Monthly Archives: August 2014


It all starts in a painting that never really existed: downstairs a young miner is resting against the narrow wall of his dark rectangle, covered in soot with pickaxe in hand.
To his right is a square window, revealing the glow of the forge; huge machines working away in the background and in front a muscular figure is pounding away at an anvil, or rather the thin object on the anvil which releases a shower of sparks with each blow.
Above the miner is a girl in a bedroom (you can see the bed behind her), she has a large window with a view we can guess to be nice but can’t quite see. The girl is lying on the smooth floor, sketcher in hand, working out some new design for a piece of armour, chewing on the sketcher as she puzzles it out; a curtain of hair has fallen lazily in front of her and her occupation, blocking them from the rest of the world.
The image to her right depicts a scraggly boy trying to enlist, he wants to be a soldier and dreams of adventure as he is instead handed a mop and bucket at a nearby tavern.
At the top of this painting, rounding up this image of what life is, for these particular individuals, all with dreams and a good heart, is the reason for all of this to exist: the dreams, the mine and the forge… in a bright sky with puffy white clouds is the stunning fleet in all its splendour and at its head, the fleetmaster, the head engineer, looking out to new horizons over the mountains.
This is the typical image people would show of this society. But not the typical people…


So this is a project DragonSpark and I are starting: I start writing and then DragonSpark continues it for a while then passes it back to me and so on…
I’m really excited to see how this turns out! There’ll be a special category for this and everything (that I’ll have to remember to use). This is the first part of a long tale and I have absolutely no idea where it will go, I can only speculate. It’s a big challenge, to have to make do with whatever someone else wrote and pick up from there seemingly naturally and I think this will be very fun and could teach us a lot 🙂
That’s it for the introduction, my part is done… I now pass my digital pen to DragonSpark, it’s your turn now!

The second part is up now, you can find it here


Posted by on 29 August 2014 in Banzaï, Epic Co-written Story


New Life

Everything hurt. All the muscles in my body, my eyes, my head, my bones and something different, that was hurting too. My head was ringing and the light was too bright and the absence of noise too loud. I coughed as a tube was removed from my throat and out of my mouth and then I was breathing on my own. It was rebirth. Except that I didn’t remember the first one, or anything after it. There was an emptiness in my head, a big gaping hole where I felt there should be something, anything. 

I was lying on a table, that’s the first thing I noticed (after the light and the silence). It felt like tables shouldn’t be meant for lying on. But I wasn’t sure… I waited for something to happen. Nothing happened. So I got up. That’s when I noticed some of me looked a certain way and the rest looked different. Some of me was pale, pink and soft, some of that had hair, my head, my arm… the rest of me was different. My right arm was almost all silver, it started on my shoulder a bit then took up most of the space from my shoulder to my elbow, all of the space from my elbow to my wrist and the back of my hand and fingers (no doubt including partly inside my hand too). On my right leg it started on the knee and covered all the way down my leg including my foot; my left leg was entirely robotic and this went up my side and stretched halfway across my skinny, flat chest. I felt like I was burning. I didn’t know my body. I didn’t know who I was. I still don’t know who I was. 

Some panels swivelled out of the way to reveal a flat screen in the wall.
“HELLO ADAM” said the green writing.
Suddenly I remembered speech.
“Who are you?” I asked, not angrily but curiously.
“I AM DAWN” answered the wall.
“Who am I?”
The line flashed a while before writing “YOU ARE ADAM”
I never got more than that. Ever.
“Where am I?” Deciding that if I couldn’t know who I was I might as well know where, if I could get a good answer.
Decidedly not I guessed (a good answer I mean, I didn’t doubt my safety much). Although I later learned that the place was in fact called SAFE, I don’t know if these are initials or just got caught up in the caps-lock that rules letters around there but I don’t much care for it. 

A rectangle of panels to my left danced away as a drawer slid out and DAWN (I’m not entirely sure if these are initials either, for all I know Adam might be ADAM and be initials too) explained:
There was white underwear (labeled “male” inside), baggy white cotton trousers (also labeled “male”) and a thin white t-shirt with long sleeves (“male”) which said ADAM neatly in red on the left. On the side of the drawer was a white watch with a black screen looking like a miniature DAWN and labeled ADAM on the bracelet. For the moment it only showed the time but something told me that wasn’t the only thing it did.

