DS Speakeasy 179-Void

I’ve come to love the silence. Only out here in space can one enjoy such peace. Unfortunately, this peace was soon to be shattered. I had abandoned the unmanned resource satellites yesterday,  following the asteroid belt back to the colony. The empty void of space, the predictable, familiar mechanical hisses and clicks of my armoured suit were going to once again give way to the unpredictable chaos of the crowd, the overly natural environment, with its animals, and its trees, with branches trying to grab you, imposing themselves upon you. How could anyone like this? The colonies, they say, were built to provide a home for Earth’s growing population, attempting to reproduce a familiar environment in the process. If Earth is as noisy, chaotic, dirty, and unpredictable as the colony hub, then I’d much rather stick to spatial duties. Humans are horrible to be around. They’re all rude, and violent, and egocentric and….

… I need a break.

I cancelled out my mech’s velocity relative to the asteroid belt, put my helmet on, switched off the hydrogen core, and opened the hatch, letting myself float out into space, a mere cable holding me to the seat of my cockpit. The distant sun was illuminating the millions of rocks that composed the belt, the rays playing and dancing on the metal of my suit. I held my right hand in front of me. Four gloved fingers and a thumb were moving in my field of view. Deep breath. Why do I exist? Why are clones necessary to Humankind? They have too many people to start with, so why add more mouths to feed? Sure, we’re more adapted to 0-G environments, what with the fancy genetic augmentations and all, but why go through all the trouble of creating a new species? Why didn’t they just genetically modify some of their own people? Are they that lazy? Willing to create a new life form, just to avoid doing some dirty work?

I sighed. My HUD indicated me that I wasn’t supposed to be back at the spaceport for another six hours. The colony was very close. I was surprised it couldn’t be seen yet. Without thinking it through any further, I turned towards the sun, and let the vague sense of heat drift me to sleep…

…until a metallic click against my visor woke me up. Something bright and golden was spinning slowly right in front of me. A bullet casing. Startled, I swiped it away with my hand, only to realize I was surrounded with the little golden metal tubes. Hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, drifted all around me.

I felt my stomach drop. Something was horribly wrong. I returned to my mech, turned the main power on. It had been 1H since I last checked the time. Meanwhile, I had drifted closer to the colony, yet it was nowhere to be seen. My mech slowly burst to life. Screens turned on, engines revved, and electricity flowed. Music to my ears. After a few moments, the sensors went crazy. It seemed the asteroid belt was filled with huge chunks of metal and steel and organic matter where the colony should have been.

As I got closer, signs of battle became evident. Fragments of ships were drifting about, crushing asteroids in their wake. Mechs similar to mine were torn and lifeless, floating in the empty void of space. Soon, carcasses of skyscrapers and civilian homes floated about, dotting the sky with eerie images. As I got closer still, bodies started to appear. Some of them were disfigured, maimed and partially annihilated by the battle, but others were too well preserved, almost as if they were about to start moving again. Once I had reached what was supposed to be the heart of the colony, I had already seen horrors beyond count.

Where I stood, bits of plants, cars, buildings, and bodies were all too abundant. I stood there, wide eyed, looking at the still death that surrounded me, motionless, breathless. Something moved into my field of view. A tree. One of the elements of nature I had grown to resent, floating, leafless, through the remains of the colony. It was revolving slowly. After a few seconds, it had completed a semi rotation, revealing the woman whose body lay impaled by its branches…

 

//……………………………………DEATH//SPACE=SILENT::SCREAMS//………………………………………………..//

First post in a while. Here, a somewhat sociopathic space colonist comes back from a mission, only to find his/her home destroyed. Definitely not my usual character! Comments appreciated!

 

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.

:…………………………GRIM…..::R34P3R//…………………………………L0V3P34C3//N0W4R::

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.

 

The place that life did shun

Where have all the flowers gone?

For winter’s been and done,

What have all the people done

To make such beauty run?

 

It is because the flowers know

That people burn and kill,

The war and devastation show

That coulors suit us ill.

 

The sun starts to fades away

To leave us in the dark,

Such creatures don’t deserve to stay

Lighted by a spark.

 

The flowers bleed their sorrow and hurt

For Man has pierced their shield:

Their brothers laid down in the dirt

Under the poppy fields.

 

………….•••••••••••………..•••••••••……..••••••••………•••••••……..•••••…….••••••…..

