The story of Lawrence, part 1.

Lawrence did not know where the city began nor did he know where it ended. He’d never left in all his very long life. Three hundred and seventeen years of endless urban jungle. The waterfall of lights on the buildings, the greyness that crept over the city when the sun rose above the smog.
He walked under a bridge and looked up. Pale blue light illuminated the underside of the bridge, the spars that kept it together. He chuckled. He was almost three times as old as this bridge and had been at its opening. Under the bridge there was only bright light, more pale blue. A small corner provided a conveniently dark spot to attract the attention of those who would hide themselves from the prying eyes of others. He noticed the nightvision camera all too easily and kept on walking.
Cheap tricks and easy lures. As human knowledge kept growing, so did the methods of surveilance, the tricks of the designers. Billions upon billions of people never left their rooms, shackled as they were to their vidgames, their brains tweaked endlessly by a constant stream of little rewards and pleasures. They ate the greasy, disgusting food that the foodpumps delivered three times a day right into their homes. They grew fat and lazy but they didn’t care. Lawrence felt disgusted by the world he lived in but he had to admit that it became a lot quieter everywhere.
When he was younger, around the age of seventy, it had seemed like everything would collapse like a house of cards. Polution was rampant, ecological deterioration was getting worse, there wasn’t enough room, food supplies were getting dangerously low. Repression and terrorism were everyday phenomena, plague a very real threat. Seventeen billion people on a world that was ultimately very small.
Some things were going alright, long term plans finally coming to fruition and all of the world coming together at last in an effort to give everyone an equal chance. That’s what the news kept saying, but the bright minds of the day wouldn’t be that easily lied to. They set about the create the world that the politicians and marketeers and lobbyists wanted them to believe they lived in. Demonstrations popped up everywhere and melted away when the riot squads appeared. Then another would pop up, somewhere else, and the riot squads would come running again. And the demonstrators, warned in time would melt away again.
They kept it up for weeks at a time, until the police eventually gave up chasing them. Their cause was so public and the support their non-violent activism got was overwhelming. The regimes and governments of old collapsed. Equality, freedom and progress. That was the rallying cry of the Progressives.
Farm towers popped up all over the rural country. Where before there had been farms that could feed hundreds, the towers that rose up could feed thousands, if not more. And they just kept on growing. Factories were repurposed to be fully automatic. A few years later, the farm towers were completely machinated as well.
Massive joblessness left the general populace discontent and restless. They were fed, certainly. They had everything they wanted, surely. But they had to adapt, had to change. And that wasn’t what they wanted. They wanted more money to buy a bigger car, not a different system that would give them a car. Not if it meant their car was the basically the same as the car their neighbour owned.
Lawrence shook himself out of the past. One of the side effects of the longevity drugs he took every day and the genetherapy he went to every month was the tendency to get lost in the past, to reminisce most days away. He had been on his evening walk, choosing to walk by the river tonight. Passing the bridge meant that he was almost home. The stairs started moving upwards when he stepped on them and he sighed in relief. Sometimes the stairs didn’t work, like the escalotors of his very youth sometimes didn’t work.
He walked with the aid of a cane, a long metal piece ornately engraved, by hand. Factory-made, of course. Lawrence was old, and the treatments kept the worst effects of aging away but they couldn’t cure it completely, although the doctors at the facility kept assuring him they were nearing a breakthrough. Secretly Lawrence hoped they didn’t. The oldest person alive today was nearly four hundred years old, which was about as long as he really wanted to live. Eternal life was just a bit too long. Already he found it hard to get going every day, instead of losing himself in the memories of his enormously long life.
His brains were unusual like all brains were unusual these days. Nootropics weren’t mandatory per se but anyone following the longevity treatments took the mind-drugs almost religiously. He could remember everything after his puberty and he was glad.

