- Imagine -
***
Imagine a man with a cadaverous visage jittering and clocking
to a self-imagined rhythm and beat before swaying to the concrete, slackened jaw, tongue out, eyes rolled back.
People surround the carrion while blood-stained grey, red.
Asphalt tundra breakers, calling or recording before quickly stopping gagging and coughing a smell filling the nostrils causing faint foaming.
Lips lined with bubbling saliva, salty tears diluting the blood.
Now imagine a different story from a different part of time on another side of the world where they wouldn't know that the man from before had died.
Scrolling quaintly through pages and the like, a few reports sweeping past their eyes, finger stinging, teeth gnashed in an ugly grin, looking forward to wasting their time once again.
But better that than stressing themselves out slaving away for something that gave them nothing but a hunched back and a bloody mouth.
It just wasn't worth it, money-wasting their purpose.
All this person could do was reminisce about the better times when hopes and dreams weren't considered wasteful things.
***
- Lackluster Cerebral Duster -
***
Whenever I try to go to sleep I am sometimes racked with a cerebral beat.
The cogs in my mind churning, thoughts of existential learning, contemplation, focusing on what was real.
Be it the embarrassing thoughts from my past, or the tear-ridden eyes showing what I had lacked, if this would be good, or if things would go bad.
The expectation making it a depressive fact that one day the cadaver of a loved one will be sat in front of my act, the thought that I could be the carrion sat out in the dry ground ready for the barons of death to pick at my fears.
Vultures who ransack the corpses of old, laying dead, consciousness gone, or maybe somewhere incomprehensible.
I don't want to be in that liminal space, not being able to move, constantly wanting to move as my heart rate slowed, my brain losing functionality.
I want to see more, I don't want to be alone, cold and broken, memories fading as dreams slowly become an unorganized mess.
Will that dream not be a dream?
Will that be my heaven?
Or will that heaven be a dream, and everything will play out as it seemed, as I believed?
Will I not be able to remember anything?
Will I not be able to sing to songs, will I not be able to live life doing what I love?
Will I not at least be able to see what this life had in store - if it was pointless after all?
Will I not even have the chance to see it all, or will it just be a vague memory that slowly dissipated into nothing, disappearing and dying like all things in space will eventually do one day?
Will there be nothing in the end?
Will I really be a spec in the cog?
These thoughts race but I say, of course, I am, what else could I have been thinking - foolish words to comfort a chaotic place within the cortex, the limbic system screaming euphoric words of wisdom to keep sanity within my grasp.
What am I even doing with myself?
Will all of these great things really be useless in the end?
Will nobody else experience the same things I did once humanity has finally come to an end?
But of course, we'll never know... and we shouldn't care.
***
- Miss - (A short prose)
***
The faint smoke emitted through the young man's breath floated about in the air and as the man noticed it, he quickly limited his own breath. He took small breaths, his index finger rubbing the side of his rifle as his non-dominant hand propped itself atop his gun, head pressed against the rockface, eyes attempting to peak over it but not being able to. He sighed, spinning around and propping the barrel of his gun atop the rock, closing one eye and looking through the aiming reticle. The gun this man is using was a Kar 98k - thumbing the bolt handle - he steadied his breath.
His eyes dilated and shook, the grip on his rifle growing tighter and tighter as the cracking and rubbery decay of snow slowly came near. He slowly shifted his index finger onto the trigger of his rifle, jittering slightly as his hand shook, taking a deep breath and letting out a long sigh as the faintest glimpse of a head passed his eyes.
Bang!
Their head popped open like a grape from afar as they dropped like a bag of rocks. The man was almost racked with guilt but decided to leave the small cubby of a hole that he placed himself in, pulling himself out from the hole and crossing over to the body. The man made his way to a small hill - below this hill is a dead man - a fresh kill that he caused. The man slid down the hill, kneeling next to the corpse.
He used the end of his gun to flip the body over, letting out a sigh of relief once seeing the corpse's face. The man spun on his heel, going back to the direction from which he came from before a hole was blown through his head. The man reeled forward, a stream of blood splattering across the snow-ridden grown as the man slammed onto the ground, his body sliding into the snow below.
Another man covered in warm clothes approached a rifle in hand and a condescending look in their eye. They shook their head, chambering their rifle before grabbing the man's body, throwing it over his shoulder, and making their way back up the hill, blood still leaking out from his head as they made their way back to town.
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