punk-trekkie-666

Of the brown-green trees and summer breeze of the red carnations and silver linings these of which I don't belong Imagine futures imperfect and pure within sanity and fantasy within death itself To wishing to wish no more glazed and off-white a mask cracked and jaded an ivory smile with no joy The grasps of time, beyond all measure I am dying a potency so sweet yet lingers not I am alive

"All will be made clear with time…" Darwin says as the corridor on their left is shut off from them by a door that slams into the floor with incredible force leaving them only one point of exit.  Taking uneasy glances at one another Darnel and Saren tentatively make their way down the only accessible corridor. As they slowly make their way down the stale corridor more of the regimental symbols neatly adorn the walls, and Darwin's utter silence unnerves the two as they're shepherd deeper into the bowels of the ruins. "Are those symbols from your language?" Saren awkwardly asks as his hands scratch at his graying brown mutton chops. A cr

 With a sickening screech the ashen blast door slowly begins its ascent. The dark and murky shaft that descends into the depths of the Earth is bathed with uncaring artificial light. Two silhouettes crumple before the harsh glow; hesitantly they push into the lights embrace. Slowly the blast door groans and squeals behind them as it purposely crashes into the ground, rippling the air like an earthquake. Dust flares up around them, dancing in the sterile light, and their breathing becomes the only true noise in this suffocating cacophony of silence.  Jerking his head around, he slowly trips around the room in a daze. Gapping like a fish the

Failing, I fall to the ground, the will to stand a fleeting feeling, utterly crushed by my despair and unbearable… numbness. Clutching the barren sand between my fingers, I have failed. My eyes stare out to the vastness of the maelstrom of life. A stretching desert, slowly crushing and destroying those who walk it alone, I have failed. Each breath kicks up a small tuft of sand that swirls and dances in front of me, taunting me. In the distance lays a shimmering, indefinable future, life. I have failed. Other fall as I have, ghastly shimmers of men and women swoon around them and rise them back up. A constant reminder that the futur

 The agent turned around on the balls of her feet, her face and features muted by the poor lighting of the room. Her stance spoke of scars past and an air of stoic, emotionless precision. Shaking her head she says just above a whisper, "I don't waste my time with the damned…" turning back around she slowly walks away from the men and women, leaving them to their fate. Unable to hold back the dam, in her mind she breaks down. "They don't have to die…" she whispers to herself "Order's are orders, they were doomed from the start…" she tells herself, to try to rationalize it. Stepping through a threshold the agent is bat

 Mr. Britain slumped in his chair as the room was racked by concussive forces. Resting his head in his hands he is shrouded in shadows, only illuminated by the glow of the bombs as they unleash their hell on London. The city is blanketed by darkness to save it from the blitz. The beauty and wonder of London town is forever lost in the night so that it may not be lost to the light, Britain thought to himself as he looks up from his hands at London. His vision glosses over and ripples as his eyes fill with tears.       Blinking away the liquid offenders Britain takes stock. The room he is in invokes a sense of claustrophobia from the darkness