The elevator didn’t seem to be moving. He knew it was moving upwards at high speeds but the dampeners in the construction kept him from feeling it. On the seventythird floor there was a soft ping and the doors opened. Lawrence stepped out into the hallway and turned left, approaching door number 732. When his hand hand touched the doorknob an electronic signal passed between the mechanisms inside the door and the chips implanted into his wrists.
Lawrence stepped into his apartment and closed the door behind him, put his cane in the rack next to the door and sighed. Then he took off his coat, hung it on a peg. His scarf was next, which went onto the next peg. Then the hoodie he wore went on yet another peg. He took off his shoes, put them under the other garments. Satisfied, he hobbled over into his livingroom.
It was colder these days. Outside. The solar shade had counteracted the effects of global warming a little too well. But it was definitely progress and that was still one of the three goals set out at the beginning of what had become known as the silent revolution. There had always been discontent. But equality and a fed addiction could placate anyone.
Those they could snare with games and other electronic traps had been caught quickly. Those who wouldn’t be caught by such inactive pleasures were caught with other methods, drugs to suit all wants and needs. Of course the drugs weren’t everywhere. That would only lead to even faster self-destruction. Rationed and kept just-out-of-reach made them a quite efficient control mechanism for those of that particular inclination.
There was only one chair in the small living room. He lived here on his own and no one ever came to visit in person. Not that he missed contact, his memories sufficed. The chair had been designed for him and him alone, one of the luxuries he had chosen. Some chose a better computer interface or a better system. Others chose a bigger apartment, better food or some other customisation. But he had chosen this chair, his designed heaven. He sank into it, the softness supportive enough in all the right places to make him completely comfortable, even after sitting in this same chair for twenty years.
He swung the chair around and looked out the windows. Apartment 732 was on a corner and so Lawrence had a view that encompassed a large part of the city. The buildings looked black from up here, the windows that were lit glowing in the same pale blue as the bridge. He recognised some of the larger towers. There he saw the squared form of the Humon arcology with the airport resting at its top. Lights came and went continuously, going in all directions. North, south, west, east and everywhere in between. Some of the lights even went up towards the black heavens. To the left of the arcology he saw the huge building that was the Copernicus University, a prestigious university training the next generations of young astrologers, astronauts and also holding training programs for future colonists.
There were many other things to be seen, more arcologies, more apartment towers like the one he was in. A few stadiums where the last few real sport events were held. Far off in the distance he could see the pinpricks of light crawling up and down the space elevator.

i feel a bit sad - calculator - hydroponically

//
i feel a bit sad
i feel a bit inspired
i feel a little silly
i feel a little stupid

i feel like hitting things
i feel like not doing anything
i feel weird
i feel normal

i feel things
i feel thoughts
i feel cold
i feel warm

like pillows
and maybe some blankets
stuffed into a fridge
the fridge is turned off

i feel a bit sad
i feel a bit inspired
i feel a little like a pillow
i feel a little like a fridge



//
my brain is filled with words

math is stupid
math is silly
math is useless
unless you’re a mathematician

if i wanted to be a mathematician
i would be reborn as a calculator
i would grow up as a fake boy
but very good with numbers

i’m not good with numbers
well not good enough
i’m not a calculator
i’m not even a machine



//
i would like to live underground
all i need is my own nuclear reactor
and find someone to bring me uranium
sometimes
i guess i’ll need nutrients
for the plants i grew hydroponically

Snowflakes.

Drifting like the snowflakes,
Twirling down from the sky,
Little bits of white and grey and black,
The ashes of a thousand hellish fires.

Dancing like Medusa,
Twisting like her snakes,
Blazing fiery red and orange,
The raging epicenter of the inferno.

Fluttering like fairies,
Sputtering like candles,
Hesitant and wary and scared,
Twisted survivors crawling around.

Singing like the sirens,
Screaming like a banshee,
Howling in grief and pain,
A thousand children lost.

Doomed like the fallen angel,
Cursed like the banished lord,
Hated beyond comprehension,
Those guilty of dropping the bombs.

Violent like wild dogs,
Prowling in the darkness,
The remnants of a once great race,
Scavengers and ghouls and rats.

Barren like the volcanic rock,
Empty like the void of space,
Lifeless now for evermore,
Graveyard, cemetary, Earth.



--
I thought up 'drifting like snowflakes' around dinner time.
This is what came out.

Spiral.

Touch the walls.
Feel the paint.
Feel the dirt.
Touch the filth.

It keeps us locked in.
Locked out of the loop.
Sent into a spiral.
Spiraling out of control.

Kill the walls.
Destroy the doors.
Smash the windows.
Embrace the shards.

Minds in motion.
Fleeting feet.
Flailing hands.
Stomping heads.

Disrupt the flow.
Change the course.
Alter the waves.
Paint the floors.

Sing the screams.
Dance the noise.
Shout the words.
Hug the shadows.

Throw the curses.
Pull the levers.
Push the buttons.
Kill your lovers.

Three whispers.

Burn the world and scorch the earth.
Clear the skies and drown the oceans.
Fill the air with our screams.
Bless the ground with our blood.

---

Join us.
We are the Revenant.
The dead returning.

Join us.
We are beyond counting.
The dead walking.

Join us.
We are the future.
The dead rising.

Join us.
We are above life.
The dead ascending.

Join us.
We are the end.
The dead alive.

---

Minds dance in silent halls.
The labyrinths of thought.
Hold your hand against the wall.

Minds fly in soaring skies.
The freedom of thought.
Hold out your arms like wings.

Minds crawl in secret places.
The pleasures of thought.
Hold your tongue in silence.

A Gift from Dead Gods, 17.

