[muse] snatches
Apr. 17th, 2004 02:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coronaviridaeDragons:
All that glitters is not dragons, she wrote on her third grade assignment. It was supposed to be a test of completing common cliches, but she thought her answer was much more fitting. She had printed it laboriously in her third-grade scrawl, and even checked with her mother on the proper spelling of "dragon". Her mother had been too busy lighting a spliff to pay much attention. It was still a crushing disappointment for both of them when she got a poor grade on the assignment.
Song Demon:
"Stop the car."
"What?"
"I said, stop the car. I'm not riding another mile with you." She frowned out the front window at the snowstorm swirling around them. "I can't."
His gut clenched. He wrenched the wheel of the car around, sending it skidding into a snowbank. A part of him was happy at how she screamed in fear, and wished she'd go flying through the windshield.
Corps:
"The problem here, boy, is you think you have this figured out. But there is no game in this one--your final test is going to be the real thing, not a simulation designed to protect your fourteen-year-old mind from the truth. When your soldiers die, you'll know that they're dead. When you become a genocide, you'll remember everyone you wiped out.
"There is no rabbit hole, no white bunny, no pills, no mirror. This is the beginning and end of reality. So you'd better get used to that--because even if you don't, I consider your sanity a very small price to pay for the safety of humanity."
Heterodox:
Thus I can conclude that I am a sinner indeed, after the fashion we have taught all our children to believe, Christian. He dabbed his pen in the inkwell, dotting a careful period onto that final line. It was the last thing he would write; it behooved him to make it both legible and neat.
"Done writing in your journal, Father?" one of the Seraphim asked solicitously. He looked up at his pale guard, and for a moment felt revulsion creeping in the pit of his stomach. What were these monsters he'd created?
"Yes, of course, child," he said aloud, concealing his feelings expertly. The Seraph relaxed, nodding, and resumed her post by the wall.
He looked down, dusting a handful of sand across the page to dry the ink. Then, he rose from his desk, stepping around it. "I'm going for a walk, child. Stay here and wait for your replacement."
The Seraph nodded crisply. She was just for show, after all. There was no threat to the Father in the halls of Heaven. Nothing except myself, and the Seraphim. On that grim note, he smiled, and stepped out the door, leaving the Seraph to guard his journal.
muse
All that glitters is not dragons, she wrote on her third grade assignment. It was supposed to be a test of completing common cliches, but she thought her answer was much more fitting. She had printed it laboriously in her third-grade scrawl, and even checked with her mother on the proper spelling of "dragon". Her mother had been too busy lighting a spliff to pay much attention. It was still a crushing disappointment for both of them when she got a poor grade on the assignment.
Song Demon:
"Stop the car."
"What?"
"I said, stop the car. I'm not riding another mile with you." She frowned out the front window at the snowstorm swirling around them. "I can't."
His gut clenched. He wrenched the wheel of the car around, sending it skidding into a snowbank. A part of him was happy at how she screamed in fear, and wished she'd go flying through the windshield.
Corps:
"The problem here, boy, is you think you have this figured out. But there is no game in this one--your final test is going to be the real thing, not a simulation designed to protect your fourteen-year-old mind from the truth. When your soldiers die, you'll know that they're dead. When you become a genocide, you'll remember everyone you wiped out.
"There is no rabbit hole, no white bunny, no pills, no mirror. This is the beginning and end of reality. So you'd better get used to that--because even if you don't, I consider your sanity a very small price to pay for the safety of humanity."
Heterodox:
Thus I can conclude that I am a sinner indeed, after the fashion we have taught all our children to believe, Christian. He dabbed his pen in the inkwell, dotting a careful period onto that final line. It was the last thing he would write; it behooved him to make it both legible and neat.
"Done writing in your journal, Father?" one of the Seraphim asked solicitously. He looked up at his pale guard, and for a moment felt revulsion creeping in the pit of his stomach. What were these monsters he'd created?
"Yes, of course, child," he said aloud, concealing his feelings expertly. The Seraph relaxed, nodding, and resumed her post by the wall.
He looked down, dusting a handful of sand across the page to dry the ink. Then, he rose from his desk, stepping around it. "I'm going for a walk, child. Stay here and wait for your replacement."
The Seraph nodded crisply. She was just for show, after all. There was no threat to the Father in the halls of Heaven. Nothing except myself, and the Seraphim. On that grim note, he smiled, and stepped out the door, leaving the Seraph to guard his journal.
muse
