The Monster That You Created
Stories are told of worlds at the brink of damnation. Some get saved and others break. In those stories many heroes are traversing to fight to defeat the evil. But at what cost? What remains of those worlds that fail and perish? What about the heroes that get discarded and abandoned? DISCLAIMER: This may be a rather harsh read. So people are forewarned.
Left Hand
๐ฟ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐. - ๐ฑ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐น๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
A slow tingling, twitching, and jolting. Thick is the blood and runs viscous as tar.ย
An emerald green running in the veins - Poisoning.
-
Ashen dust in the air, the smell of sulfur, the itching rasp in the throat that crawls through the lungs.
A scorching ruby red festering on the skin - Burning.
-
Gasping for freedom, the body remains heavy and obstructed. The mind is a prisoner in the struggle.
A last blue sapphire bubbles upwards to the surface - Drowning.
---
The blue sky, the invisible air, the hard ground....the grey of steel...and the red of blood.
The eyes reflect the soul. Most would agree. Yet the man that lay dying had no such 'soul' His eyes were hollow to the point where one could see one's reflectionย
'How often has it been now? This feeling of suffering? I want it to end...'
No words escaped the man's mouth. The blood flowing out of said lips just sealed this ability to lament.