Torn angel…
Tears of
blood roll down the empty ocular orifices where my eyes were once housed. The
smell of blood, sweat and death fills the black smoke stained air. The screams.
The screams of the fallen. Those that fell in battle. Their side and ours. The
screams are so loud, coming from everywhere. Angry, painful, scared and insane
screams that make me sick to my stomach to hear and bear witness to.
I can barely stand let alone hobble forward though I try. Using my sword as a cane to keep me upright. Under my left arm I carry my heavy blood soaked wing. Hacked clean off during battle. There is no help for me here. There is no help for anyone here. This battlefield is eternal and unending. These screams will continue to be sung until the end of time. This battle has existed for 4 or 5 billion years. This battle is as old as the Universe itself. This war is just as strong as it was then. It’s rage is eternal.
I fall to the ground and struggle using my sword to push myself upward again, swaying a little but still managing to continue forward, I know I won’t be able to make it to the end of this battle. I am spent. There are still trillions of legions of my kin that will bleed and spill blood. The blood of the infidels. Though they have an equal eternal supply of reinforcements as well. I regret that I will not be united with our children. The children we are fighting for so many aeons of light years away. It was our tribe that hid them. It was our tribe that seeded the newborn planet with life and our genetic markers hidden within them. It was us that manipulated the ecological factors that nurtured and supported their growth. I would have really liked to see them. How they have grown. How they have matured and what they have retained from us. How I have wondered if they have gleaned the gifts hidden deep with within their genes. I would have really liked to have seen them. To warn them. Of this war. This war over who will be the ones to harvest the children of the next Universe. Who would harvest them in the fullness of time? We are coming for them. But so are they. Hence the war.
I fall one last time dropping my torn wing from my arms being able to hang on to it no longer. My eyes leak one more drop of blood for the children I will never know and I lay my weary head down on the red damp ground for the last time and finally…finally I know what peace is. Peace is a land far away from the screams and hurt that has lasted countless lifetimes and countless generations. This land is called silence.
I can barely stand let alone hobble forward though I try. Using my sword as a cane to keep me upright. Under my left arm I carry my heavy blood soaked wing. Hacked clean off during battle. There is no help for me here. There is no help for anyone here. This battlefield is eternal and unending. These screams will continue to be sung until the end of time. This battle has existed for 4 or 5 billion years. This battle is as old as the Universe itself. This war is just as strong as it was then. It’s rage is eternal.
I fall to the ground and struggle using my sword to push myself upward again, swaying a little but still managing to continue forward, I know I won’t be able to make it to the end of this battle. I am spent. There are still trillions of legions of my kin that will bleed and spill blood. The blood of the infidels. Though they have an equal eternal supply of reinforcements as well. I regret that I will not be united with our children. The children we are fighting for so many aeons of light years away. It was our tribe that hid them. It was our tribe that seeded the newborn planet with life and our genetic markers hidden within them. It was us that manipulated the ecological factors that nurtured and supported their growth. I would have really liked to see them. How they have grown. How they have matured and what they have retained from us. How I have wondered if they have gleaned the gifts hidden deep with within their genes. I would have really liked to have seen them. To warn them. Of this war. This war over who will be the ones to harvest the children of the next Universe. Who would harvest them in the fullness of time? We are coming for them. But so are they. Hence the war.
I fall one last time dropping my torn wing from my arms being able to hang on to it no longer. My eyes leak one more drop of blood for the children I will never know and I lay my weary head down on the red damp ground for the last time and finally…finally I know what peace is. Peace is a land far away from the screams and hurt that has lasted countless lifetimes and countless generations. This land is called silence.
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