“Really brother, you need to stop wasting all that energy! Stop it! I told you to stop!” Olivex was screaming at him. Caphis ignored him completely. He regretted needing this fool, this maniacal creature that just happened to be his brother. He sighed. Three years. He’d waited three years before freeing his twin from the tomb the Gods had created for him. Although he didn’t like to admit it, Olivex was far better at the warping magic they used in their experiments.
That didn’t make him less of an annoyance, however. The three years spent in that confinement had torn at the already unstable mages mind, disrupted the flow of his essense and weakened his shell. His magical gifts seemed to have grown as far as Caphis could see, but he was a problem. He couldn’t focus on his spells with that idiot screaming in his ear. He sighed. He didn’t like doing this.
He turned on his brother, pushing the now shorter man back. “Hey! Hey! You can’t do that!” Caphis held out his hand and focussed. Energy danced around his hand, concentrating into a softly glowing orb. After a few moments, his spell was done. When it hit Olivex his eyes closed suddenly and he fell to the ground, unconcious.
Caphis looked at his fallen brother. Then he turned and went back to his desk. A metal frame stood on it, a weird device with large crystals set across from each other. He placed his hands on the crystals and closed his eyes. The device made it possible to view distant locations without a set of eyes on the scene. This way, he could look anywhere that wasn’t protected by enchantments or curses. This night, he was searching for their latest project.

---

Nathaniel was fairly sure he wasn’t being watched. He couldn’t be sure, but in his old body he would have felt it. One of the many benefits of being a natural sorcerer. Running was exhilerating. This new shell, this new body, driving it to its limits made him feel good. He missed his old body. He missed the five years that had gone by. No, Nathaniel corrected himself, he was pissed. They had taken five years away from him, five years of nothing. And now this. He felt his anger rise and he embraced it. The young man wasn’t far away now, he would catch him soon enough.

---

Tophar was running for his life again, the second time in the last hour. First because of the damn guards ruining his assassination and him thus failing the test, now because of the giant chasing him with unnatural speed. Tophar believed in coincidence, or rather that coincidence always had meaning. Dancing shadows and then that group of people? Something was wrong here, really wrong and he was determined to find out what.
He was trained at running, even more than his fellow students at the academy. Five years of intense training, every possible enchantment he could afford and all the tricks he had learned by growing up in the undercity and it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t lose the one following him. He ran over the group in his mind, it had to be the giant thing, the elves weren’t runners, not this fast. The one in the armor couldn’t move this fast. The giant then.
A corner here, a shortcut here, over a wall here, up the roof. His legs pumped, his arms pushing at obstacles, grabbing handholds, keeping him balanced. A short straight clear piece of roof gave him a chance to look back. The giant was there, running, giving chase. Shit. The young assassin to be grabbed hold of the bracelet around his right wrist, flipping the stones away until he found the right one. One deep breath later, the magic flowed into him and he moved. He ran. He was like the wind.

---

Nearly everyone in the world, if you didn’t count the ones who had no idea what a city was, knew that Rasnach was the largest city in the world. To Tyran this city was one of the greatest wonders of the world, and the world had a lot of wonders. The city whispered and shouted, cried and laughed. It wasn’t sentient like the cities he had grown up in but it was certainly alive. All the voices of the city combined into a song that flowed around him, touched his mind more than his ears and made him want to dance.
And so he danced. His body walked along, betraying nothing besides being another human walking along the busy streets. But his mind danced against the walls and on the rooftops, across the walkways and into the tunnels. Warnings in the song, sharp notes of danger. It wasn’t threatening yet but it could. He janked his mind back into his body and looked around, searching for the cause of the warnings with both his eyes and other senses.
He could ignore the warnings, let someone else take care of the problem but that just wasn’t like him. He was born and raised among the Corat, the City-people. Care for safety was the responsibility of all and this was something he could do. Besides, if he did it now no one would have to get hurt. That is if I don’t get hurt, he thought. He turned around the corner and slipped into an alley. The warnings were getting louder, the danger closer. He stopped.
A chill spread through his body, making him shiver. Then he saw it. It glowed softly in the darkness of the alley, a pale blueish glow around an assortment of bones. He could make out a ribcage but beyond that the bones were random, taken from many different people and even species. They were suspended in the glow without pattern or sense, moving around slowly. He drew in his breath. “What is that?” he whispered.

---

Fyanha held up her hand. They stopped. Luno looked at her. “What is it?” “There’s a dressmaker down this sidestreet.” She pointed. “I’m taking Nera and we’re getting some new dresses.” He nodded, “I’ll go on to the temple then, see you two there tonight?” Fyanha nodded and took Nera’s hand, who looked at her, eyes still wide open. A wide smile lit up her face and Fyanha smiled along. Luno watched the two as they walked off, then turned back to the road and kept on walking.
Nera liked the sorceress. Every teacher she had had in her life had told her never to trust a demon, or demonspawn. She had not liked a single one of those teachers. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. They called her cursed. They hated her. And here she was, in the largest city in the world, hand in hand with someone who felt like a big sister, someone like her. Cursed and powerful. Her smile grew even brighter and wider.