Once I had dressed the wall lit up again saying “THIS IS YOUR ROOM. COME BACK” and with that a door revealed itself behind more scurrying panels. Perplexed by that last message I momentarily forgot my pain and tried to walk, crashing into floor. The table beside me started sinking through the it and beneath me a bed came up. White, like everything.
“YOU ARE UNSTABLE” specified the informative wall, a little too late. 

• • •

My name is Adam, I am the perfect man, I can do jobs no-one else can, I now work for the American secret services and defence; not the CIA – the other one, the one people either cannot name or have been sworn to secrecy about, I work with my teammate Eve who, unlike me, remembers her past and will do anything to avenge the deaths she has seen. Together, we’re an ugly sight. But we’re the best you’ll ever find (if you do find us). We live SAFE. No-one could even get close to finding us in that maze of moving panels. And so, we’re pretty much invincible. Pretty damn proud of it too!…

* * *

Far off in the distance just outside the picture a woman cries out in the ruins of her city, looking for her son. His body was never found. 

………………………………………..tataratataterrificreturnofthecreaturewhohibernatesinsummerandjustdestroyedthemoodsheputyouin………………………… :/

I’m back! Yay! I have finally returned from the faraway places I went (which weren’t really that far by the way) to this thing of yeahwrite and caught up on a lot of stuff!
Ok so I had something I wanted to try this week. But that was before I saw the prompts. Absolutely not compatible with my idea! So I might try next week. In the meantime though I wrote this! I kind of ran out of time so instead of a proper story you can have a cyborg, I hope that works too. Shame on me for being late 😦

I’m glad to be back though and I’m looking forward to reading your amazing work 😀


Posted by on 27 August 2014 in Banzaï, Speakeasy


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DS YW176- Desolation

Everything hurt. It seemed every nerve in my body felt like the best way to hurry me back to consciousness was to scream pain at my brain. The cockpit was mostly intact, but the sheer strength of the impact is what got me. As I looked to my right, I notice my peripheral monitor was shattered. At least that explained why the right side of my body was covered in blood. Shrapnel is the bane of mechanised armour.

Heartbeat- slow. Pilot has regained consciousness.

I grunted as I sat back in my seat. No time to waste. I brought a status report of my mech up on the screen. Looks like I wasn’t the only one in bad shape. Hydraulics for the right leg were badly damaged, perhaps beyond repair. The left arm was basically torn off. Thrusters won’t be able to reach maximum efficiency. At least there were no leaks. Thank god there were no leaks.

As far as weapons went, my rifle was god knows where, my assault knives forgotten in the armoury during the scramble, and my magnum was low on ammo. The only weapons that were still fully operational were the wrist mounted light machine guns. Talk about firepower. I turned on the main camera, grabbed the joysticks, and powered my robotic armoured suit back to life. I felt my eyes widen, as the rest of my body froze in a mix of surprise and terror. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t turned the camera on. To say the moon base was annihilated would have been an understatement. Those bastards took a whole chunk of the moon with them. All that was left of the sprawling military complex was a couple floating rocks. In the lunar sky, cadavers of ships where slowly drifting down to the surface. Hundreds, if not thousands of destroyed mechs lay on the surface, lifeless. A quick glimpse at the comms told me I had lost the signal of all my squad, including Commander Carter, as well as mission HQ. The sensors couldn’t pick up a friendly signal for hundreds of kilometre. I had been very lucky.

Heartbeat- normal. Pilot focused.

I threw my mech into combat speed, pushing what was left of the thrusters to their limit. Unable to achieve flight, I found myself leaping from crater to crater, some of them eons old, some very recent. I was headed for the equatorial comms relay. Earth had to know something had attacked us, clearly with the intent of leaving no survivors. They had taken us by surprise, and had the ability to do so again. The distance to cross was phenomenal, but despite missing some thrust, space armours were fast. The sophisticated inertial dampeners and the genetic modifications I had received at birth easily allowed me to surpass sonic speed, without turning me into a milkshake.

