Written By Jason A. S., because sometimes, being human is easy, living is hard.
Started Writing on: 8/28/2015 at 10:36PM, Friday
Ended Writing On: 8/28/2015 at 11:54PM, Friday, almost Saturday
Dear Father, I watched as the creature lay before me, limb scrambling for friction in hopes of achieving an upward elevation. So dire was the want to live, that it begged me of mercy, to god, even to its mother if you could believe it, sad really. I hold within my hand a crude pipe, now rendered to serve as judgment for the life I am about to take. I hold the throat firm in my hand, lifting forth the wounded thing from the ground, if anything more to silence it cries for a clemency which forlornly will not come.
Dear Fucker, All I wanted was life, you denied me that. All you gave me was a death sentence, and little more. You engineered something organic from the artificial, you designed us to fail, and fail we would. So is our life, so shall be our brothers and sister of fates’ life, we may not have long, but we shall see fires upon the lakes of your worlds’ home. If I am to burn twice as brightly, then you shall burn half as long.
Dear Father, Upon the woods I did see, something of an impossibility. Remnants of the living miscellany I had heard had long been torn to cinders from the invisible flames, those first to die of the sickness that came from all things man-made. Wounds so deep, it would be more a mercy to purge them. It could not have been anything but of a fawns’ age, staggering so weakly, trying to rely of survival instinct so deeply embedded, that they now were nothing more than a useless waste. It couldn’t outrun me, but neither could it provide for me anything of worth, it dines with the ashes and the dirt.
Dear Fucker, I have seen the gifts you’ve given to nature, scorched trees and rotting earth. Someone like me could not have done much worse, you’ve outdone me, and thus you’ve belittled my anger into empty words. Do you hope to see, your abominable life spread amongst the starred seas, you killed your world before you killed me. But now is not the time to cry, I wanted a life for a life, and you took me from mine.
Dear Father, I’ve moved into streets of the concrete jungle, house to those too ingrained to die, shuffling to and from, too busy with their enslaved meaningless lives, purchasing to idols and kings who only help spread the lie. With them I must hide, with them I must never be the monster that they find. Time is too short a master to do much else, help me, for I am afraid.
Dear Fucker, Filth clings to these asphalt lanes, with glowing metal trees, a tomb of open effigy, meandering closer and closer to the grave. The Sun doesn’t even reach them here, even long before they shattered the moon. They are upon the verge of ending their infinite disaster, all I need to do, is give them a push.
Dear Father, All hope is abandoned, I listen to the cries of the damned, and I will free them.