Monday, March 30, 2015

endings for the craven

I’d like to say we gave up those hateful gods, but I don’t believe it. So many kept praying and sacrificed so much (and so many), even as the world drowned. Countless waterfalls, silver shining, poured forth from the black void of a sky. That starless night wouldn’t end. It might’ve been beautiful, without the endless screaming and perpetual stink of the waterlogged dead. Months, a year maybe, passed without morning.

I ran at the first sight of those wet holes in the sky. I stole this boat. I bashed a temple guard’s hard skull wide open and took her sword. I struck her from behind while she mourned a comrade. The world was ending. She wasn’t ready for such. I’ve been ready forever. Craven from the womb said the whore what brought me up. Well, endings are made for the craven, you old bitch.

When it all falls down, true cowards ain’t been inside it for ages.

In the first few weeks, I used the sword near constant. Drowning folk are desperate strong.

Now though, just seems to be me n’ those rat-tailed dogmen, out here on the endless sea. I fly from their big ships and sneak up on the small ones when I can. Fellow’s got to live on more than confused fish, you know.

One of these days, I reckon that my reckoning will come. I’ll fill one of them scaly dogmen’s bellies, and that’ll be that.

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