Stories (17)
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Power's Oblivion
Why do we fear fading into oblivion? Is it that there is something within us past nerve, bone, and sinew? Past consciousness and an insatiable appetite for pleasures of the tongue brought to the stomach? Food for thought all traveling to an empty chasm permeating the intestines.
By H. J. Levonabout a year ago in Poets
Unconditional Terms and Conditions
Can unconditional love exist in a society rooted in terms and conditions? Faultlines of our imperfections etched in black ink over fresh parchment. Sections highlighted and underlined to protect ourselves from ourselves. Binding us to regulations of an image that must stay. Upholding virtues that vanish under the sun. Behind these walls, lies nothing new when all that remains are the cracks in our forms where dandelions grow as dreams fade. The gnawing of illusions within our conscience over candlelight piercing through the dark corners of unfamiliar rooms illuminate the shadows we must face.
By H. J. Levonabout a year ago in Fiction
War of the Minds
The Mind of Innocence was sheltered in the wings of the straight path, the right path. She built a world in which her cities stood on the foundations of stone. Her walls remained a fortified haven, protecting her people from chaos and uncertainty. She was a controller, the one who saw only what she wanted to see. Sitting high atop the mountains, she was far removed from any dangers or doubts of the outside world. Security and ease were her people's birthright and all is well within her domesticated reality.
By H. J. Levon2 years ago in Poets
Departed Innocence
“Take the shot, that’s an order!” The Commander echoed through the earpiece and into the skull of a young Lieutenant. Five seconds, four seconds, three, two— awake, to three holes in the drywall across a stark room. “Vital spike forty percent higher than normal, BPM elevated, do I need to report?” “Stand down Pariah.” Cain interjects as the synthetic lights embedded in his arm fade into the flesh. Copper shell casings still hot to the touch roll across the floor from the shots fired. Silence fills the room followed by a high pitch ringing. Cain stares blankly at the wall as if he were expecting it to move. His stale amber eyes resemble the dim light of a dying firefly. Silence is soon invaded by the shrieks of a dust coated alarm clock which is shut off by the blunt end of his gun. “One more day.” He whispers.
By H. J. Levon5 years ago in Fiction