Heartbeat- fast. Adrenaline levels rising

The situation didn’t improve though. As I got further away from the battle field, the sky began to clear. The Earth was piercing the horizon. My sensors were able to extend their reach, no longer impeded by the leftovers of the battle. Quickly, my radar started to send alerts to me. I was picking up a number of large heat sources between me and the Earth. I focused my sensors on it. The image appeared on my screen. My blood froze in my veins.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands of huge ships doted the sky, their silhouette invisible without a filter. They were headed to earth at battle speed. Their architecture wasn’t earth-like. They could not have been built under the constraints of gravity. This wasn’t a rebellion from the colonies. No. This was a full-fledged invasion force.



Man what a great summer. It’s good to be back, though. To start the school year off with a bang, here is a quick sci-fi piece, stepping away from the action heavy pieces and trying something a bit more on the descriptive end of the spectrum. Hope you enjoyed! Comments, criticism, random thoughts, and advice is welcome!


Posted by on 25 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Metal and Rain

The air around me was cold, yet I didn’t feel it. All I felt was fear. Fear, and the adrenaline pulsing throughout my body. I was out of breath. My shoes fell heavily onto the floor as I ran, accompanied by a cold, watery sound as they hit the wet pavement. He was hurrying me along, his hand in mine, his face invisible in the dark night, my sight further weakened by the heavy rainfall.

Through the constant sound of rain hitting ground, an engine, a big one, roared somewhere behind. He spat a cuss and ran faster. Just as my resolve wavered, headlights illuminated the street from behind, causing another pulse of adrenaline through my body.

Hearing the engine get dangerously close, he turned around, grabbed me, and leaped in a perpendicular alleyway. Too late. Being in front of him, I got through safely, but the side view mirror exploded against his left shoulder as the Hummer drove by, projecting the two of us to the ground.

After a few moments, I gathered the courage to stand up. Astonished, I found him standing above me, hand extended towards me. His shoulder showed no sign of damage. However, his jacket seemed to reflect light like the wet armor of a knight where the car had hit him. Failing to puzzle out the situation, I began to ask 100 questions at once. “How did you…. The car… Your shoulder… Are you OK?” Without a word, he pulled me up, and nudged me behind him. Just as he turned to face the alley, familiar headlights blinded us. Doors were opened and shut. Mechanical clicks echoed off the walls of the narrow alley. Guns.

Abruptly, the cold hit me. I was suddenly aware of being drenched to the bone. I fought the rising anxiety and tried to keep a cool head. We didn’t do anything wrong! What do these people want with us? This HAS to be a misunderstanding! Since when is going to the cinema a crime? Are these people even part of the police? Yes, they had gyros at the beginning. Why did he run away? What’s going on here??

My puzzled thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice ahead. “Alright, Shape-shifter, you’re coming with us. Come peacefully, and I can guarantee your safety, and that of the Telepath as well!”

Did he just call him a shape-shifter? Did he just call me a telepath?

I was about to voice my interrogations when he disappeared in a blur. The headlights went out, accompanied by a noise of shattering glass. It was instantly followed by the whistle of air flowing at high speed, and something that sounded like a knife cutting through meat. I ducked and closed my eyes instinctively. A moan of pain and a blind gunshot soon gave way to more brief whistles. I opened my eyes to find a silhouette landing on the hood of the car, crumpling the thin metal, triggering the alarm.

The orange blinkers lit up three figures collapsed on the ground, each with a rifle next to them, the metal shining in the night. I instantly noticed the eerie spike poking out of each body. It had the same metallic texture as the firearm. Pools of dark liquid were spreading around each cadaver, mingling with the pouring rain.

Frightened, I turned my attention to the car. I recognised his slender frame, yet…. Something was off. He stepped down from the hood and calmly walked towards me. That’s when I noticed the oversized talons on his feet, and the long, xiphoid shapes that prolonged his arms. They all had the same metallic texture as the spikes in the bodies, and his shoulder which, as it turns out, was his skin showing through a gaping hole in the fabric of his jacket, torn by the impact. He stopped perhaps a meter in front of me, avoiding my gaze, his expression nervous, almost tense.

His feet turned back to normal and the long blades gave way to five fingers that slowly lost their initial metallic texture. He began to speak, his voice hesitant, barely loud enough to overpower the falling rain.

