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2005-03-03 20:19:05
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Blood Ties.

This world was not much different to our own. It had trees, lakes and rivers, and ran in virtually the same way as our planet does. The only difference was here was black while the rest was white.
The animals here, ruled the land. Half animal, half human, with an intelligence to match and outstand any other, living planet. This is the race of the Animalites. Anomalies in their own domain , with their highly- evolved, highly sensitive senses, they were indeed, the ‘Perfect Race’.
And that’s what a particular group of Animalites decided to call themselves. ‘Perfect Race’. Pure amimalites, bred from the ancestors of the ’Orion Age’, the half- cat half- human race, derived from the Panthera Tigre compound. Now different species had been interwoven into the fabric of the evolution tapestry, and they were many types of fantastical creatures spanning across the globe.. This group of descendants lived South of the Equator, Hawaii. In a small little beach hut, 10 miles from the island of Polynesia. They chose to live here, as this gave them the best vantage point from anywhere in the world. ‘The gazers’ were in charge of the watch tower, situated on top of Mauna Kea, a dormant volcano better known as ‘White Mountain‘. If they found an ’Unpure’ who was unlucky enough to wander through their stretch of beach, they would be executed.
The ‘Vet’ was in charge of this operation. He was also known as Manx. He acted as judge, jury and executioner. He did not heal, only took life away as he deemed fit. He was someone to fear. He was renowned for his elaborate killings, and grotesque collection of wings, beaks, hooves, and fish tails. He often had the particularly horrifying consequence of breeds infused
Together to indicate how disastrous it would be for say a unicorn and a falcon to copulate. He would stuff them. He would eat them. It was like a macabre taxidermies haven, which served as a warning, but most for him to enjoy. It was his play ground.
To say that he, himself, had been bred pure from the race of the Orion, would be a bare-faced lie. He himself, had been conceived by the union of the Manx Cat, and a
monkey. He dressed in in cream and gold robes to conceal his hideous form. A hairless monkey.. He was ashamed of his diseased roots, and would kill anyone who was to even come close to discovering his secret. Many did, and as a result, he could not feel the warmth of another, savour the touch of a Pure. And as a result of this isolation, he grew bitter and hateful, bent on the destruction of his kind. The dirty, impure, inbred stench of his race.
And he had a way of becoming Pure. He had to rebirth of course, but that was worth it. He would be re- animated by Science. Salamandore, an outcast, an a brilliant scientist, would help him emerge as the proverbial butterfly he had always longed to be. The salamander was a misshapen product of a trout and a lizard mating. His scaly green skin provided excellent protection from the harsh sun, while the tail proved a reasonable form of balance.
The plan Manx had devised was a simple, but knowledgeable one. He was to breed with a Pure, then extract the young foetus via caesarean. The idea then was to add his dominant cells, that being of the Manx, but detract of the properties of the breed such as the hairless gene. Then the last part, to cultivate and nurture the tiny foetus. Then, as it matured, the last part of the sequence was to kill Manx’s body so that it may re-emerge as a newborn. The child would need the Manx blood to re-animate. And they you have it, a Purebred. He would pass himself through to the next generation via genes, so that he was the next generation. Simple.
Of course, as with all scientific procedures , there are drawbacks. There are always risks involved.
The child might not make it. Being taken from the womb so early, and not responding to the blood was a very large certainty.
Or, and the most horrifying, it could respond well to all, and the blood may trigger a dormant gene: The infant could emerge with a thirst for blood, and kill the salamander in charge of care. If this happens, the animal would surely not survive.


Snowflake. A new Revelation.

Across the glaciers of tomorrow, Maya calls out to the cold moon, high in the pale, colourless sky. Baying, she walks back and fort across the cold snow, the powder separating from the ground by her small, padded feet. She grew restless. There had been no sign of life now for three days, and this was the third night she had gone without food. She shivered. Normally the intense cold did not bother her, her coat kept her warm, and the thin layer of fat that covered her bones, had added extra insulation. But that had been lost, due to her body converting the fat for nutritional purposes only.

The sun had set moments before, and the pale, grey sky had slivers of red and orange, before the sun dipped behind the horizon, and the sky became enveloped in darkness. The moon shone brilliantly, and the temperature dropped. Now all Maya could do, was pace back and fourth on her lonely mountain. She was tired, cold, hungry, and very isolated. All the animals had gone. Where, she did not have the faintest idea. It was beyond her simple understanding of life. They were there one minute… the next, completely vanished into thin air. She knew that they had not simply migrated, because it was not the right time, it was not cold enough. Animals don’t have a sense of time in the way, perhaps human’s do, being that a human will watch a clock, follow a watch, and in reality, be owned by time. Animals relied on their sense of time, and not by simple measurements. By the weather changes, by the sun waking from its sunset, and by their perceptions. Some human’s possessed this sense of time, too. Some actually relied on their own, sharp senses, than a watch, and be on time, still be aware of ’time’.

For some reason, too, the days seemed shorter, somehow. Not because it was in the month of January, when days generally were shorter. Maya’s perception of time in general was much, much shorter than was the normality of the seasons. The sun seemed not to climb as high within her daily cycle, instead falling much sooner into the diminishing sunset. But the nights, they seemed longer. The sky was changing. Maya could smell it in the air. Something had happened to her friends, the polar bears, the seals, penguins, and all the rest of the Antarctic creatures. There had been a shift of some kind. Even Maya’s mountain did not feel the same, as if somehow it had been moved. But Maya knew large objects could not move by themselves. Unless the sea itself had opened up and swallowed her friends..? Had the plates within the sea pushed aside? Creating a great, gaping chasm of… nothingness? What was down there? Would we find the earth’s core? Or would we simple gaze into space’s empty shell? Infinity? Of course Maya would not think this way. She was but a simple creature of the earth. She possessed no greater knowledge than that of a child.


The Withered Rose

This garden that I see
With its splendour and beauty
Calls out to me
In foreign tongues of secrecy
Entice’ s a weak mind to gape
If a rose you pluck
Then beware
With coiled snake roots
They come for you,
With golden shoots
They bound and tether
The hapless spectator , sever
From maiden flowers of exquisite binds
Bewitching the eye
So beware! That rose plucked
Will wither and die
Intoxicating , while you lie
On fields of poppies
Enslaving fools
Upon carpets of jewels
Mirrored reflections of the sky
Drowning out thought
That all things must die here
Time suspends for an eternity
In this garden of peace and serenity


Butterfly

My sweet lullaby
You came and went
As quickly as a butterfly
Driving upward heaven sent
After feeding, needing
To stretch fine wings
Disturbed by the wind
Hurried by the sun
Sighs upon the breeze
Make a summer of ease
Always eager to please
The one I loved
The one I trust
For ever and a day
I just had to say
How much I missed you
When I told you to leave
I could not believe
I would still need you
After all this time
Like prose and rhyme
My heart cries out a sonnet
Weaves a crescendo of beats
I am the proverbial butterfly
For to stay
Would surely mean to die
But in your absence
Forever I will sigh
Incomplete
As wings beat
Against the morning sun
I trust no-one


Fallen

The light, she shines
Within, so soft
Yet outwardly, intense
Too intense for words
In an effusion of light
She comes from above
Descends to earth
Feathered angels surrounded her
In a halo of white
Behold, Adriana:
From the halls of heaven
To the hell below
Behold, Adriana
Fallen angel



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