A Grave Called Home
A Grave Called Home
As I walked through the familiar streets of my decaying city, the grisly sights of what remained only a haunting memory of the life this place once held, I began to search for myself in dissonance. Where once stood memorials and shrines, now shakily leaned the marred attractions that remembered no heroes. A place where nature and beauty once met structure and machine had become the solemn wasteland where the dreams of the damned would rest. The vile, voracious vulgarity of the villainous vermin that vexed this place with their tyranny had laid ruin to the fallen construct that was once a garden for life. A sky once so blue had turned ash-gray against the silhouettes of the concrete and steel creations we all once climbed for safety, to live and work within and call our homes. The smell of reality rotting away from this place filled every breath, and the pain of realization with every exhale came. The structures which touched the skies with pride now crumbling in on themselves as if their hearts and spines had been crushed from the weight of what had come to pass. The passageways to the undergrounds had collapsed, and the pathways above were but a framework of sadness, outlining in broken ways the sights of where they once led. The seemingly invincible city that I once called my home…was little more than a grave. The verbose desires of man had met the horrid desires of the demonic, and hell was born through the volition of those who sought power but knew what they wrought. The intrinsic nature of such beings poisoned the very collective consciousness of our people until it spread like a disease across our planet and swallowed a world once filled with life. Cataclysm soon became the expectancy and destruction the norm. While we had great strength, it was misplaced along with our hope and belief in those who made promises that faltered under the weight of their decisions.
