and the arthritic sir passed away.

There was a bright flash and his feet pierced the skin. He grasped the slippery covering and pulled at it. He dug his fingernails in and tore. He winced as light cut into him. He poised outside the chrysalis and jumped. He opened wide and flew off.

Shimmer - 10

He sat in his tiny black craft, waiting. He merely gazed on, unfeeling, as the sun transformed into a giant red ball.
He watched the Earth fry, seas evaporating, rocks exploding, metal boiling. He flicked open a tiny glass case and pressed the hidden button.
A tiny bomb, carefully positioned, exploded. A slight shimmer sped through the air, pure energy. He watched from his black teardrop as the shimmer ran around the blue planet. From a live feed from a satellite image, he saw trees, animals, people, all things that had ever lived, vanish. He slowly stared at the Earth, a single tear crawling slowly down his cheek.

*****

They spun around, the burden heavy in their hearts. The last dance. Her hair, draped over her shoulders. His shirt, wrinkle-free, perfect. The music stopped. They looked out the window. Once, a brief second. A single glance. Then they looked into each others eyes. No tears, no emotion. Just confusion, pouring through their veins like blood. Her black dress whipped around, behind her, and the shimmer reached them. They clasped hands, for the last time, finally a sorrow thundering from their souls. Then they vanished.

Ghost - 9

The blanket was pulled over his eyes and the boy died peacefully in the hospital. He watched them take his body away and he followed, afraid and certain that this was all a dream. Even as he slipped through the double doors of the morgue, his fear slowly dissipated.He admitted this new revelation that he was dead to himself and walked to a wall, placing his palm against it. He felt, for a second, the rough surface under his fingertips before he slid through the wall.He entered the dark soil beneath the hospital and began to climb, using the temporary solidity of the things around him to move slowly upwards. He roke from the dirt in the middle of a heaving intersection.For a second, he felt the old fear resurface. He stumbled and caught himself. Standing for a while, he began to notice a new, comforting feeling.The chaos swirled around him and he felt excited, sad, and peaceful all at once. He sat down in the exact center and closed his eyes. From the window of a passing car, a child noticed, just for a tiny fraction of a second, a perfectly happy face, glowing in the night.The boy ghost, still dressed in his hospital gown, adorned with footballs, came to terms with himself and admitted something.He was dead.The child in the car twisted rapidly in his seat and saw the face glow brilliantly and columns of marble popped into his vision. The light shone like a thousand candles and the whole image began to fade. The ghost was gone.

Ruins - 8

He stepped through the dusty ruins, panes of dirty brown glass littered the streets. Abandoned cars rusted away, their paint long gone. The air was perfectly still, unmoving. His feet left clear prints in the dirt behind him. Motes of silver magic drifted slowly past him. He extended his arm and one collided with his finger, sending a tingle creeping through his body. The mote silently popped, leaving a slight smell that was quickly whipped away by a nonexistent breeze.