“I didn’t plan on telling you until I knew you a little better but…” He sighed deeply and looked straight at me. “I’m not what you think I am. Fact is, you aren’t what you think you are.” He pointed towards the car. “However, these people know, and they’re very interested in us…”





Posted by on 17 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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Awesome Team Member Readership Award

I was still crazy satisfied of receiving the Liebster Award not so long ago when the amazing Celine JeanJean decided to bless me with another award. Ladies and Gents, I am proud to add this Wonderful Team Member Readership Award, to our humble blog trophy case!

Apparently, I have to describe what a good reader is in this post. I assume that means a blog reader. To me, a good reader is one that is willing to give feedback, one that will happily do the whole comment chit-chat with the author, and other commenters. Bloggers depend on the commenters, as it is the only reward they get for writing. One of my main reasons for contributing to this blog is the interactions with other members of this little digital neighbourhood. That orange speech bubble really can be an addicting thing.

Then again, it’s also our job and objective as writers to deserve those comments. We strive to write interesting posts, both for personal satisfaction, but also to cause a reaction in our audience, however small it might be, a reaction they will be willing to share. To add on that note, as a blogger, you cannot expect all readers to comment, as some will have nothing to say, due to lack of knowledge, interest, experience etc…

Recently, while visiting the blog of a great commenter, I said that multilateral interactions were what kept the blogosphere spinning, and I do believe that’s the case.

A great reader is one that offers the possibility of interesting, entertaining, insightful, and inspiring interactions, making both parties, as well as the blogosphere itself a more rich entity as a whole.

As far as nominations go, being relatively new to this world of digital writing and sharing, I have few people that can truly be considered regular readers (especially considering Celine was one of the few), so this list is quite short.

Zampano, the selfless, and, until recently, mysterious author of some great comments here, and part of our small audience for a long time (perhaps longer than me). The guy barely has time to himself, and yet writes amazingly over at his blog. Thank you sir!

JoeTwo, probably the biggest fan we have, and the owner of the most likes on this blog, also an occasional yet insightful commenter. He’s a poet, a writer, and has published two books, so clearly an experienced writer, yet willing to spend some of his time here, in our humble, cosy corner of the digital world. Thank you very much!

Patricia Riviera, an inspiring and creative writer, versatile blogger, and author of very flattering comments on many of my posts. I find myself visiting her blog perhaps most often of the ones I follow, hopping for another post that’ll get me thinking. She accomplishes the goal mentioned above perfectly. Congratulations, and thank you!

As well as few others whose blogs are unfortunately Award free…

And finally, thank you to the girl behind the BookWorm name, a true friend and great writer, for welcoming me in this strange world that is WordPress.

There are rules for this award, but I kinda ignored half of ‘em… Here they are in case you want to be very formal about it…

1.The Nominee of the Wonderful Team Member Readership Award shall display the logo on his/her post/page and/or sidebar. (I’m in the process of making a custom one (for those who know me a little, I like to draw… a lot), and hopefully I can scan it and display it here… eventually)

2.The Nominee shall nominate 14 readers they appreciate over a period of 7 days (1 week) – this can be done at any rate during the week. (screw that)

3.The Nominee shall name his or her Wonderful Team Member Readership Award nominees on a post or on posts during the 7 day (1 week) period. (Yea… sorry Celine, I was busy)

4.The Nominee shall make these rules, or amended rules keeping to the spirit of the Wonderful Team Member Readership Award, known to each reader s/he nominates. (Does “ignore” count as “ammend”?)

5.The Nominee must finish this sentence and post: “A great reader is…” (YAY I DID THAT!… kinda)


Posted by on 15 August 2014 in Dragonspark


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DragonSpark- Blueprint of a Legacy

I recently read a post that dealt with legacy. It was essentially a quote from the famous novel, Farenheight 451. To sum it up in a very non poetic way, it said we all need and deserve to have a legacy, the word being defined as difference in state of an object after our passage.

That quote got me thinking. Is that really what legacy is? A change we make that identifies us after our death? Do we really all deserve to have one? Is it even necessary to want one?

First on what legacy is (I’m not going to use any dictionary for this one, just good old Mr Rambles): To me, a legacy is indeed a change, but not usually a materialistic one. A legacy is a part of your life’s work or actions that is deemed worthy of teaching or passing on to the next generation, or, at least, to resist temporal erosion… for a time.

