Thursday, 6 November 2014

Their names were Karma and Soul...

(Picture from unknown source)

And so right there in all dirty ally this girl shot this guy. And yet as she pulled the trigger, it was as if magnets pulled her soul through with the bullets twirling vortex. Every day for 28 days after she was like a ghost. That was of course until hooning through gum tree and rain, she hit at 95 kilometres an hour, another dead man’s grave stump. However, meanwhile she was really flying through that air for 28 days. 28 days in .02 soul milliseconds. As the car collided, the bullet hit the chest and passed, shattering a rib. On it continued, swimming though blood cells that all drooped up animal heads to dull-pupil the sight of the intruder until it entered the palace of the right ventriloqual. This was where the white Emperor stood in pointed shock until he was spear tackled. 

With a fatal last look to his advisor, a look beholden to the empires collapse, all he could whisper was “save yourself” before he was pulled through his throne, through the wall, bleeding out into the smash. Yet there, after realities time-concrete cratered death, she lifted her head to face him and the new heart thumping silence followed for awhile. “Hi… miss me?” was all she said to break it. But that was enough. There on that unholy bed of flat bullet, they made love. Menacing, snarling, holy lightning striking love. And after their pupil’s complete dilation aligned, forming the very construction of light itself in their mind, they knew it was time to pay. So with a sigh at each other’s essence, they rolled over onto their knees.  There upon the metal, inspired by the curves of their love, they drew long shapes, which pulsed red until they shouted; “heart!” “spun!” and then two samurai swords of unmatched quality, star and spiral stamped, were picked up by each. 

“You’re freakin crazy” he laughed. “You know there will be too many this time don’t you?” “Aww come on lover, haven’t we been practicing?” –bemused sarcasm was her favourite way to make uncomfortable facts go away.  And as the horde of demonic giants rose over the lip of the crater -some with blue cracked skin, others with red spikes- she flinched a little yet continued; “numbers don’t mean jack to me, but you know that about me don’t you?” “Humph” was all he returned as he locked onto one of the biggest blue giants, eyes like whirlpools.  The horde, with a howl of unearthly thunderous intent, stopped still on the lip of the crater, encircled them with smirking, continental-grinding, staring death. All the two warriors could do was crouch into a smiling combat stance, spinning their katanna’s. “I hate our bodies.” “Yeah… Me too…”  

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