Two Ships in the Sunrise // Charlie + Thomas
Jun 27, 2017 19:19:10 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on Jun 27, 2017 19:19:10 GMT -5
Charlie Opasion
The boy with a Fire for a Heart
Dormant damnation dwells within the winding waves of each breaking dawn's sun. Serpents slither and slide through the streets as exterminators tear through their venomous dens. Gun shots crack crystal clear air spurring smoke into the sky miles high. One by one we watch victims wriggle, wreathe, and die. Damnation indeed is certainly upon our horde as our horrors have given blood boiling to the mouths of the streets staining them with our marks. Bullet follows bullet while bodies build a tower of their own. Children are crying while Mothers are dying. Fathers are fighting while sons are being slaughtered alongside them. Daughters are being left either dead as well or newly deemed masters of their house. In all my years of thievery, loitering, vandalism, and violence never before have I seen a war waging as wicked as this.
It began a day as average as ever. The streets were full of filing faces bags building beneath their eyes every step they took. Above their heads and their stains of sweat the sweltering sun was beginning to spill behind a curtain of stars. Soon soft sweet strands of fabric and paper would take flight on an evening breeze of relief while the District's occupants welcomed its embrace with a unified sigh. From the dens the serpents spilled across the asphalt with energized excitement for the ending of a long lit day. The children were dynamically dancing while small sparks soon split into flickering fires. The world of those dressed in our skins was just awakening from an eternal sun's reckoning. Yet, soon this shelter of the Night's veil became a monstrous thunder dome of terror.
Flashes fired from the depths of the dark beyond the reaches of our flame's vision. Blood bursted across the still badly burning streets causing a sickening sizzle to be followed by the steam of evaporation. Screams snared the ears of any breathing body within the location's direct radius. Death in the form of shattered skulls and sliced hearts delivered by a flurry of flashing steel was born. Some scurried across the scarlet streets through streams of falling figures to the dens from which they first fled, even there they weren't safe. From inside the flashes followed their footsteps and their screams followed the shuddering shots. An entire den died that night, the few that survived the slaughter were executed the following morning. Since then, its been war.
The gang was in unanimous uproar and anger, yet still behind the fury of their will to fight fear filled every inch of their irises. The days following the first attack were endlessly supplied with constant moving, weary words, and many terrible tears. New dens were developed, the old ones were burnt by my crew's hands. From my fingers I watched the flick of my fires fuel the fall of more than eight main dens we had been dwelling within. The war took my physical home in a matter of hours after its start. Thankfully, my emotional home rooted in those whom have raised me has always been stronger. However, my emotions have been hit with endless stabbings since our successful migration across the stained streets. We've been returning fire as planned only... they've been hitting us back in turn.
Today is special, it marks the third week since the start of the struggle. Since its formation more than 30 members of the gang have died, women, children, elderly, and young. Beyond that, countless more have also been injured. Take my friend Connor Hills for example, after joining me on a raid to steal tear gas he took a bullet in his left leg and has been off it ever since. I've been lucky to say the least, I guess being of importance to the future of the gang, especially in a time like this, has made me very valuable. Every raid or battle I go barging into with my clear command lower members of all ages are sent specifically as my guards. I don't know if I really like being treated like a prince, I don't feel like one, I was't raised like one. I worked my ass off to get where I am... hopefully its just all that work paying off.
Today is also special for another reason. Its been nearly two weeks since I saw Tommy last. Undoubtedly I know he is sitting at home stuck in the brief boredom of summer caught in the cruel crevice of rampant worry. I imagine he sits there by his window sill wondering and waiting for any kind of sign or sight of me. I imagine he's seen the startling scenes of my deaths multiple times in his sleep. Is it by bullet in a battle, a bullet in the head during a live execution, maybe I've been stabbed and left for dead in the dirt. He has no information or insight, he sits alone trapped within the atrocities of a mind's manipulative malice. But no longer, I'm going to visit him today. My message for him arrived days ago, he's surely waiting, wanting... I see his street.
Steps suddenly spill from my surroundings enclosing me in a circle of sweat stained serpents. "What happened?" Is all I need to ask before one of them, no more than fourteen, stammers out "The Peace Keepers are closing in on another den, the tear gas traps are set but the Heads want us to set a fire trap as well. We need you now." Ice spills steeply down my spine as a face of sorrow looks longingly down Tommy's road. My knife fiddles through my flipping fingers. "Then we give them what they need." Our steps soon speed in synchronization through the alleyways to the "city".