Indeed, a legacy has a lifetime of its own. Some, like Shakespeare’s or Da Vinci’s, are particularly resistant, some might say stubborn. However, I doubt that George RR Martin and Adele will be remembered in 400 years.

Speaking of time, a legacy isn’t created over an instant either. It’s generated over a lifetime, given shape over the years. It’s not a steady process. It can be strengthened by an action, and devitalized by another. Its importance and impact can change as society evolves. Legacies have all sorts of impacts, some of which aren’t very glorifying for those they represent.
That being said, do we all deserve a legacy? How does one rate the importance of an action or actions? To expand on that point, does our actions, good and bad, especially bad, not deserve to be forgotten, in order to give way to the next generations?

On a personal note, I’d say we all have a legacy, however small it might be. Whether they are physical things, like this blog for example, that will likely be around after we cease to be, or at least have the ability to, or more metaphysical things, like my over analytical tendencies, that will surely live out through the memories of loved ones after I kick the bucket.

If you do not know the amazing Celine JeanJean, you should definitely go check her blog out. She was kind enough to nominate me for a readership award (still working on that post BTW Celine, but I started this one a day or two before and didn’t want to let it sit in my unfinished projects folder for any length of time…), and is an amazing and entertaining blogger, as well as a great reader and commenter! This post is rather brief, so please, feel free to share any thought down below. What do you think about this legacy stuff?


Posted by on 9 August 2014 in Dragonspark


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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Drumbeat of Egora

I felt strange in my cloak and doublet, my naked feet bathing in the pearl white sand. I had been sent to the south-eastern nation of Egora by the guild in order to escort another mage back to the royal city. Being from the war-torn western coast, the culture of Egora was a truly fascinating thing to me. The people were dressed lightly, revealing their dark skin to the harsh sun, challenging it. The outfits themselves weren’t ragtag, battle hardened armors like those I used to wear as a young man, nor did they resemble the humble, practical outfits worn by the inhabitants of the central provinces. They were colorful, carefully crafted masterpieces.

Jewels were imbedded in the cloth. Precious metals made up the structure of the more complicated outfits. Cloth-of-gold stitching were made on the edge of the clothing. Rare dies colored the cloth in exotic colors and patterns. The people painted their bodies extravagantly, sometimes leaving no skin untouched. Women wore the feathers of birds of prey to ornate their hair. Men wore the skin of feline hunters to show their worth.

Tonight, the outfits and body paintings were particularly spectacular. Tonight was the eve of the Summer Solstice, a sacred day here. The sun was a red semi-circle sinking into the horizon before me. The sound of drumbeat started as soon as the last sunbeam fell beyond the horizon. I let the vibrations guide me to the town plaza. The space that had been empty shortly before was now dominated by a row of eight huge, elevated drums. A crowd was forming around a tall, ebony skinned woman. She wore a pearl white outfit lined with cloth of gold and ornamented with blue stones. Her abdomen and collar bone were decorated with azure body paint that also swiveled around her arms. That same blue paint ornamented her eyelids and cheekbones.

When she opened her eyes, I was struck by the cold blue light that lived within, like a piece of arctic sky imbedded within her dark frame. A quick look at the drums revealed the true nature of the musicians. They were magical beings summoned, animated and controlled by the blue-eyed sorceress. The same blue light lived within their eyes and the runes that ran throughout their bodies. The mage’s singing began than, her crystal voice amplified by magic, and accompanied by the drums as well as another sound, as if fingers of metal were plucking strings of lightning, summoned by magic, causing a deep vibration throughout my body. The crowd around me was dancing wildly, the only light coming from the village’s torches, and from magical holograms that appeared in the sky, animated by a familiar blue light. The air was fresh and alive with music and happiness.

Hours later, the music died down and the mage stopped her nimble and fluid dance. The flying lights died out, the black silhouettes disappeared from the drums in a cloud of blue particles. The eyes of the mage regained their natural color. The crowd was in awe. She then spoke the local language, her crystal voice reaching the edge of the village. I didn’t need to speak the exotic, fascinating tongue to understand that she was inviting others to join the spectacle with skills of their own.