---

Since the three companions he had picked up so far were all doing their own things, Luno took his time getting back to the temple. He spoke to a few people in the street, asking them about their concerns for the city, that sort of thing. While he didn’t really care, it was still good to pay attention. He was the Champion after all.
He wondered about the young assassin Nathaniel was chasing. Had he seen him before? He thought so, must have seen him in the temple. The temple in the undercity trained assassins and Luno had trained there for a while, although training down there was a private thing, at least it had been for him. The undercity was a marvel of magic and power, defying most logic just by being there. Life, underground. So many possible problems taken care of by magic only possible here, Rasnach. The City of the Gods.

//

Finally another Gift update.
Not sure about.. quality?
Oh well. Be nice and leave a comment?
Can be just a nice little, "I read this." or eh, "You did this right and this and this and this wrong and you could do it like this and this~" The first is nice but the second is more useful?

Oh well any comments are nice. Thanks in advance~

The Void.

I would like to give you a gift.
A gift of nothing.
How can nothing have value?
Let me tell you.

Without nothing,
Everything is meaningless.
This gift is not a small thing.
Yet it has no size, no weight.

Nothing.
The void.
Unending in all directions.
Black and grey and white.

See this void.
Feel this emptiness.
Hear the whispers.
Touch the insubstantial.

A gift of such enormous proportions,
You might not even realize what I am offering.
The beginning, the genesis.
The end, the apocalypse.

How can we understand existence,
Without knowing what lies beyond?
Before it all started.
After is has all gone away.

My gift is freedom.
My gift is serenity.
There is no judgement.
There is no one watching.

The void hears our prayers.
The void excuses our sins.
The void sees our deeds.
The void is waiting.

Paars.

Er danst een schaduw tussen de bomen. 'Paars', zegt de schaduw. 'Paars?' vraag ik. 'Ja, paars. Dat weet je toch ook wel?' Ik schud mijn hoofd. 'Nee, nee, dat weet ik niet. Waarom eigenlijk?' De schaduw kijkt me aan. Ik kijk de schaduw aan. Paars. Waar heeft hij het over? De schaduw danst weg. Ik blijf staan, tussen de bomen. Tussen de takken door zie ik een ster. Hij schijnt fel in de hemel, feller dan zijn buren. 'Hallo ster, hoe gaat het?' De ster blijft stil.
Ik lach.

De bomen zijn aan het dansen. Ik dans met ze mee, mijn schaduw is stil. Woorden dansen om me heen, fluisteren in mijn oor. Woorden uit mijn geheugen, ik lach. De takken maken geluid, muziek van de natuur. De stilte is oorverdovend. De schaduwen kijken toe, ik blijf maar lachen. Soms stop ik, kijk ik rond, voel ik de leegte. Herinneringen stromen naar boven, flitsen langs, vullen de leegte.
De schaduw komt terug, steekt zijn hoofd tussen de bomen uit. 'Zie je paars?' Ik schud mijn hoofd. 'Nee schaduw, ik zie geen paars.' De schaduw gaat weer weg. Waar komt deze schaduw vandaan? Waar heeft hij het over? Ik weet het niet. Ik dans door en lach.

De schaduw rent. Paars, paars, paars. Dat denkt de schaduw terwijl hij rent. Hij weet ook niet waar paars vandaan komt. Waar het heen gaat. Een schaduw heeft geen keus, geen opties. Hij doet, moet en zal doen, zonder mogelijkheid voor iets anders. De schaduw is in de war. Paars? Nee, nee. De kleur, kleur? Het klopt niet. Hij rent verder, wil de waarheid. Paars.

De bomen houden op met dansen als ik bij de rand kom. Ze zwaaien nu, wensen me een fijne nacht. Ik buig, een gebaar. Ik bedank de bomen. Verder op weg, mijn voeten volgen. Een parkeerplaats, autos. Stil en koud, wachtend. Nog steeds de stilte. In de verte breekt de stilte en een verdwaalde auto rijdt langs. Licht en geluid, aan de overkant van het water.
Voetstappen achter me. Ik draai me om en kijk de leegte aan. Er staat niks, niemand, niets. Maar toch zijn de voetstappen er weer als ik me terugdraai. Ik wacht. Wacht totdat de voetstappen vlak achter me zijn. Razendsnel draai ik me om. Daar staat hij dan, in het volle zicht. De leegheid van de schaduw. 'Paars?'

Achter mijn hoofd zit een punt. Nee, geen punt als een stekel, of een spike, of zelfs een klein zwart rondje. Nee, een spreekwoordelijk punt, een punt in het tijd-en-ruimte gebeuren. Bij jou zit het er ook. Daar, vlak achter je achterhoofd, zit een punt waar je nooit zal kunnen kijken. Voelen. Wat leeft er daar, daar waar jij bent maar niet bent?