Illusionist - 7

Year: 2051
Date: 22nd of February
Time: 4:37 PM
His mother lay, sleeping, in the neat bed. Somewhere among the folds and bends rested her cold hands, wrinkled smile, and sweet kiss. The young boy began to pull himself up and on to the enormous mattress. He managed it at last and collapsed in a little heap, panting. A nurse outside the door heard the noise and slipped into the room, pulling the child up below the armpits and setting him on the floor. She knew he was merely denying everything. He knew his mother was ill, deathly so, but he just wouldn't accept it. The boy attempted to run back and she pushed him out of the door and into the hallway. She silently ushered him out into the warm sun and closed the door.
**********
The child in question was a young boy. His mother was ill with a horrible disease which was, sadly, curable but they had not the money. The boy barely remembered his father, he remembered a scene at a birthday where there were 5 rats dashing over his body. He had been giggling. He had been delighted. He also knew, through his mother's repetition, that his father's name was H. F. Thomas.
**********
The young child sat down and began to cry. His name was William J. Thomas. The J really stood for Jerry but he did not really care. He cried for a good while and then picked himself up. He tottered, swaying, slowly toward the grass where he promptly leaned over and threw the remains of his last meal into the gutter. He watched, satisfied but disgusted as the little chunks of chicken floated in a pool of green liquid. His throat burned and he sat under a tree. Soon enough, a tiny dog ran past him. The boy stood up, wiping his eyes and mouth in that order, and began to chase the tiny canine.The puppy ran into an alleyway and simply vanished. It had actually turned rapidly around a corner and slid through a tiny crack into the wall into his home. The boy's flip-flops echoed around the alleyway as he examined every little crack. He walked a while and made it to an enormous road where a white limousine deposited a man right in front of the boy's nose. He stepped back, quite startled, as the man pulled a white leather wallet out of his white pants. The whole man was white. His white top hat rested over a thick layer of white hair which brushed the top of the collar of his shirt. This shirt ran down to his wrist where it was met by a pair of white gloves. The gloves held a white cane and a tiny white wallet. Just below them were a pair of white pants which ran down to the man's white socks and white shoes. It was rather spectacular, the whole thing. The man himself had the hue of a Caucasian man with a barely noticeable tan. He had also managed, by some miracle, to grow himself a pure white mustache which ran out to the side of his face, curving upwards like a comical Italian man's would.The boy, at 3 feet 2, stared up at this 7 feet 6 behemoth, looming over him. He was not, however, actually paying attention to anything. A tiny light-bulb went off in his brain as he added two and two. The white man was completely alone with no marriage ring. The fantastic suit and limousine dictated that he was probably a rich man. A rich, single man. With his wallet in his hand. A switch clicked and the boy jumped up, swiftly snatching the man's wallet from his resting hand. The man himself made no move to retrieve his possession or indeed, ask his chauffeur to do so. He merely stood, watching, as the child made off with his tiny leather wallet. The man chuckled once, twice, before slipping out of his white leather shoes and giving chase. He ran with a miraculous stride. The child was running, chest pushed forward and head leaning back. The man pounded forward like some super athlete. He was not fast, but his position was perfect. He held his cane loosely in his left hand, tapping it occasionally on the cement. His head making a perfect line with his body. He did not attempt to run fast, merely extending his legs like some amazing acrobat and loping slowly forward.He reached even with the child and picked the whole boy up, extending his arm forward, placing it lightly on the ground, dropping his cane, sliding in a half-circle around the boy, and snatching the child up, passing control to his other arm and swiftly snatching up his cane. The man began elegantly striding back to his limousine. He stopped moving when the boy began to cry. The man set him down and began to ask what was wrong. The boy stammered a story between sobs about how his mother was sick and had no-one to take care of her and they had no money and he didn't want her to die. The man rested a finger on the child's forehead, barely touching him and the boy was instantly comforted.The man tapped his cane on the floor and began running toward the boy's house. He somehow managed to open the door without seemingly touching the handle and positively flew up the stairs, flapping enormous white wings that hadn't been there a second ago and weren't there a second later. His form flickered, like a bad reception and they were suddenly in the room. The boy's mother lay on the bed, in a drugged dream, her brow creased in a frown. The man placed the child down and took a his white, leather wallet.The boy watched, his eyes getting rounder by the second.The man placed the wallet on the bed.The mother rolled over in her sleep.A breeze blew through the open window and over the three different people. William J. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and the man was gone. Outside the window, a goose was soaring away into the sunset.A card drifted on a breeze and landed silently on the sill, perched perfectly for a second before slipping off the edge and vanishing in mid-air.The card read
Mr. Henry Fortwith Thomas
Illusionist
2013-2047
Accidental death with"3 Blind Mice
and
A Broken Cane"