I dropped my cloak from my shoulders and pulled up my sleeves. The people around me started to move away as my hands started to glow with a crimson light. I let magic flow from my palms, allowing a cloud of red-and-gold particles to form around my knees. I sent a flow of magic through my legs to levitate me and used part of the cloud to materialize ornate wings on my back. The circle the crowd had formed around me now rivalled that of the mage. I cracked my neck and breathed deeply as I pushed more magic out into the night, extending my consciousness, creating bright red figures of my own. I closed my eyes to better focus. Creatures of western myth materialized in the air, re-enacting the stories of my childhood on an epic scale…

… And I was only getting warmed up!


Part four of my Souleater series, introducing a second character. Previous part here and all parts here.Trying a more descriptive approach this time around, perhaps less exiting, but something I need to get better at, meaning feedback is very welcome this week, and I’ll gladly take in opinions, and random thoughts as well! Thanks you for stopping by!


Posted by on 4 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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They’re kind to me, they feed me and shelter me and love me. But they can also be harsh. They obsess over the future and the past, often not seeing the present as anything other than a means for reaching the future. According to them (or at least one of them) I must always be doing something productive for the long run. They put me in a cage. To help me achieve my goals they say. Focus on what’s real! It’s the only thing that really counts in life they say. Too often they trim my wings, pulling me back down to earth. They do not realise that I need the time I “waste” to be “wasted”. They do not understand that what they see as useless can mean a lot to me. I fear that though they do not mean to, they oppress me. And I fear that because of this I may never fly again lest it be some measly hop with shoulders too heavy and wings too short to take off.
I do know that I must prepare for the future, but must I really spend every minute of my time doing so? I value the present as I discard the past and strive towards the future. I might need help, but I also need the freedom to have to ask for that help and not have it forced upon me.
If I focus on what is real and only that, life becomes unbearable… Not because bad things have happened to me but because there is already so little freedom in life, according to how well you do you can go on to do certain things, the rest is achieved with money. Nothing can be achieved only through dreams anymore and we are slaves of the society we call free. So sometimes, I need to get away from that, to imagine I can do anything and be anyone, break the rules, because there is so little I can do in real life.
I hope you understand me, we are all different people with different ways of living, some of which are incompatible. We should acknowledge that and try to adapt to make sure everyone has what they need. Be open and try to understand people, that’s where you learn the most important things. In fact I think when we meet people, we can often say that we learn them and if you look deeper into someone, the chances are you’ll find something you never knew was there. Everyone has a secret, and people are not always who you think they are


*For those who don’t know me I tend to be a little hyperbolic sometimes (curtesy of my overactive imagination which is more often a blessing than a curse 🙂 )


Posted by on 4 August 2014 in Banzaï


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DragonSpark- Death’s Scythe

I walked through the desolated battle field, a spectre from another era. Scattered throughout, the golden cases of deadly projectiles lay, waiting for Time to give them another purpose, to return them to the ground, to purge the artificial shape Man has given them.

In the distance, beyond another bomb crater, the carcass of an armoured vehicle lies. A tank, they called it. The belly of the beast was torn open, its insides still black from hellfire: A piece of armour turned into an open air oven.

I continued to walk on the shrapnel covered path. Up ahead, Time had turned a giant crater into a lake. The crooked, lifeless tail of an aeroplane pierced the surface of the still, grey water. One could tell, the landing hadn’t been pleasant. The fuselage was rigged with bullet holes of various calibre.

I kept on walking until I reached a vantage point. Before me was an eerie field of all things lifeless. Remains of guns, vehicles, cover, camouflage, and ammo plagued my field of view until the horizon… and beyond.

Regardless of why this battle was fought. Regardless of who fought it. Regardless of the cause each side fought for, and their respective righteousness. Regardless of the flag that, in the end, remained upright.

Then only victor here is Death’s scythe.


Little anti-war piece for this week’s moonshine, experimenting with a different POV. Since there is no conflict or tension, this probably doesn’t really qualify as a story. It’s not a ramble either, and definitely not poetry. I’m not really sure what to call this… Anyway, hope you guys liked it! Your opinions and thoughts are always much appreciated! Thank you for your time and attention.


Posted by on 1 August 2014 in Dragonspark


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