Skip to main content

Echo

The pink robots appeared again to annihilate the remaining forces of the Unicorn Defences. It was a terrible sight to behold. They began their onslaught on an unsuspecting old beaver who just visited the tea shop for breakfast.

'I hate beavers,' whispered one.

There was no hope of survival. Many of the evacuees now take comfort underneath the bunkers of Turtle Island where the counter-forces kept their guard at the heaviest. They were led by a giraffe woman who stuttered every single time she utters a word with a letter R. Nevertheless, every single one of them looked up to her as a symbol of hope and salvation, and she has been doing just that consistently.

Reconnaissance owls prowled the skies day by day in that island. Bomb scares were constantly imminent and the people were in persistent threat of danger. Anti-air mortars were mostly destroyed after the last battle with the vultures. Sea defences as well were constantly bombarded with underwater threat that included some of the Octopus Leader's school of fish. It proved to be a very difficult spot for them to defend seeing as that they lack both the manpower and the arsenal to tackle such fiendish assaults. Most of the mammal volunteers were unable to fly nor swim and that alone proved a great deal of liability against the enemy since their current location has already been compromised and under heavy fire.

It was not until the gnomes came that the oppressors retreated. The slick technology brought by them actually held the opponent back surprisingly and ultimately proved too much for the other side to take. The gnomes brought the chameleons from foreign land transported through underground mines dug deep into the earth.

It was not long before they discovered something more sinister was coming; The red robot landed from the skies accompanied by a band of pink ones. The legend proved too much for them, the spine-tingling rumours too dark, the prophecy beginning.

Popular posts from this blog

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Snippet: In her darkest days, Elaine (worldbuilding), unfinished

Voices of strange busybodies could be heard on the other side of the edifice. Elaine reckoned she recognised one of them. An old friend. Perhaps not necessarily a friend, or not technically a friend. A friend is a rare commodity for her these days. She could walk right past them and not blink an eye, but Elaine waited for a little bit more until the lot toned down. Having a group of opposites around her, poking her skin through their eyes, meticulously making sure she was an enabler who to them an abundant source of entertainment, was all the reason needed to convince herself to back away from the complexity of it all. Home is an awful lot more awful than this place though, Elaine thought, as she gripped her handbag tightly, hoping the ray of darkness from the moon would envelope her and shield her from the attention of the lonesome trail.
"This would not have happened had you only listened to me, Elaine," complained Darco. "Half the people out there would skin us both…

Decide my fate for me

As though the wind may pass with golden steps from shallow graves, the warmth of her hands could not defeat January weather in England, proving that tests of fate weigh heavier than the insidious intentions of a warring tribe. Perhaps it is high time I engage in other methods more worthy of personal consideration. She left me in the cold when my reality cloaked in malady was in full motion, sweating icicles in the interior, punching my guts in gutsy ups and gutsy downs. She was my meaning. She is my void.