That Realm of Never


I live in the realm of Never.  It lies forever in a fever and solid thirst, in parched earth as far as my eyes see.  The one drenched in dread and citiless scape, and no scope to hint even the faintest street.

Moonless, starless in all its nights.  Pitiless and scorching in all its days.

I’ve been far too fortunate to not have been set rotting in the dirt, left for dead. I instead fester in uncertainty, knowing what will come will surely go, and that lack of smiling, laughing, and all vestiges of my old self. In this mercy, I am alive. In it’s irony, the enigma of why.

I know of no way to wend this treacherous course before me. My eyes will never be released from the glare of the fallout that once was my life. There are a few remains of what’s left. The dust upon my hands, the shards of glass that once were my dreams, the scent of ash that was all of my past.

I’ve only this wasteland before me. I’ve only one blurry day after the next, and memory is of no use for me any more. I hear the hymn of my V8, in chorus with gunfire and the screams of the living. There will always be stains upon my jacket, my gloves, and my soul for all I have done. Make no mistake about life in the choking sands.

Take what you can get. Scavenge, salvage, slaughter. It is all the world that prays towards that silent sky. That there can no longer be anything worth more than another day in Perdition.

My world is blood and fire.


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