<  |
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Herself
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A crash... |
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She watched the
crowds |
| Poetry |
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Swarming beneath
her |
| Lyrics |
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Their fierce hum
rising in |
| Fiction |
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Her ears and mind
first slowly |
| Essays
& Notes |
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Then quickening as
she |
| Advice |
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Stepped into their
sight |
| Links |
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A roar... |
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She felt deep
within |
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Her soul for
something to say |
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To appease them
but the buzz |
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Grew louder
numbing her brain |
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And freezing her
spine into |
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A solid block of
ice |
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A scream... |
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She felt her mind |
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Shatter as a
shudder |
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Flowed through the
ice |
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Looking down,
terror |
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Looking up,
freedom |
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But would it be
worth the price? |
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A splash... |
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She felt her body
emptied |
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Of emotion as the
first scarlet |
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Drop hit the
ground |
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Her energy drained
with the |
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Strain but the
horrors and terror went on. |
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A crash... |
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She heard the
cymbals end |
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The barbaric
ritual before her, saw |
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The blood-stained
slabs of the |
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Altars in the
market. The people |
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Who supposedly
served her |
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And the human
sacrifices laid out there. |
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A rebellion! |
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She turned her
back on them |
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On the revolt
against life itself. |
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--- |
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This
was written based on a short story I wrote for a college class about
royalty as deities, and sacrifices made on each side... |
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© All content
belongs to Liz Cross, unless otherwise stated, and is not to be used
without permission. To contact me, please click here.
Please also be aware that if I find you have used any of my work without
my agreement I will pursue you to the full length of the law. Also bear in
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weed out plagiarists. If you are found attempting to pass any of my work
off as your own you will most likely fail your course or be expelled. You
have been warned. |