De schaduw vlucht. Hij rent, rent, rent. Nog steeds weet hij zijn doel niet, zijn bestemming niet, maar.. Hij weet de vraag. De vraag is, blijft en zal altijd 'Paars?' zijn. 'Waar komt paars vandaan?' 'Waar gaat paars naartoe?' De schaduw vind het niet meer erg, zoals vroeger. Hij heeft vrede gevonden in zijn taak, zijn heilige missie.
Ik blijf staan. Ik draai me weer om, kijk weer uit het raam. Ik zie de schaduw gaan, zie hem wegrennen. Waarom ga ik hem niet achterna? Het knaagt aan mijn gedachten, Paars? Paars? Paars? Nee, ik ga hem niet achterna. Paars is niet mijn missie, niet mijn doel. Maar wat dan wel?


In het punt achter mijn hoofd danst een duiveltje. Ze danst en danst en danst en maakt de wereld mooier. Ze maakt zich geen zorgen over paars, vind het maar nutteloos. 'Laat die schaduw toch gaan.' wordt er in mijn oor gefluisterd. Ik knik. 'Ja,' zeg ik, 'dat was ik al van plan.' We lachen.
In de lucht zie ik wolken. Ik denk aan de ster. Hij denkt ook aan mij, hoop ik. Nee, waarschijnlijk niet. In mijn handen maak ik een nieuwe wereld, laat hem draaien. Ik hou hem omhoog. 'Wat vind je ervan?' vraag ik aan niemand. De leegte voorbij het leven bekijkt de wereld en begint te huilen. Ik zucht. Ik klap in mijn handen en de wereld spat uit elkaar als een zeepbel.

De grond trilt, trilt. Waarom? De schaduw struikelt. Wat gebeurt er? Hij staat op en kijkt om zich heen. Oh. Het einde van een wereld. Hij haalt snel zijn schouders op, zwaait zijn armen in het rond en merkt dat een traan over zijn wang glijd. Hij laat zijn hoofd hangen en rouwt een wereld die nooit de kans heeft gehad te bestaan. Dan veegt hij zijn gezicht af en rent verder. Paars.
Kleine stapjes, een twee drie vier vijf zes stop. Stapje terug. Ik ben er bijna, maar nog niet helemaal. Niet te ver, niet te dichtbij, kleine stapjes. Een twee drie. Ja. Dit is goed, denk ik. Vierendertig tellen later blijkt dat ik het fout is.

De kruistocht van de schaduw is bijna voorbij. Hij heeft geen antwoorden en maar een vraag. Paars? Het woord, het onverwoestbare woord in zijn hoofd. Paars, dat blijft hij maar denken. Geen pauze, geen hapering, alleen maar paarspaarspaarspaars en hij rent. Rennenrennenrennenpaarspaarspaarsrennen.
Een zucht, een vloek, een einde. De schaduw staat aan de rand van het meer, het meer bestaat niet maar is echter dan de meeste mensen. In het meer zweeft een beeld, een schilderij van golfjes en weerkaatst licht, een gebouw van druppels. Een gebouw, de schaduw kent dat gebouw. Hij lacht, draait rond. Vier en drie en negen en paars, dat is de som. Hij snapt het nu. De schaduw rent verder, langs het meer en voorbij het duiveltje dat toekijkt vanuit het licht.
Vier kilometer verder stopt hij. Een stap terug, precies vier kilometer van het meer vandaan.

Ik kijk weer uit het raam. Achter de mist van viezigheid zie ik de zegening van de lucht, de regen die de wereld leven geeft. Er loopt iemand, een man met een uitdrukking. De uitdrukking op zijn gezicht is niet blij. Hij kijkt boos, ontevreden. Hij kijkt omhoog, naar de wolken en de lucht en ik zie in zijn hoofd de vloeken rondzweven. Hij is niet blij. Ik zucht. Arme man.
Mijn handen trillen, willen weg. Mijn been trilt. Beweging, vrijheid, gevangen in een gevangenis gemaakt van botten en vlees en bloed en organen. Ik lach. Mijn handen en been houden op, ze snappen het. Ontsnappen is onmogelijk, of misschien niet maar in ieder geval ongewenst.

Paars, bijna, bijna, bijna, paars. De schaduw rent niet meer. Hij loopt, langzaam, zacht. Voor hem staat een gebouw, groot en zwaar en oud en hoekig en vies en ongewenst. Hij moet er langs, doorheen, onderdoor, overheen? Drie verdiepingen. Overheen. RennenrennenrennenSPRINGrennenlangsdemuur. Op het dak. De schaduw stopt opeens, als hij me ziet. Ik kijk hem aan en lach. 'Hallo schaduw.' Hij zegt niks, rent langs me. Ik draai me om en kijk naar hem terwijl hij van het dak afspringt. Het duiveltje zit op mijn hoofd, haar benen gekruist. Ze lacht en ik lach met haar mee.


