ChoicesSo again it has come to pass. We spilt the precious blood of our kin. Two guards lie dead and silent on the floor of the tent. Several others fix their empty and yet accusing gazes up to the dawning sky and beyond the boundaries of the world. As many others before them, they stood in our path – and we dispatched them. A dull echo of remorse resonates faintly somewhere deep within my soul at the realization of how easy it was. For me, anyway.More Like This
There used to be times, when shedding our kin's blood would be an alien concept to us, something beyond our imagination. But those times seem so distant now... We used to be so innocent, centuries ago. I've forgotten what it felt like. Innocence, once lost, cannot be regained – nor truly remembered.
Yet again, I find myself wondering about when exactly did this occur. Which of those bridges we've crossed was that of no return. When everything we used to be transformed into everything we're now. When we stopped making choices... With a cold indiffer
ArchetypeThe man holds a grimy hand to her mouth and whispers something I can't hear. She squirms against the alley wall, and she shrieks, muffled through fingers. I pull out my gun.More Like This
The man's face jerks my way, and I look to his forehead. In the late evening darkness, glowing from his bald scalp is a violet tattoo: an X overlying a large circle. He's a Delinquent Archetype. A Thief.
"Step away from the woman!" I walk closer.
The Thief's eyes widen at my gun, but without missing a beat, he puts the girl between us and pulls her close. He has a knife pressed against her breast, where the tip pierces her blouse.
"You aren't going to do anything to this girl, are you Thief?" I say. "That wouldn't make your handlers too happy, you know." I press a button near the back of my gun, and the small, mounted screen blinks to life, displaying an ID number and a series of readings. One registers fear. It pulses. The Thief pales, almost to the girl's chalky degree.
This close, I can see pas
MaybeMaybe I'm notMore Like This
Like the others,
In any single way.
Maybe I paint my
because I'm satisfied.
Maybe I cry myself
just to dream real deep.
Maybe my eyes dialate
because I find you
a dark soul.
And Maybe I'm just full of it.
Just like everyone else.