 

I’m sorry this had to be so sad and I’m not sure I’ll be uploading this to the grid, I’ll probably find something more fun

Ok scrap that I wrote something I liked a little more but it was way too long (over 900 words) and I didn’t have the heart to cut it that much so I’m going to cheat by adding a link if you want to see it but feel free to ignore it. Here it is

Feel free to comment on anything you see should you choose to roam around this blog (I even encourage you do so) even if something is months old it’s always nice to get new feedback or even just appreciation (or depreciation but with reason). Also if you want to participate in a friendly prompt or prompt me (or us, I think DragonSpark would be happy to give it a go) do so, go ahead 🙂

By the way I’m leaving for two weeks on Friday so don’t be offended if it takes me a while to answer, I promise I’ll answer you when I get back.
If you read this far thank you for bearing with me as I rambled on

 

Rememberer

Scowling, With that stiffness of walking fast because I don’t have much time but reluctantly because I know I won’t like what I find. Looking scornfully at the lampposts I decide whatever happens tonight I don’t care, I’m going straight home after to forget about it, watching a film, singing in the shower, going to bed. These gang fights get ugly.
Who would’ve thought a policeman’s job to be so alike to the undertaker’s. Or a policewoman.
The problem is that a new violent gang has arisen that we know nothing about and are therefore impossible to stop. All we do know is the horrible state they leave their victims in. Which is why right now, I’d rather be pretty much anywhere but here. But I have to stop them. That’s why I’m here and I’m determined to do my job. No one can mess with people like this and expect to get away with it. I hate this part of my job.
Suddenly I’m at the crime scene but a shrill noise is drilling into my head and blurring my vision.
As I hear my classmates rushing out I remember, this was the last lesson of the day. As I stagger up and pack my blank sheet and the pen that doesn’t work I think of the poor woman who doesn’t know she will never get back home, watch a film, sing in the shower, go to bed. And I don’t want to know who she was. Because I already have enough reasons to cry. I’ve already been enough people, discovered different lives only to find out it was their last moments.
And no one at school or at home ever knew why that boy’s eyes were so full of sadness
The only life I experience that doesn’t die is my own.
No one ever dared to approach him and they all thought it better to let him grieve in peace
But my own life is like so many last moments. I’m always alone.
No one ever knew if he wanted company, but sometimes on his own he looked OK, so maybe he wasn’t always so sad
At least I can never know when I’m about to die. And I feel such intimacy with the people I become for a short while that sometimes, just sometimes, it was worth being with them. To remember them.

 

Speakeasy 164 – Ghost Stories

There is no warning rattle at the door. There is no howling of the wind. There are no white sheets when they come. Ghosts. They just appear. Some take the form they had before they died, some alter it but it’s easier for them to take over animals, especially small ones, especially birds. Small birds. People don’t notice them, I think I’m the only one to see dead people. Of course at first I didn’t know, it was mainly kind people, worried about me but then I met a guy who hated to lie. So he told me the truth. And he told me how he died. Dead people are usually harmless but when they are angry they can appear near your bed and kill you. Of course that’s very hard for them to do.
My best friend is dead, I’m pretty sure she’s the first dead person I’ve known though I can’t be sure. She’s often near me and we talk a lot. At night she always makes sure someone’s beside me if she can’t be there. If she weren’t dead I would have married her later. She knows everything. She’s the only girl worth existing and sometimes I wonder why she sticks around a “little boy” like me. Of course I’m a big boy now but people often get it wrong.
People, living people I mean, say I’m weird. They think I talk to myself. They’re weird, why can’t they see ghosts? I don’t like boys my age. I don’t like girls. I don’t like grown-ups, I don’t like babies, I don’t like puzzles, books are boring, drawing is too long and I don’t like games that involve other people. I like talking to dead people. They know things. They tell me stories about everything. I want to be a pirate when I grow up. They tell me pirate stories and all sorts of other ones too. When I grow up, I want to be a dead pirate and my best friend can be my parrot.

 

Stars in Our Eyes

“Can you die?”
Yes.
“Will you die?”
Eventually.
“Why?”
Because everything that lives must die,
If there is to be life, there has to be death.
“But you’ve lived for so long”
Aye, I even seen the death of a star. Though I wonder,
When people with science and big
Complicated words
Say that it is
The death
Of a star,
Could it ever have lived?
And, if so
Then I’d wonder more
What
The life of a star
Could be like?

 

Pompeii

Bad things happen around me. I’ve known that since I was 10 years old. But I thought I could escape it, I found a place, so alive that I thought I could hide in between the people and the many lives around me. I loved walking around town, not speaking to anyone, just watching. I got noticed, people started talking to me and I made friends, not close but close enough to not be alone. I really thought I could try again, get another go at life… I was wrong.

But my luck caught up with me, the ground shook, first almost imperceptibly then more and more and I saw my city slowly fall apart before me… all the people I had met, those I had known and those I had gotten used to passing by. The colours and the lights came tumbling down in a shower of ephemeral beauty. The pillars were crumbling and I knew that no matter how hard I tried I would not be harmed. That’s just how it works. I get to see cities fall and people get crushed but I always come out unscathed. I saw the homeless guy I sometimes had sat with for words of wisdom, a pillar about to fall on him, and there were others. I closed my eyes as the city I loved fell to pieces around me and tried to block it out, imagine it still standing, trying to block out the screams of dying people and crashing towers. All I could feel were the tears streaming down my face, it was the only harm done, but it was enough. When I opened them again the rubble sat there accusingly, it was my fault, it always was.
So I closed my eyes again and tried to imagine what it had been again, so full of life. And I cried.

