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post #25 of (permalink) Old 05-09-12, 03:03 AM
Adrian
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Default The End is only the Beginning

The End is only the Beginning


Strange that I did not think of the end of the world as being anything else but the end. When I think of the end I think of it as nothing else can come of it, nothing else is left but nothing; it’s all done, finished, the end. But that’s not how it works sometimes and in this case the end was just the beginning… the beginning of hell.

The Emperor’s Children began the invasion with an orbital bombardment. We watched as the torpedoes plummeted and fell like rain from a cloudless sky. We saw them fall slowly, too slowly, almost as if they were not falling at all, but drifting. We did not know what they were at first. They looked like people silhouetted by the sun drifting from one end of the sky to the other. Slowly they fell until we were able to make out the features of the bodies.

They were scorched and split from entering our atmosphere from space. The bodies had been grafted to the torpedoes, nearly ten of them to each of the bombs. Children, mothers and fathers, dogs and cats, most likely family pets included to add to the morbid humor of the Chaos devoted. By the time we knew what it was we were looking at it was too late for us to run.

The streets had become full of spectators all watching the spectacle from above; windows full, rooftops packed with people just wanting to find out what it was that was falling ever so slowly from above. We all heard the screaming start as the souls bound within the torpedoes wailed and begged for release. We began to weep at the torment we heard. Some fell to their knees in anguish and depression as they struggled to take in the sight drifting before them.

At last they began to touch the ground. We could see them clearly, as clearly as the sun on a summer’s day. Their eyes were still open and their mouths still moved. Arms still shook and legs still kicked. They wailed for release and we mourned, for we knew there was nothing we could do for them. Some fled the scene holding their ears trying to stop the cries from seeping into their souls, but the damned could not be ignored.

At last when the final torpedo touched the ground the crying stopped. Everything became deathly quiet and hushed, not even a child spoke or stirred. No pets barked, no mothers or fathers moved, for the shock of what we had seen was numbing and beyond anything imaginable.

We thought it was the end, but as I stated earlier, the end is sometimes the beginning of things to come.

There was no place to go to escape the horror before us. We could not move from one street to the next without seeing the daemonic totems. The smell of the dead caused us all to vomit and become ill. We knew we had to remove them, remove the vile things from the city if any semblance of normality was to return. The chance never came.

The bodies began to explode one and then another like morbid popcorn in a fiery kiln. Their chests erupted, arms and heads and legs and hands, fingers and bone. Skin and intestines, muscles and bile and shit flew in all directions like shrapnel imbedding in the flesh of those nearest, slamming into onlookers and preachers seeking to remove the curses bestowed upon the city.

Nobody was untouched except those holed up in homes and other buildings. The psychological impact could not have been planed any better. After the bodies blew the torpedoes fallowed suit. Thousands died in seconds, building crumbled, dust rising in billows and blackened ash. Bridges fell and streets cracked. I do not know how I survived, but I wish that I had not. We longed for this to be the end, but alas it was not too be for they fell from the heavens as the sky grew dark; space shuttles delivering torment.

I do not know if the other cities upon my world were under attack, but I suppose they were. The P.D.F. was helpless before them and the sounds they made. Noise like daemons torn from heaven blasted through the streets; vibrations ripping people apart, shaking the bones and flaying skin from muscle. They marched in groups of five and laughed as they tormented us. Children erupted as the sound-waves hit them at full force, their tiny bodies too weak to be held together by frail bones and soft undeveloped muscle.

We tried to fight back but what could we do. Tears fell like rain as our helplessness was revealed. We tried to flee but there was nowhere to run so we hid in the sewers, basements and shadows, but they fallowed us and blasted their soul horns. The screeching that they made sounded like tormented captives gnashing their teeth and begging for death. My ears popped and I became deaf but still the vibration of the horns shook my bones and weakened my joints until I was no longer able to stand. My eyes burst within their sockets and I screamed in misery and pain as I felt the blood streaming down my face.

I wailed as hands grabbed my arms and broke them before dragging me out of the sewer I was hiding in. Fresh air, tainted by Chaos threatened to kill me, but a mask was placed upon my face. I could breath; I was going to live. I did not want to live but I had no choice in the matter and as I was tossed into the shuttle I knew my pain would not end soon.

Days turned to weeks, insanity threatened to rip my mind apart, but the Emperor’s Children did not want me or the others to lose our minds. They wanted us to feel and understand what was happening to us; they wanted us to weep in our helpless state and beg for the end to come.

I am falling now and it is cold. I can feel my body freezing. There is no air. I am burning and now am fully awake as I enter the atmosphere of an alien world. My voice joins thousands of others as the song of terror reaches its crescendo. I understand what is happening but am unable to warn those I know are coming out to watch the floating bodies falling from the sky.

They are all going to die but the end is only the beginning.

1,097 words not counting title or word count.

A good reputation take a long time to build, but only a moment to destroy. Wow, that's deep! Check out the H.O.E.S. short story competition.
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