Re: The Fatal Conflict (GBS2G7) (Round 3: The Infinite Playground!)
07-26-2011, 10:04 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
There was nothing here anymore.
There were many things Simphonia would have done. Maybe she would have mourned the loss of her robot friend, one she had grown rather fond of over time. Or she would have enjoyed the colors around her, which were indeed both colorful and plentiful and bright and happy and cheerful and all those things musical ghosts liked. Maybe she would have gone up a slide the wrong way.
But she couldn’t, unfortunately, because she was busy dealing with her own issues, which usually weren’t as plentiful as the colors surrounding her, but were now asserting their existence in a very painful way. She wailed, twisted about in the air, attempted to burrow herself in the ground for a moment, before she shot off in a random direction.
The sound of her screeches and wails were loud and haunting. They echoed in the mind, bursting with regret and pain and an anger that pushed against anything standing. Stormy brasses and furious percussion and wild strings. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a human voice spoke out, rough and husky and incomprehensible.
A dark-eyed being stood, watching the writhing mass of black. He stood and listened. He thought:
How beautiful.
He and everything around him were quickly shredded away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Not so far deep beneath the surface of the planet was the ‘something’ that had been mentioned previously. It did nothing much, being stuck in the middle of a planet, and mostly slept. But the cacophony and sudden death up top did not pass its notice and it grumpily stirred awake, doing the mental equivalent of banging on the ceiling with a broomstick and yelling irately.
Vaguely, it dawned upon the ‘something’ what had happened. It had long considered his prison his home and thought of the children that suppressed him as his own. Now there were intruders breaking into his home, scuffing their shoes, dirty with other dimensions, all over his metaphorical carpet and killing his children, which is significantly worse than burglary.
He searched around feebly.
There was the murderess. Her power was paltry and her mind even weaker. The ‘something’ couldn’t do much in his state, but she was certainly not beyond his reach.
There was nothing here anymore.
There were many things Simphonia would have done. Maybe she would have mourned the loss of her robot friend, one she had grown rather fond of over time. Or she would have enjoyed the colors around her, which were indeed both colorful and plentiful and bright and happy and cheerful and all those things musical ghosts liked. Maybe she would have gone up a slide the wrong way.
But she couldn’t, unfortunately, because she was busy dealing with her own issues, which usually weren’t as plentiful as the colors surrounding her, but were now asserting their existence in a very painful way. She wailed, twisted about in the air, attempted to burrow herself in the ground for a moment, before she shot off in a random direction.
The sound of her screeches and wails were loud and haunting. They echoed in the mind, bursting with regret and pain and an anger that pushed against anything standing. Stormy brasses and furious percussion and wild strings. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a human voice spoke out, rough and husky and incomprehensible.
A dark-eyed being stood, watching the writhing mass of black. He stood and listened. He thought:
How beautiful.
He and everything around him were quickly shredded away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Not so far deep beneath the surface of the planet was the ‘something’ that had been mentioned previously. It did nothing much, being stuck in the middle of a planet, and mostly slept. But the cacophony and sudden death up top did not pass its notice and it grumpily stirred awake, doing the mental equivalent of banging on the ceiling with a broomstick and yelling irately.
Vaguely, it dawned upon the ‘something’ what had happened. It had long considered his prison his home and thought of the children that suppressed him as his own. Now there were intruders breaking into his home, scuffing their shoes, dirty with other dimensions, all over his metaphorical carpet and killing his children, which is significantly worse than burglary.
He searched around feebly.
There was the murderess. Her power was paltry and her mind even weaker. The ‘something’ couldn’t do much in his state, but she was certainly not beyond his reach.