The fire started in a distance, his bones crackled with every step, while the voices of the spirits made no effort to attract. It was a new breed of terror seeping in, haunting the chemicals in the air, undulating with discrete strength. It's time, a girl's whispers coming from an unseen source. It's time for us to feel the joy again.
Joy, what a simple word with a mischievous intent. What joy can there be in spreading fear amongst all men's hearts? Their mouths ashen with malice. Who is to feel the joy when joy easily turns tragic? Like dancing naked during summer in a barren iceland. These beings of pure dementia, these harbingers of lunacy, of degradation, of shallow emotions, of cradles filled with fucking filth. Burn the witches. This world deserves a better definition of joy.
Whatever the world will be, it will simply be, but I cannot allow myself to sit idly by whilst this pieces of humongous scum, of torturous and inhumane scumbaggery, of fiddly fucking monstrosity gallop nonchalantly on my streets to wag their phallic heads around like a ten-pence prostitute.
Not on my watch.
The fire should start again -- this time somewhere safer. And let it be known that I will be there to foresee through it all. I am the omega of their plans, their watcher in the dark, the omniscient guardian of truth, of true joy and honour, of love and sadness. Let them see me for who I really am. An angel of pure bliss. The zen to their chaotic reverse. We live in a land with so much potential. I make it all possible with a drop of a single word.
I am love and I am life. None shall cause darkness so long as I stand against it.