TK
11-10-2002, 05:57 AM
Okay, let's do this thing one more time....
<font size=4>Injustice</font>
A look at the sad state of human affairs
Erik Lexie, Revolutionary</center>
Wind so crisp as this was to be taken as a bad omen. Wind so crisp it tore your skin off as it flew by, wind so crisp your coat didn't exist, wind so crisp so suddenly on a day once so fine that Artemicion was convinced it was a sign. Too long had he lived in this godforsaken huge house in this godforsaken tiny town, serving this godforsaken "nobleman" - a "nobleman" so noble his wife had left him for being untrue, so noble Artemicion put him to bed most nights when he was walking askew from the weight on his mind of the alchohol he drank and his unfulfilled need for an oxygen tank. Artemicion was in hell, and right now the wind was worthy of the devil's own bedroom.
Reluctant and grudging but knowing he must, Artemicion pushed through the door and stepped into the dusty hall that yawned forth from the entrance. It was cold, so he did not take his coat off.
Artemicion plopped the booze he'd been out buying down on the table for the not-so-nobleman to consume later. He trudged to his quarters to rest and retreat, to sullenly enjoy the heat of the room, perhaps even take a little comfort in the small stash of vodka he wasn't supposed to have; but he stopped as heavy footsteps dropped behind him and the unwelcome sound of the nobleman's voice permeated the hall - "Ah, good choice, Artemicion! You know a good brew when you see one!"
Artemicion replied softly so as to hide the uncontrollable hatred in his voice. "I�m glad you�re satisfied."
"Just wanted to give you a little update on the war," the nobleman continued. "We've decided that rather than give into the enemy's demands, we're going to fight back harder by issuing a draft!"
Artemicion whirled around, his face distraught, his heart filled with agony. "But my son-!"
"Your son will fight for the glory of our nation!" the nobleman bellowed, patting his massive stomach. "Be proud of him."
"My son will fight a war we have done nothing but lose, for a cause we have no reason to fight for, and he will die!" Artemicion cried, the last emotional barrier in his head having already died. "If there is a God in heaven or earth, I pray he'll damn you and every other hedonistic beer-guzzling sack of shit like you!" And with that he turned and stomped to his quarters, paying no heed to the angry shouts coming from behind him. His world had lost its last shred of meaning, his heart was torn open and now it could never stop bleeding, not in a million years. There was nothing. Nothing except the fat of the not-so-nobleman's stomach and the incessant bellowing of his throaty and grumbling voice; no, now there was nothing, no reason to rejoice, no new season would come to his life. It was winter forever.
Now as he silently sat and drank, Artemicion's heart sank deeper and deeper. His perception was dulled but still he guzzled from his bottle. The only thing of any value that he owned was now calling to him, stronger than it had ever done so before. He had always avoided drunkenness because he knew that he might use it, but it no longer mattered!
Angrily he flung up his mattress and grabbed up the pistol he kept there. His eyes shone with vengeance as he burst through the door to the nobleman's chamber, paying no heed to the fat old man's annoyed grumbles at the interruption. He fired a shot, but his vision was too blurry to aim and he missed considerably. The old man leapt up in fear, dropping his bottle. Artemicion took a second shot, but it too missed, and the nobleman drunkenly rushed for the rear entrance to his bedroom. Artemicion gave chase, his steps as wavering as those of his prey. The chase continued all through the house, Artemicion brandishing his weapon and screaming about his son and the war and the worthlessness of rich men in their drunken stupor and their irresponsibility with power!
The old man finally ran out the door and into the chill. Artemicion followed, though not of his own will; it was only insanity that drove him now, and he obeyed it, flailing around like a madman and firing shots into the sky in a desperate attempt to hit his former master.
Then, there was a new sound, and it seemed to grow. It came from the heavens, like the growl of a wild animal. Artemicion looked up into the sky, his eyes squinting to make out some form amidst the darkness. The wind howled stronger than even before, but Artemicion no longer felt it; he completely ignored all but the ever growing roar from the sky. The shape came closer and closer, stretching out like a bird. It roared louder, and Artemicion could feel hostility seething out from it, spreading forth like a disease, taking the form of that incessant roar from the sky.
But the shape passed overhead, and the roar began to grow faint. Artemicion strained his eyes against the sky, for he knew that it was not over. He was right. The nobleman was now standing next to him, looking into the sky as well.
"I think that was-" his speech was cut off as he staggered, focusing all his remaining energy on remaining upright.
"It was," Artemicion replied. "And now here comes your reward in a much better form than I could ever have administered!"
And it was true, for in the next moment they both witnessed a new shape coming down from the heavens at blinding speed, screaming toward the earth in a hellish fury. And then everything was gone in a split second because the men were charred dust riding across the howling hell-wind of the evening before they could possibly have felt anything remotely close to pain.
