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Blurred Lines of Deception

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*Written in collaboration with Creepy Clown Girl*      This path that I have chosen is the path of the Lord, no evil shall walk this path, nor see it, for the Lord has guarded it with the Golden Gates of Heaven. Beyond these golden gates of Heaven lies a world, a world filled with love, peace, and happiness, a world in which no evil shall enter for the Lord has guarded it with the Golden Gates of Heaven. Or so I thought, that is until last night when I dreamed I died and went to Heaven.      Standing on elegant tiles of marble, I stood outside those pearly gates and awaited an angel to arrive.  But, when one did not come, I pushed open the gates, and the terror that befell my eyes was ghastly beyond sight.      The sulfuric smell that erupted from the volcanoes that encircled the landscape permeated the air.  The mournful pleas and cries of the condemned from centuries past until now were nearly piercing to the ears.  The sight of tormented souls and the damned as they faced off in the

Dead Language

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            It may not seem like it, but your entire world, who you think you know, what you think you know, who you are, and what you become can change in a single night.  At least that’s what happened to me.  I’ve been a linguistics major for the last 3 years and have made it my life’s mission to understand languages, from how dialects emerge, to how accents and other attributes of language change.  However, something in the world changed a few nights ago.  I remember everything that led up to it being completely normal.  I was watching videos online and remember dozing off before going to bed.  Something in the sky was being reported about on the news.  It was a mysterious glow over the surface of the Earth.  Most of my online friends dismissed it, saying that it was likely some lights in the sky from a comet and shouldn’t be concerned about it.  Perhaps I should have been concerned about it, because the next morning, nothing made sense.              I remember falling asleep the ni

The Last Sight of The West End

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              I am one of the last survivors of a failed settlement in Antarctica.  The year is our current year of 2090 and I am taking the journey towards the mainland of Argentina, with hopes of being able to gain contact with my family and call on a friend for a favor so that I can try snag a place to live for the time being.  Time is of the essence for those who are left to be rescued, and I think that they are not going to be alive for much longer.  We all live on borrowed time, but it appears that nature has made a recall on the lives of many of those on the continent.  While I have the time between my voyage to South America and my journey home, I should explain what transpired that led to the fall of a rising melting pot of culture, class, and the creation of a would-be emerging paradise.             I came to this continent two years ago on a business trip.  I was told that the western end of the continent would be the perfect place to start up a new colony and that it would

Loorne - Terror of the Sea

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     Sand, splashing water, the smell o f saline, and marine life permeated the beach where I normally worked.  However, this day was different.  This day was a day that I wanted to take for myself, a day where I didn’t wear trousers and have my shirt buttoned up.  A day where I could sit out here nearly naked without anyone looking on this part of the beach and be content with myself.  All that I brought with me was an umbrella to sit under, a few towels to keep myself dry when necessary, and enough food and refreshments to last me for the day.  What I didn’t anticipate about my plans was how far the water would reach me and how little time I would have before everything I had planned was swept away. e sun had started to set and the water had already started to rise.   Instead of making plans to head back up the beach towards my vehicle, I thought that I would play chicken with the water.   I wanted to let it come up to my feet and almost sweep me away, that way I could have my fun

Product

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When all is said and done When the day is over And I finally head home Am I a product of my own making? As I make my way out of bed To complete the next work day Slipping into the same morning routine Am I a product of my own making? I wake up and check the glass panel That rests comfortably within a pocket Looking for a message that brings me joy Am I a product of my own making? I prepare to make my commute Traveling from my home to my work station Preparing myself to complete set tasks Am I a product of my own making? As the world sends me messages Through glass screens and panels And printed pages plastered with adverts Am I a product of my own making? Every signal that the world sends me Every external message demanding attention As I arrive at work with apprehension Am I a product of my own making? Hours spent doing repetitive tasks While fellow employees try to keep up Doing thankless work for less than they’re worth Am I a product of my own making? Spending time processing and l

Attached

Moving through the various body motions Of an engagement, engrossed in emotions Contemplating the best gesture to utilize As I try to convey what I cannot say.   As the words try to free themselves From the inner chasm of my being Forcing out a mere whisper As I try to convey what it is that I feel.   Fearing the worst that may come That I may drive away my interest Forcing them out of my embrace As they try to make sense of my phrase.   I could never utter such words With any brevity, much less confidence Failing to provide a proper response To fulfill the will of my partner’s promise.   The anxiety overwhelms my mouth Rendering my body silent As I could not attach myself to them And just mutter the word “yes”.

Unlike Me

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  The gnashing of fresh flesh The clattering bones against gritted teeth The creatures consumed my crewmates Spilling blood and tendons from underneath   Stuck on a foreign planet With no plans on how to return home My crew and fellow compatriots Were conquered, like in the days of Rome   Screams and cries were silenced by murder The devouring of bodies forced them to a murmur Hiding away in my disheveled travel cell I winced as the noises made me grasp my blade firmer   To devise an escape under such circumstances With the creatures furthering their advances My odds of living through an escape enhances My will to make a run and take my chances   The fumes of the ship forced others to suffocate Bodies fresh for the creatures to excavate The ship had just enough power left to automate An escape pod, through which I could vacate   As I left the ship and made my escape I could now see the assaulters in full form Thousands of them darke