Read On... - 6

The old stepladder creaked under his weight and he froze, listening for footsteps. He heard a soft, muted thud from below and jumped off the ladder, sliding across the floor and crouching behind the mutilated old sofa. A few moments later, a shadow appeared on the floor and a creaky voice asked who was there. He kept quiet and tried to flatten himself out, taking slow breaths, a technique of hiding learned after many years. After a while, the shadow rotated and began to shrink. The footsteps faded away and the boy got back to work.He climbed the stepladder again, avoiding the creaky step and got to the top, about 4 feet off the ground. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and blew softly in short bursts about 10 seconds apart. When he opened his eyes, the dust was gone and there was a thick old book, 2 cracked mugs, and a single notebook. He took the notebook and the book, climbed down the stepladder carefully and sat down on the sofa.The dump. An interesting choice for a home, but it suited him well. He was left alone and apart from tiny animals and the occasional large rat, all was still. It was also very quiet, which he appreciated. The unfortunate thing was not understanding at all even, perhaps, the word unfortunate. He could read it, but the meaning of the word was altogether something to be deciphered a bit at a time or maybe the whole thing now or later. It all depended on a great many different things, his mood, the context of the sentence in which the word was used etc. etc.He put the large book on his lap and flipped open the cover. On the title page there were two words: "Read On." Those words he could quite definitely understand and he proceeded to follow the directions. Before he flipped the page, however, he glanced below the word and there lay the most intricate picture he'd ever seen. Swirls and dips, leaves here and buildings there. It was, as you might have guessed, a fantasy book, but he'd never seen one before and therefore thought it was simply a very interesting picture. Maybe it was about buildings in the forest. He'd read about forests like that. One of them was the Amazon. That was all he knew.He flipped a couple of pages and began to read. Three hours later, he was still reading and still on the same page. If one didn't know better, one might almost say he'd stopped moving. A slight breeze blew over him and he didn't move. A rat came up to him, sniffed a couple of times, then bit him on the leg, but he didn't move. Later in the day, the dump keeper began to walk around the area, making perfectly sure that there was no-one there. He also liked to kill any small creatures that he saw, even the rats. He crept around the piles of trash and came upon the little boy sitting on the couch, holding that thick book in his hands.The dump keeper walked up to the boy and flicked him on the head. No response. The dump keeper picked up the book, began to read and stopped moving altogether. A bird settled on his shoulder and pecked at his eyeball. No response. A year later, a collection of about 10 different people stood at the same spot, the book now in the hands of a man carrying a traveling backpack and holding a walking stick. A year after that, 37 people were frozen to the spot and it had become a tourist attraction, the book now in the hands of a baby who had merely glanced at the picture on the title page.Now there lived another boy in that city. He was fascinated by the concept of the "Medusa Book" as it was now nicknamed by the media, so one day, he snuck out of school and trotted over to the museum where the collection of figures and the book had been moved. He walked over to the exhibit and stared at a little boy on a decrepit sofa. He crawled under the red rope and slid the book out of the hands of a thin old man wearing a brown-and-white checkered vest, a long-sleeved white shirt, green pants, and brown shoes. He opened it to the first page and began to read. What he read made no sense. It went like this,Read on, if you can.Then came an odd paragraph.Stop, stop. Stone. Cold. Freeze. Stop. Still. Silent. Unmoving.And on and on it went. By then, the boy was beginning to feel quite comfortable and slightly cold. He moved on to the next paragraph.Sleep. Exhaustion. Tired. Rest. Nap.And so went the 3rd paragraph. By then, the boy began to sink into a state of comfortable lethargy. And he wanted, oh so badly, to stop reading. But he couldn't. Beneath all the feelings lay an important message. Oh it was important and it filled his mind, leaving only the feelings and a vague understanding of the book, Read On. He couldn't stop now, but he couldn't go on and so he merely stopped moving and died, like the collection of figures standing in a group slightly off to his left.

The Silverwater - 5

He glanced down into the murky water and saw a face that held nothing but memories. No future could be bright for that face. It was a face that held memories beautiful, ugly, good, bad, horrid, and even glorious. But none of these could be said for the face's future. It held sorrow, oh so much of it, and at the end of the road, a horrid death. Perhaps a pleasant one, but much he doubted that. He saw adventures amazing to behold but none of them good. None perhaps, even bad. They were lower. Just a face was all that he saw and yet the predictions he imagined could not be false. He felt it in his heart.Five months earlier.He embarked on a journey to the Silverwater. By reputation alone, it far surpassed The Marsh, or even... possibly... The Hartwood. Perhaps by one or two men. Slowly he trudged down the dirty path that led to the grassy banks, green hills, and pure waters of the Silverwater. He had heard the name since he was but 12 years, a mere child. Oh he loved the sound of Silverwater, he loved the way it rolled of his tongue and sounded like a blessing. And now he was going to see it! His heart felt like it might burst with the excitement and nervosity. It couldn't decide to beat fast or slow. His footsteps seemed too small and yet too large. Oh the Silverwater, the place in the dreams of many other creatures. Even the foul Laerithan (whoa!! That's a word?) were said to think it beautiful. The joy in his heart could hardly be greater. And yet, as great as it was, it was suppressed by the fear.Three months after.A shadow passed outside the cave and he shrank back in fear. He could hear the snorts outside and feel the fiery breath of the Draconae. He was going to die.Two months after.And now his journey was at an end but oh the Silverwater. True enough, there were the grassy banks and the green hills. Even the pure water was not short. And yet it held only gloom for him for in the beautiful waters he had seen his future and despair had clouded his heart. He saw, indeed, glorious things that made his heart sing but he longed for them and he knew, deep inside, that this journey was his last. He would live on the banks of the Silverwater for many more years, waiting for the events to happen. But he knew that once he looked into the Silverwater, he would never be able to leave. The glory that might have been him faded and he sat and wept as the years passed and he died, peaceful, but sorrowful and alone.

