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No prayer for the dying or the undead
Entombed in halls of molding ancient stone
Their blood is black and thick which once ran red
On iron knives their claws and teeth they hone
Grey skin stretching over old brittle bone
Their eyes are vast and empty, in them the world
Hearts have the secrets which the gods have known
At the speed of light they see stars reborn
A minute to midnight, they know it’s ending
An eternity spent in cosmic cold
Living after death the damned ascending
Ice in the sun, moons of alien mold
They will soon return, planet in their hand
Devour the world, running through time’s sand

Other sonnets:
1197
1154
1109
1107
1088

The Travelers

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The traveler showed up at the town riding a great grey horse and wearing a black coat and a wide-brimmed hat. The youngest children, who were too young to help on the farms as of yet, ran after his horse as he rode into town. The traveler tossed them candy from his saddlebags. He rode to the mayor’s inn and leaped off his horse. He walked into the inn’s parlour and took a room, paying his fare to the mayor and promptly disappearing into his room. He did not appear again until dinnertime, where he entertained the townspeople and fellow travelers with sings and wit. Early next morning, he was riding off on his great grey horse, tossing candies to the children and bidding farewell to the adults. He rode off in his black coat and wide-brimmed hat, humming to himself, and the townsfolk wished him well.

Another traveler rode up a few days later on a sturdy bay, wearing a grey coat and a well-worn boots. He disliked the appearance of the townsfolk, their children had bulbous, fish-like eyes and he could have sworn that some of the adults had sharpened their teeth and had hands like lizards’ claws. The mayor had a snarling visage and an uneven gait, as if he was walking on goats’ hooves instead of human feet. The traveler bought a room nonetheless, for he was tired, but when he heard the townsfolk gathering outside his door that night, he crept out of the window, leapt atop his horse and rode off as if old Lucy was after him.

After a few more days, another traveler rode up on a prancing dapple in a fine red coat and red-heeled shoes. The town was as empty and haunting as a rotting coffin. Everything was as if the townspeople had left in a great hurry, or been forcibly removed. Food was rotting on the table, beds were unmade, and milk pails were halfway filled. There was no sign of man or beast, but in the cellar of the inn, there was slime everywhere, as if a million slugs had traveled through it, and a terrible stench, as if a million slugs had died. The traveler could hardly bear the smell, and getting in the saddle of his prancing dapple, rode off from that place, wondering what could have happened.

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It’s been a while since I wrote prose, (unless economics tests count, ugh) feels good to be writing some. I wrote this in a fairytale fashion, without going into character or setting too much. Hopefully still creepy  and interesting enough. Also got some sketching in, lost some sleep to do it, but necessary I guess.

Music Credits:
Left Hand Path by Entombed
Cirice by Ghost (this is one of my favorite bands, really happy they got a Grammy for this song.)
Wasted Years by Iron Maiden (I always start listening to this classic when it comes close to the end of the year. Yeah, I’ve wasted a lot of time, but it’s no use searching for those wasted years.)