A look at the sad state of human affairs
Erik Lexie, Revolutionary</center>
Wind so crisp as this was to be taken as a bad omen. Wind so crisp it tore your skin off as it flew by, wind so crisp your coat didn't exist, wind so crisp so suddenly on a day once so fine that Artemicion was convinced it was a sign. Too long had he lived in this godforsaken huge house in this godforsaken tiny town, serving this godforsaken "nobleman" - a "nobleman" so noble his wife had left him for being untrue, so noble Artemicion put him to bed most nights when he was walking askew from the weight on his mind of the alchohol he drank and his unfulfilled need for an oxygen tank. Artemicion was in hell, and right now the wind was worthy of the devil's own bedroom.
Reluctant and grudging but knowing he must, Artemicion pushed through the door and stepped into the dusty hall that yawned forth from the entrance. It was cold, so he did not take his coat off.
Artemicion plopped the booze he'd been out buying down on the table for the not-so-nobleman to consume later. He trudged to his quarters to rest and retreat, to sullenly enjoy the heat of the room, perhaps even take a little comfort in the small stash of vodka he wasn't supposed to have; but he stopped as heavy footsteps dropped behind him and the unwelcome sound of the nobleman's voice permeated the hall - "Ah, good choice, Artemicion! You know a good brew when you see one!"
Artemicion replied softly so as to hide the uncontrollable hatred in his voice. "I�m glad you�re satisfied."
"Just wanted to give you a little update on the war," the nobleman continued. "We've decided that rather than give into the enemy's demands, we're going to fight back harder by issuing a draft!"
Artemicion whirled around, his face distraught, his heart filled with agony. "But my son-!"
"Your son will fight for the glory of our nation!" the nobleman bellowed, patting his massive stomach. "Be proud of him."
"My son will fight a war we have done nothing but lose, for a cause we have no reason to fight for, and he will die!" Artemicion cried, the last emotional barrier in his head having already died. "If there is a God in heaven or earth, I pray he'll damn you and every other hedonistic beer-guzzling sack of shit like you!" And with that he turned and stomped to his quarters, paying no heed to the angry shouts coming from behind him. His world had lost its last shred of meaning, his heart was torn open and now it could never stop bleeding, not in a million years. There was nothing. Nothing except the fat of the not-so-nobleman's stomach and the incessant bellowing of his throaty and grumbling voice; no, now there was nothing, no reason to rejoice, no new season would come to his life. It was winter forever.
Now as he silently sat and drank, Artemicion's heart sank deeper and deeper. His perception was dulled but still he guzzled from his bottle. The only thing of any value that he owned was now calling to him, stronger than it had ever done so before. He had always avoided drunkenness because he knew that he might use it, but it no longer mattered!
Angrily he flung up his mattress and grabbed up the pistol he kept there. His eyes shone with vengeance as he burst through the door to the nobleman's chamber, paying no heed to the fat old man's annoyed grumbles at the interruption. He fired a shot, but his vision was too blurry to aim and he missed considerably. The old man leapt up in fear, dropping his bottle. Artemicion took a second shot, but it too missed, and the nobleman drunkenly rushed for the rear entrance to his bedroom. Artemicion gave chase, his steps as wavering as those of his prey. The chase continued all through the house, Artemicion brandishing his weapon and screaming about his son and the war and the worthlessness of rich men in their drunken stupor and their irresponsibility with power!
The old man finally ran out the door and into the chill. Artemicion followed, though not of his own will; it was only insanity that drove him now, and he obeyed it, flailing around like a madman and firing shots into the sky in a desperate attempt to hit his former master.
Then, there was a new sound, and it seemed to grow. It came from the heavens, like the growl of a wild animal. Artemicion looked up into the sky, his eyes squinting to make out some form amidst the darkness. The wind howled stronger than even before, but Artemicion no longer felt it; he completely ignored all but the ever growing roar from the sky. The shape came closer and closer, stretching out like a bird. It roared louder, and Artemicion could feel hostility seething out from it, spreading forth like a disease, taking the form of that incessant roar from the sky.
But the shape passed overhead, and the roar began to grow faint. Artemicion strained his eyes against the sky, for he knew that it was not over. He was right. The nobleman was now standing next to him, looking into the sky as well.
"I think that was-" his speech was cut off as he staggered, focusing all his remaining energy on remaining upright.
"It was," Artemicion replied. "And now here comes your reward in a much better form than I could ever have administered!"
And it was true, for in the next moment they both witnessed a new shape coming down from the heavens at blinding speed, screaming toward the earth in a hellish fury. And then everything was gone in a split second because the men were charred dust riding across the howling hell-wind of the evening before they could possibly have felt anything remotely close to pain.