Poisonous Beauty - 4

Her life was miserable, it was true but it was only barely worse than that of the others. 15 to a cage and some ill, including herself. Some dead, some dying. Her vision was blurred and her feet were swollen. She saw not the cruel man 'till it was too late. She felt the rough work gloves grab her body, pinning down her wings. She heard the sound of the cage closing behind her, metal scraping against metal. She knew it was almost time to go. There was no other reason for her to be leaving the cage. For 2 long years she had suffered and now it was time to be free. But she struggled. For all she hated this life of hers, she loved life itself. She loved the feel of an unexpected breeze on a hot summer day and she loved the sweet air brought with it. Her bad eyes were blinded as the glove grabbed hold of her neck, she felt her wings released and a horrible, painful tug on her neck. Then the most horrible experience yet. The man began to fling her from side to side, swinging her in circles from her head. She heard and felt the snap. Pain coursed through her body as she was flung to the ground, now useless. She wondered what it was like after death. She still did not want to leave. She gasped for breath, feeling the air grow heavy around her. Her lungs slowed down and her heart pounded the slowest ever. Her bad vision got worse. The world did not spin but a darkness ate away at the edge of her vision. It was pointless to struggle now, there was no hope left. She gave way to the heaviness of her eyelids and the world was consumed by a pitch-black monster forever.

An Animal Abused - 3

Her life was miserable, it was true but it was only barely worse than that of the others. 15 to a cage and some ill, including herself. Some dead, some dying. Her vision was blurred and her feet were swollen. She saw not the cruel man 'till it was too late. She felt the rough work gloves grab her body, pinning down her wings. She heard the sound of the cage closing behind her, metal scraping against metal. She knew it was almost time to go. There was no other reason for her to be leaving the cage. For 2 long years she had suffered and now it was time to be free. But she struggled. For all she hated this life of hers, she loved life itself. She loved the feel of an unexpected breeze on a hot summer day and she loved the sweet air brought with it. Her bad eyes were blinded as the glove grabbed hold of her neck, she felt her wings released and a horrible, painful tug on her neck. Then the most horrible experience yet. The man began to fling her from side to side, swinging her in circles from her head. She heard and felt the snap. Pain coursed through her body as she was flung to the ground, now useless. She wondered what it was like after death. She still did not want to leave. She gasped for breath, feeling the air grow heavy around her. Her lungs slowed down and her heart pounded the slowest ever. Her bad vision got worse. The world did not spin but a darkness ate away at the edge of her vision. It was pointless to struggle now, there was no hope left. She gave way to the heaviness of her eyelids and the world was consumed by a pitch-black monster forever.

Last Farewell - 2

A cool breeze swept past her. The swing groaned miserably under her weight as she swung up and down. The recent 30 years of her life had been the longest. She longed to know what lay on the other side more than anything now. The tugs, the pulls, the prodding, the pushing, everything in her life made living hard. Now it was time for goodbye. The breeze grew stronger and began to penetrate the thin hospital nightgown. She swung harder than ever, slowly letting the tugs on her soul get stronger. And with one final push, she soared into the air. The breeze grew stronger than ever and then she released. The tug pulled her away and soared on high. Looking back, she saw, one final time, her crumpled body. Lying beneath the swing, it looked so frail it might shatter. And as she looked, it dissolved. The bits of skin vanished along with the bones, flesh, and blood. All that was left as proof she had ever existed was a thin, worn, sky-blue nightgown.

Isle of the Sirens - 1

The mist cleared and I saw creatures so disgustingly hideous that I felt like every bit of filth in the world was comprised in their very faces alone. And then they started singing. A new voice joined the others in times of five minutes. Slowly, ever so slowly, everything evil dropped away from them. I saw the world in a new vision. I was shown a place similar to the home I knew. The evil passed away from it. All things cruel and bad dropped away. I was shown the world as it would be if I ruled it. It was like a dark shadow had passed from the earth and only the right and righteous were left behind. No cruelty, no greed, no pride. My vision swam, and I saw once more the creatures, but they were beautiful. They were the people I most wanted to see. They beckoned me and I leaped off the boat. False promises they sang, but their voices showed me the world. Their voices were all that mattered. The cold waves swirled around my body and I swam, oh I swam. The beautiful place I had created lay in those creatures. They had the power to give me everything I ever wanted. I reached the isle and dragged my body toward them, wishing so much for their voices to never stop. I lay down in the sand and they moved toward, me, ever singing. As their mouths sank into my flesh, the visions faded and I screamed as the world passed into a darkness.