The Ghosts
PostPosted: Wed Dec 31, 2003 9:06 pm
The Ghosts
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Eight figures moved across the red plane. They were ghosts.
It was last light, the beautiful red summer sunlight caressing the hills like a lovers touch.
The ghosts moved like men posessed. Like demons running from hell, or set loose. They were wearing grey cloakes, hoods pulled down. Nothing could be seen of there face. They were ghosts. They were moving toward a military base. It was late summer when the grass had long died, being roasted by the suns fierce warmth which now shined crimson as it sank beneath the horizon. 20 minutes until dark. The ghosts fanned out. They were within 3 kilometers of the base. They were ghosts.
Each one felt pain, love, hunger, gentleness, lust, fear, hate, strife, joy and every other emotion humans were enslaved to. These prisoners had broken free of there shackles though, now masters instead of slaves. They weren't robots, they weren't inhuman killing machines. They weren't the four Horseman of Apocylapse, each with his own sadistic, soul sucking butler. They weren't horrendous mutants come to reak revenge. They weren't tragic romantic figures stripped of all humanity come to show this world to love.
They were ghosts, and they had a mission.
______________
Eight figures moved across the red plane. They were ghosts.
It was last light, the beautiful red summer sunlight caressing the hills like a lovers touch.
The ghosts moved like men posessed. Like demons running from hell, or set loose. They were wearing grey cloakes, hoods pulled down. Nothing could be seen of there face. They were ghosts. They were moving toward a military base. It was late summer when the grass had long died, being roasted by the suns fierce warmth which now shined crimson as it sank beneath the horizon. 20 minutes until dark. The ghosts fanned out. They were within 3 kilometers of the base. They were ghosts.
Each one felt pain, love, hunger, gentleness, lust, fear, hate, strife, joy and every other emotion humans were enslaved to. These prisoners had broken free of there shackles though, now masters instead of slaves. They weren't robots, they weren't inhuman killing machines. They weren't the four Horseman of Apocylapse, each with his own sadistic, soul sucking butler. They weren't horrendous mutants come to reak revenge. They weren't tragic romantic figures stripped of all humanity come to show this world to love.
They were ghosts, and they had a mission.