De schaduw duikt. Terwijl hij valt telt hij, een twee drie vier vijf zes zeven acht nege-hij raakt de grond. Geen klap, geen krater, alleen een zachte rilling door de stof van de werkelijkheid. Geen pijn. De schaduw staat op, kijkt rond. Paars? Het moet hier zijn, het moet er zijn. De som, de som, hij wist het. Klopt het? Hij kijkt rond maar er is geen antwoord in de lucht. Paniek. Hij draait rond en rond en rond en schreeuwt tegen de lucht. 'WAAR IS HET? PAARS?' Hij valt op zijn knieen, houd zijn hoofd in zijn handen en huilt.
Tranen lopen over zijn wangen, langs zijn neus, over zijn lippen. Ze vallen naar beneden, naar boven, alle kanten op. Hij doet zijn ogen open en ziet. Hij zit op het gras, groen. Maar voor hem, paars. Paars! Hij gelooft zijn ogen niet, wrijft erin. Maar nog steeds, voor hem, paars. Hij lacht door zijn tranen heen. Daar, op de grond, tussen het gras. Paars.. Hij plukt een bloem. Hij houdt de bloem in zijn handen en lacht.

Vanaf het dak kijken het duiveltje en ik naar beneden. We zien de schaduw, op zijn knieen, op het grasveld. Zijn tranen vliegen langs, missen ons net. We kijken toe hoe hij huilt, zo dichtbij daar waar hij wil zijn. We kijken elkaar aan en ik haal mijn schouders op. Hij moet het zelf maar ontdekken, hij is zo dichtbij. We horen zijn lach en kijken weer naar hem. Hij staat, rechtop, te lachen. In zijn handen ligt een paarse bloem. Wij lachen mee en dansen, dansen op het dak.

After the end.

Darkness covered the world like a suffocating blanket.
Smoke trailed from chimneys and bonfires.
Doors closed, nailed shut.
Some stand wide open or are missing.
The world has ended.
People just make of it what they can.

There was a party going on.
The last one.
No more fun after that one.
Just death.
Someone climbing a building for fun.
I wondered how long it would take to rebuild.

The sun comes up on the horizon.
The fires have burned down for now.
They’ll light them at dusk.
Now dawn greets the world again.
As it always has.
As it always will.

We had a car once.
I was still little then.
My parents drove it around.
It seemed a little silly to me.
I wish I’d walked more back then.
I still had my legs?

I sit in my chair on the balcony.
I greet my old friend the sun.
They are nice to me here.
Carry me up and down the stairs.
Protect me from the savages.
Even a cripple can live here.

Gone are the days of the skyscrapers.
Fools who placed themselves on pedestals.
Towers that tickled the herds of clouds.
Lives of decadence and disconnection.
I like the world better now.
Sometimes I wish I still had my legs.

It’s been fourteen years since the bombs dropped.
I came here ten years ago.
Dropped off by some travellers with a salvaged car.
Now I tell stories to the children and adults alike.
Stories of the old days and of the new.
Here humanity lives on.

A Gift from Dead Gods, 16.

Nera was sitting on one of Nathaniels broad shoulders. The usually silent giant of a man answered the questions she had in a soft, quiet voice that seemed out of place from his enormous frame. She had been looking around quietly for the past few minutes. A few words from the conversation Luno and Fyanha were having caught her attention.
“So the undersuit is attachted to your skin?” Fyanha was asking. Luno nodded. “I put on the undersuit that first day. Since then it’s been growing.” He rapped his knuckles on his breastplate. “It’s a nice enough armor, I just wish I could take it off. At least I don’t have to bathe.” He grinned at that. He looked at Nera. “You and your big friend still sure about this?” “Of course they’re sure, Champion.” Fyanha had raised an eyebrow. “They have been summoned by a God.”
The sun was going down in the west and painted the sky a deep red. Two guards stood at the city gate and saluted Luno as they passed. Luno nodded in reply as he led his companions through the massive stone structure. Nera marvelled at what she saw. Her little mouth hung slightly open, her eyes were wide.
It was all so big. The buildings, the streets, all those people. Nera couldn’t close her eyes even if she had wanted to. She saw so many things she never could have imagined. The groups of people she saw moving around, going about their daily lives. Occasionally, she asked questions which Fyanha or Luno answered. The giant she had met in the dryads prison was silent, his gaze wandering around. Nera liked the big man and wanted him to be happy. He wasn’t though, so she would have to think of something.
The four of them were walking through one of Rasnachs main roads. The road itself was relatively free of people, just a few civilians going from shop to shop buying their groceries and some luxury products. Then, from an alley a short distance ahead of them, a young man ran out onto the street. He froze when he saw them. On one side, four pairs of curious eyes regarded the youngster. On his side, terrified eyes saw giants and sorceresses and someone dressed like a God. He fled, running as fast as he could, fear giving him a boost.
Nathaniel looked at Luno pensively. Then he sighed. “I guess I should.” Luno looked at him, his gaze questioning. Nathaniel smiled. “I need your permission to chase him, Champion.” He stressed the last word. Luno coughed. “Sure, sure. Will we see you at the temple later?” Nathaniel nodded. Then he gently lifted Nera off his shoulder and put her down. They exchanged a long look, then the giant stretched until the bones in his back, arms and legs popped. He ran off, faster than the young assassin could ever hope to run. “Showoff.” muttered Luno under his breath.