 

Green Soldiers with Guns

Down from the abyss came-
A deep rumbling song
A sound to wake the dead,
Come let the mourners come,
Rise them from their beds.

Tell them that their flesh and blood
Are soldiers gone to war,
And tell them that they died in vain
Strewn upon the floor.

Tell them how their kinsmen cried
And watched their brothers die.
Tell them how they took a gun
And never wondered why,

And tell them that when all was gone
They sat there looking back,
And wept their hearts out and their souls
For those they killed and did not know
And those that they saw die.

Tell them how in fields of green
They still see pools of blood,
Now tell me if it’s war you seek
I’ll tell you that it’s wrong.

 

Speakeasy 162 – What is Death?

Until the day I die I’ll never forget those glassy, unblinking eyes. The way they stared on without feeling as the bullets came out of their porcelain hands. I will never forget the way they killed my body to capture my soul. But they’ll kill that too soon enough, and then I really will die. The only thing that matters now is the time I have between now and then.. Because the human instinct is to survive, that’s what they’re counting on with this. I just hope they’ve underestimated it, although now that I think about it, it’s highly doubtful. I know I have to bide my time, I’ll only get one chance.
I hate them so much, the people doing this to us. I hate them for putting me in this white, synthetic body. Plastic and reinforced, the new thought police: perfect, because they are without thought, they can never betray.
They bring us here, from the darkest part of town where men live in the ignorance of life itself. Except they could never know that I had not lived there all my life. They tell us this is the year 1984, it’s a joke but I read, and I understand only too well what it means.
The dark places where they found us and the likes of us will be the first to go, then they will slowly enslave the working classes, building their way up so well that no one will realise before it’s too late. I know how these things work:
I used to be deep in politics and the deeper I went, the more trouble got into. The world we live in now is far from what you’d think. There are layers upon layers of corruption, manipulation plots and manoeuvres and counter-manoeuvres in all levels and more as you go higher up the ranks. Of course once I discovered that I tried to restore a democratic and honest government but that wasn’t happening and I was slowly starting to attract unwanted attention. So I retreated into the shadows, where no one would come looking… Until now.
They brought us in, they taught us how to read, they taught us how to fight. Then they immobilised us and put our brains inside these machines: cleverly put together as to resemble human movement as accurately as possible but with a few… upgrades… like the bullets that can be shot through our hands though for now it’s just empty rounds. They need human brains that already know how to move to be able to keep up with the intricate design. We have to be inside.
I’m in a big room in a rather small complex, there are bedrooms (because maybe the one inconvenient thing is that though the body doesn’t need to rest, the mind does) and there is a place with chargers for our bodies and sustenance for our brains which come in cartridges that last a week. The last place is a training ground where we have to remember how to fight and get better at it.
…
I’ve been here for three months now, a monotonous silence with nothing but us. Actually there is a painting, of a man, hung up high on the wall where no one can reach it, even with the “super jump” as I like to call it. A man from long ago, looking down at us disapprovingly. He keeps looking down with that same unwavering stare, guarded by two feisty little hairy beings. He called us dangerous. He taunted our maimed souls: “look what you have become”. And we lower our heads, furiously mute and helpless. Because we cannot talk.
…
By now I can see that most have already become exactly what they wanted us to be. I think some of them believe this is hell.We have no means of communicating. Now I know, they weren’t going to kill us… that was never going to work, they want to drive us so mad that they won’t even need to kill us, over time we will all become the mindless creatures we saw when we first got here, and that’s when I saw, in a flash of lucidity, that I was never getting out of here “alive”, so to say. And so like that, I give up.

 

Down

Falling, it was easy, she’d done it before, in her dreams, she’d had many dreams about falling into space, nothingness, forgetfulness, because there, there was no one to hate her, no one to lock her out, no one at all. Just nothing, and the thought was appealing: she wouldn’t have to hide anymore, she wouldn’t have to become mute so that nothing she said could be used against her, she wouldn’t have to try to lock the world out. Standing on the edge it all sounded right, no one wanted her and she would fall into oblivion, the world didn’t need her.

Standing on the edge she was determined, but she was also afraid, because she knew that she wasn’t falling to nothing: she was falling onto a hard road where, if she was lucky, she would get crushed on impact. If she wasn’t lucky… she would either get hit by a car or strike a lamppost on the way down, not very nice thoughts but ones she couldn’t get out of her mind. A small part of her still wanted to live, nagging at the back of her mind.
She stood staring down for a while until she realised that she couldn’t do it; her instinct to live was too strong. But by now there was turning back… it was too late. She had her back against the wall, her pain pushing forward, her instinct pushing back and she was stuck in the middle of this tug of war neither able to jump nor go back.
So she sat there and cried alone in the dark. If you see her, pull her away, let her see that not all is lost, show her that there is so much more to life. Please. For her. And for all the people who died thinking they weren’t worth it. Because they were, they were every bit worth the precious life they owned and they should never have thrown it away. No one ever should. If you find her, please tell her this: “you are not alone”, because in these times, that may be all she wants to hear. Thank you.