Guilt grows inside the churning center of my stomach as I think of the worry which will whip through Tommy's thoughts now. I'm being cruel. My thoughts are sent to a spiraling stop as I spot the large trucks moving closer with every second. Fingers furl to fists while orders begin flying from my face. "Grab the mixtures and get the matches fast we only have several minutes at the most!" I'm trapped in the trial of the front lines while the boy I love sits trapped in tortured safety. My eyes shut for a mere moment, I wouldn't want it any other way. My eyes flash with fire beneath the moon's mighty embrace. "Let's burn them to the ground."
It began a day as average as ever. The streets were full of filing faces bags building beneath their eyes every step they took. Above their heads and their stains of sweat the sweltering sun was beginning to spill behind a curtain of stars. Soon soft sweet strands of fabric and paper would take flight on an evening breeze of relief while the District's occupants welcomed its embrace with a unified sigh. From the dens the serpents spilled across the asphalt with energized excitement for the ending of a long lit day. The children were dynamically dancing while small sparks soon split into flickering fires. The world of those dressed in our skins was just awakening from an eternal sun's reckoning. Yet, soon this shelter of the Night's veil became a monstrous thunder dome of terror.
Flashes fired from the depths of the dark beyond the reaches of our flame's vision. Blood bursted across the still badly burning streets causing a sickening sizzle to be followed by the steam of evaporation. Screams snared the ears of any breathing body within the location's direct radius. Death in the form of shattered skulls and sliced hearts delivered by a flurry of flashing steel was born. Some scurried across the scarlet streets through streams of falling figures to the dens from which they first fled, even there they weren't safe. From inside the flashes followed their footsteps and their screams followed the shuddering shots. An entire den died that night, the few that survived the slaughter were executed the following morning. Since then, its been war.
The gang was in unanimous uproar and anger, yet still behind the fury of their will to fight fear filled every inch of their irises. The days following the first attack were endlessly supplied with constant moving, weary words, and many terrible tears. New dens were developed, the old ones were burnt by my crew's hands. From my fingers I watched the flick of my fires fuel the fall of more than eight main dens we had been dwelling within. The war took my physical home in a matter of hours after its start. Thankfully, my emotional home rooted in those whom have raised me has always been stronger. However, my emotions have been hit with endless stabbings since our successful migration across the stained streets. We've been returning fire as planned only... they've been hitting us back in turn.
Today is special, it marks the third week since the start of the struggle. Since its formation more than 30 members of the gang have died, women, children, elderly, and young. Beyond that, countless more have also been injured. Take my friend Connor Hills for example, after joining me on a raid to steal tear gas he took a bullet in his left leg and has been off it ever since. I've been lucky to say the least, I guess being of importance to the future of the gang, especially in a time like this, has made me very valuable. Every raid or battle I go barging into with my clear command lower members of all ages are sent specifically as my guards. I don't know if I really like being treated like a prince, I don't feel like one, I was't raised like one. I worked my ass off to get where I am... hopefully its just all that work paying off.
Today is also special for another reason. Its been nearly two weeks since I saw Tommy last. Undoubtedly I know he is sitting at home stuck in the brief boredom of summer caught in the cruel crevice of rampant worry. I imagine he sits there by his window sill wondering and waiting for any kind of sign or sight of me. I imagine he's seen the startling scenes of my deaths multiple times in his sleep. Is it by bullet in a battle, a bullet in the head during a live execution, maybe I've been stabbed and left for dead in the dirt. He has no information or insight, he sits alone trapped within the atrocities of a mind's manipulative malice. But no longer, I'm going to visit him today. My message for him arrived days ago, he's surely waiting, wanting... I see his street.
Steps suddenly spill from my surroundings enclosing me in a circle of sweat stained serpents. "What happened?" Is all I need to ask before one of them, no more than fourteen, stammers out "The Peace Keepers are closing in on another den, the tear gas traps are set but the Heads want us to set a fire trap as well. We need you now." Ice spills steeply down my spine as a face of sorrow looks longingly down Tommy's road. My knife fiddles through my flipping fingers. "Then we give them what they need." Our steps soon speed in synchronization through the alleyways to the "city".
Guilt grows inside the churning center of my stomach as I think of the worry which will whip through Tommy's thoughts now. I'm being cruel. My thoughts are sent to a spiraling stop as I spot the large trucks moving closer with every second. Fingers furl to fists while orders begin flying from my face. "Grab the mixtures and get the matches fast we only have several minutes at the most!" I'm trapped in the trial of the front lines while the boy I love sits trapped in tortured safety. My eyes shut for a mere moment, I wouldn't want it any other way. My eyes flash with fire beneath the moon's mighty embrace. "Let's burn them to the ground."
