The doors slammed shut. The silent machines carelessly slung the only books left towards the traitorous owners. The owners - who were tied against old wooden planks - did not fear death. No one did; death was 'the easy way out'. That's what the resurrections told them. Although the resurrections believed they were in complete control, they had no actual power to change anything, or anyone, for that fact. They were merely puppets. Puppets that were easily replaceable and controlled by a greater, powerful being, being used with no free will - simply taking orders. They believed there are many fates worse than death. Death was mercy.
As one of the resurrections struck their match against the coarse edge of the distained matchbox, the orange and red flame flickered, adding a small amount of colour to the now messy room. The next few moments happened excruciatingly slowly for the owners as their whole lives were about to be destroyed, completely unsalvageable. The resurrecter glared into their eyes, almost as if they were trying to look deep into their souls. They thoughtlessly tossed the lit match toward the pile of books, slowly leading the flames to the hopeless people inside. The flames swirling and dancing around the owners, as though performing a sacrificial ritual, before their shrill screams flooded the room.
Black vines of ash stalked up the walls, destroying everything in its path.
The whole room became a glow, illuminating the resurrecters dark blue and grey uniform. As the fire grew bigger, smoke flooded the room, darkening it in the process. As the fire grew hotter, the more damage was being caused to the valuable possessions. However, faintly through a frosted window, overlooking the once pristine room, a silhouette appeared, its only distinguishable feature was the psychotic grin etched across its face, illuminated by the now blazing fire.
The owners watched in horror, their one calm personas now filled with fear, as they realised their lives were to be ended due to the man through the glass.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
Poetry/ Random shorts
ПоэзияRandom shorts and poetry about basically anything. Things I write in school to just random things I come up with. Hopefully some are inspiring. Sometimes i write how i feel and it helps. They're bad so... be warned I just write because I get bored...
