Andrew J.P Lord
Stories (6/0)
As Ash of Man
Ash layers high stone walls and snags on the spikes of twisted chain-link. It clings to the skeletons of blackened factories and stripped warehouses and Nissen huts whose corrugated iron skin; peeled from its body long ago by scavengers, wanderers, and the strong polluted winds that murder steadily west. Car engines still rumble in sooty streets, voices static in the speakers that spill from their shattered windows. And then there are the bodies, the shadows of this once industrial land, long forgotten and mummified by ash, stiff and faded like material ghosts, never moving nor speaking but always watching.
By Andrew J.P Lord3 years ago in Fiction
A City Of Mud And Filth
It is a city of mud and filth. Of smoke and acid. Of oil and coal. It is a metropolis of ruin and twisted metal. A Haven for rats and a hunting ground for vultures. Its dwellers die young and the fortieth birthday is often thought to be the last. It is in essence, the modern world. A world broken by everything with nothing left to save it.
By Andrew J.P Lord3 years ago in Fiction
Don't Stop And Stare! A Little Green Light Is There!
THE TRAIL LEADS THROUGH THE MARSHES where the Fairies hide and the Ogres stroll and the Gnomes come to fish when away from their treasure troves. The marshes are dark when the rain clouds come and often leave the feted ground sullen and glum.
By Andrew J.P Lord3 years ago in Poets