In the still room the air clings to you like a child with sticky fingers. The only light comes from the faint flicker of the emergency lights. The air grows thick with a copper taste. The smell of it is everywhere suddenly and there is no ecaping it. In the middle of the room surrounded by her loves.
She sits.
Their shattered, disimbodied limbs suppend in dissarry all around. The only sounds are the constant drip and pounding of the foul liquid through them.
She stands.
Rejects of an ideal, experimentations gone wrong, reduced to dissections. They were suppoused to be Hope, the beloved of the dying. The rebirth of the species. Now they are the filth, the effluent run off from the diseased. Living macabre, a decoration the sciencitst pinned on their walls.
She opens her eyes.
She will show those who desecrated her cherished loves. She would show them soul scorching torture that is untangleable to the inflecteds' minds. The horrors and suffering she would teach them and death, would be a glorious gift she would never bestow them.
She Breaths in....
View User's Journal
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||
