(no title)

People with faceless masks shifting in and out like sand in an hourglass, sliding back and forth. Without a real destination in mind, they were aimless. In the course of carrying these masks, their ambitions had been forsaken, stepping into a lunatic’s game of ‘dog eats dog’. Splatters of red turning patchy on those plain white tees. Innocence masked by the bitter taste of bloodthirst. They chose their opponents carefully; Those who strayed from the herds were the easiest targets, the first to go. Perhaps you could follow ‘When in Rome do as the Romans do’, but when you try it here, you’ll realise that you die a little bit from each battle, the pain eating you up from inside. It doesn’t mean that you won’t die when you join the pack for the kills. It only reflects your futile attempts to stay alive. Indeed, you’ll still die. We’re not immortal. We all die anyway. Do you really want to let your soul slowly rot away, cloaking you in a foul smell which can only be hidden by the blood of others? It’s pathetic. But many have fallen, overtaken by the darkness cast in the shadow of their eyes. Perhaps it helps them cope with their pain a little by seeing others suffer so much more. A mechanical world with red skies and occasional thunder. When will this rain stop?

Advertisement

~ by racevkei on November 12, 2011.