---

Kazorat stomped through the streets of the capital of Garalla, named Garal by some unimaginative fool long ago. A man, or dragon in his case, of his stature didn’t walk. He towered head and shoulders above any man he met. His bulky form was made even larger by the archaic armor he wore, a mix of plates and chainmail, easier to discard in a hurry. His axe was in its sling on his back, his shield back at the palace. The people here almost revered him.
Still, he grumbled, he wasn’t in complete control. That damned prince meddled in most things and then there was that witch, Tinza. It was her he was going to see now. She lived in an opulent mansion on the outskirts of town. While most respected her council and her powers, she wasn’t trusted. Suffer not the witch to live among you indeed.

---

Ilane danced in the shadows. They gave her sanctuary, welcomed her as a friend. The shadows were all the friends she would ever have. Not that she needed more. Her sister cared about her and she cared about her sister. But even then they were too different to truly be friends. Ilane was becoming a shade. A creature of shadows, a dancer in the darkness. A blade between the ribs of life. Yet still life. Her sister on the other hand was becoming something else. Undeath. The very thought of it made her shiver.
The shadows hugged her, held her tight. Took away her worries. Took away the feelings. She had things to do. The young one had been led to where he was supposed to be. The Giant had chased him. He’d even realised he needed permission to do so in a remarkably short time. Ilane reminded herself that while the man was huge, he was still the man he had been inside. A master thief trapped in the body of a war machine. She didn’t envy him.
Now other tasks presented themselves. She could feel her God near. In the temple here, on the surface, his presence was softened, lessened. Underneath her, in the sprawling undercity, she could feel his essence like a pulsating beacon. The waves of power emanating from below told her what she needed to know. She was needed across the sea. The dragons were stirring, making their opening moves. And who better to watch than a shadow?
The shadows held her closer and closer. She felt herself melting away. The more she travelled like this, the more of her human body stayed behind. More shadow filled her being. She smiled as her awareness slipped from the world man knew as reality and into the shadow world, where flesh was nothing but a burden. She would cross the vast distance in a few minutes.
In her tower in the temple, Irune felt a sudden cold. Her sister had left this world again. The crystal before her hummed softly, calling her attention back to it. She raised her hands again, touching their glow to the gem. Her eyes closed and the magic flowed.

Haunted.

Step-step-step through the halls, skipping on light feet. She seems out of place in this hollow and dead house. A bright red little red dress floats around her legs, it swings in time with her little hops.
The bright red bow in her hair matches the bright red of her dress. She is no one, just the memory of the house. They say she is a demon, a ghost returned from beyond the grave. Returned to haunt the barren halls and keep the spiders company.
The house was lonely, it used to be so full of life and joy. Cats purred on plush pillows, kittens played in the drapes. Children playing hide and seek, hiding in many small passages and holes.
It doesn’t miss the adults. They were serious and boring. Working their work, adding numbers and worrying. They had lost the joy of life. It doesn’t miss the dogs. It never even liked the dogs.
Skip-skip-skip through the halls, gliding through an empty hall. Starlight shines through dusty windows. The house was once the home of the great and the powerful but now it stands forgotten in an old corner of the city. No one comes here, no one lives here, it is a dead place.
The ghost of the memory of the house skips through the halls in her bright red dress. The bright red bow on her head matches her bright red hair. A ghostly kitten tumbles in her path and she bends, stroking it until it purrs loudly.

The house is lonely no more.

Ages.

Age of Life.
Dawn breaks on the world.
Creatures rise from the seas.
Born into a fresh and empty world.
Theirs for the taking.
Things grow and evolve.
Changing their shapes and sizes.
Eventually humanity evolves.
The world bows before them.

Age of Honor.
Man has rules and laws.
To break them is to break away.
Control and deceit are laws.
Yet this is hidden.
One shall face one.
On equal ground.
All shall face One.
Behind the curtain plots spin.

