Zitat von smegma am 19 März, 2007, 1613 Uhr

The cold lump in my throat climbs as I fight back tears. Small bodies surround me slashes crisscrossing against their chests making a tic tac toe pattern as they cut the major arteries. My sword lies bloodied in my hand useless my sword arm pulsing with pain coursing through my numb flesh. I look down at my last victim a hellhound covered in spikey scales and cant help but marvel at his horrible blood curdaling bueaty. Even in the beast before me, made only to rip me asunder, I see the futility of this never ending war. The tears stream down my face as I lift the dead carcuss helpless to take special care and bury the others I try to find some purpose some vague sence that I have made amends even by a small amount. The hellhounds spiky skin bites into my flesh as I carry him to a cliff overhanging the ocean. I dig a shallow grave with my sword and place him into his final resting place. Knowing that the task could have easily been accomplished with the slightest whim of my mind I take pleasure in the physcal task my body becomeing a tired sancuary with only one purpose. I stare down at the cold grave that seems like such a vain attempt at the redemtion of so much lost life. Surely this creature most have a family, a home, he must know the joyes of love and of childbearing and yet now he will lay in this unmarked grave unknown even to me who will never know his name. In these depressing times its wierd what ironic thoughts pop into your head, does this creature even like the ocean or is it their custome to be buryed at all. I watch the setting sun's light play over the freshly turn mound of dirt the smell of salt mingaling with the soils earthy aroma. Its bueatiful the way death makes us see the joys of life more acutely. Its simple wonders and unexplainable phanomenon like rainbows shining in a dewdrop as the moisture acts as a prisim, the way water cascades from a firehydrant, the arch on a building and the fact that it is supported by the keystone. And all the other simple wonders that no one else seems to notice until they come face to face with death and even then seem blind to the daily anomolies that make people believe in the lord the unexplainable things that are only explained through the belief of something greater a blind faith that leads us from the dark recesses of our own turbulant minds. I dont get a lot of comments on these dreams and I would really like to and perhaps this one is just alittle more indepth than just a story and you could tell me your opinions.