Age of Profit.
None but the rich truly matter.
Money is a cruel god.
The only desire is for matter.
Foolish and unwise.
None of the lies are hidden.
They are in plain sight.
And there is no place better to hide them.
The world keeps on turning.

Age of Endless Conquest.
Greed and desire reign supreme.
All must bow before us.
We shall reign supreme.
We must.
Selfishness shared by an entire species.
Concern for others is futily.
Everything is below our species.
We are fools.

Age of Devotion.
To all things comes an end.
This ending will be good.
I do not hope for any other end.
We might yet learn from our mistakes.
Selflessness and universal love.
Perhaps a foolish hope.
Dreams are important.
This is hope.
This is the future.

Imprint.

Blue light.
Bright and searing.
Pain pain pain pain.
It is done.

Did I fall asleep?
For a little while.
Shall I go now?
If you like.

Peace and quiet.
Swim thirty laps.
Climb the rock wall.
Would you like a treatment?

Blue light.
Bright and searing.
Pain pain pain pain.
It is done.

Action.
Run jump swim dance fight.
Do what needs to be done.
Be a different you.

Be the hero of the story.
Fall in love.
Save the day.
Would you like a treatment?

Blue light.
Bright and searing.
Pain pain pain pain.
It is done.

Did I fall asleep?
For a little while.
Shall I go now?
If you like.

Peace and quiet.
Swim thirty laps.
Climb the rock wall.
I’m not broken.

// OH DEAR GODS FANFICTION

Dollhouse. <3

A Gift from Dead Gods, 15.

Sunset was spreading its fire across the sky. At the top of her tower in the temple complex Irune stood looking out over the great city. It was a strange thing to turn into a lich gradually. Most mages went through a ritual that turned them in an hour, a painful and shocking process. Lured by the powers of undeath these fools gave up everything. Their bodies, their minds and their essence. They became the horrors they had feared as children.
She sighed. Her fate was both kinder and worse, a balance between the two. Her body was falling away from her, the bones held tight by the force of her mind and essence. Her senses were changing, shifting away from the physical. This made her aware that the Champion had returned with three others. She sensed the Demon and the Giant and the Lifestealer. The Shadow, her sister, was following and watching. Evaluating.
Irune drew her wandering mind back in. It was happening more and more, this detachment from her normal way of life. If normal had applied in any way in her life, that was. She turned and went back to her studies. Her desk was cluttered with her things. Books lay everywhere, some opened, some with bookmarks in them. A set of crystals, a rack of knives and a small box. The high priestess laid her skeletal hand on the box and sighed, then focused on her studies.

---

This room was cold. Kazoran looked around at the assembled humans, noting their short stature. They had grown slightly since he had last seen members of their species but not much. He turned his head to regard their leader, their prince. Ragul, taller than the others, still nothing compared to him. “I am the dragon. The lady Tinza has told me of your plight and I shall aid you in this.”
He did not tell them that they mattered little to him. Kazoran was a pureblood dragon, a shapeshifter and a warrior. While his natural form gave him more freedom this form, this human-like form, gave him the chance to use his axe. And now his axe would unite this little kingdom. Rally them and throw them against the festering wound on the world that was the city of Rasnach.

---

The great streets of Rasnach were policed by the guards of the priesthood. They were generally clean, safe and calm. The further you went away from the main roads though, the city was a wild chaos of life and death. There were some mostly safe districts, near the temple but even there crime was usually going on nearby. It was in one such district that Tophar was running for his life.
He cursed under his breath as he turned around another corner. He could hear the two guards behind him. This was supposed to be his greatest day, the day he graduated from the academy. Instead he was now running for his life. If he had only.. That trail of thoughts would lead him nowhere so he cut if off. The nearest tunnel was fifteen minutes away and on the other side of a main road. Surely there would be more guards but right now, Tophar did not care.
As he turned around another corner he almost ran into a rather corpulent old man. “Ho, where are you going that fast, youngling?” Tophar didn’t take the time to answer but sidestepped around the man and ran on. “What” was the only thing he heard before the man was too far away to hear. The sounds of the guards had died away as well. This caused him to pause for a moment. If he wasn’t being chased he could take his time, regain some calm.
The shadows in an alley ahead of him seemed to coil and dance, shifting in ways they should not have. His curiosity overcame his need for sanctuary. He moved closer on silent feet. The alley turned out to be mostly empty, with a few crates stacked on one side, the dancing shadows having moved deeper into it. As an assassin in training, he had been taught the basics of shadow magic but this was far out of his league. He moved faster now.
The shadows kept on dancing, always just ahead of him. He was running now, as fast as he could. Still the shadows outpaced him. He came to a corner and grabbed a piece of random masonary to turn at full speed. The next corner after that led him right into the full sunlight of the main street. It also led him right into the path of a small group of four people.