The eyes that follow

In a certain Museum there is a room filled with paintings of portraits. Their eyes always watching, always following where you go. Their frames a window to another realm. Who is watching who?

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Humanity

Blood shot eyes,

rage and fear,

what is the world coming to,

full of disappear.

Ignorance is bliss,

ignorance is deceitful,

full of fake hope,

a web of lies.

What is the world coming to,

oh tell me why,

raging wars and bloodshed,

will humanity ever pass the storm.

Dream upon a star

starrs

I look upon the starry sky,

The night thick and velvet,

A star catches my eye,

Small and bright,

But it is my favourite.

Star you smile and shine forever,

Yet you are so small and different

from the rest,

You make me think of me and the dreams

that yet have been.

So, I will dream upon my little star,

and the star will dream upon me.

Cold Eyes

The sky was dark, the only light was the full moon, seen every now and then, hidden behind the torn monotone blankets that were the clouds, colourless but filled with life, filled with anger. Lighting cracked, blues and purples strongly flashed filling the atmosphere.  Thunder boomed and rain fell like bullets onto the land below adding to the anger and sorrow of the heavens above.

A lone silhouette strode calmly through the city, like a shadow in the night. His long dark hooded cloak gave him some protection from the strong unforgiving cold wind.  With his left hand he held his cloak tighter to himself providing more warmth and in his right hand he carried a double bladed katana, the hilt a royal blue and the blades silver.  It was sharp and swift, with one swing its target would lose a limb or more, its given name Hisu Orochi.

The city was like a labyrinth, dull and lifeless, skyscrapers sticking out of the ground like tall tomb stones towering over head. Shops and other buildings were trashed like there was a stampede of a heard of wild animals. Sharp shards of glass littered the pathways and roads, their appearance looked like crystals, rough edges and sharp enough to make a full grow man cry out in pain with a single cut.  Rubbish littered the streets, flying swiftly in the strong gale and creating larger piles of trash.

The roads were filled with abandoned cars, their doors left wide open, the windows smashed or cracked leaving a web like mark on the screens. As the cloaked man walked by the cars he peered within one, it was a black Mini Convertible, its keys left in the ignition and the engine still running, a sign that the owner left in a hurry.

Everyone did but there were signs, signs that some did not make it on time, their fates unknown for there were no bodies, only pools of dried blood that one can be mistaken as rust, another ghost town. The blood was old, but how old the man did not know, blood can dry within twenty minutes, he guessed it could be about two hours old and with his conclusion he continued on with his stride.

As the cloaked man continued down the road, his footsteps echoed the abounded streets another sign that he was alone. He looked side to side, observing his surroundings, lighting flashed overhead, the blue and purple hues licked the skyscrapers giving the atmosphere an eerie glow.  There were streetlamps lining each pathway, many of which was covered in rust, the lights shattered and some even had blood splatters adding like a pattern to the rust.

The man wondered what had become of the civilians that did not make it and how many had fled with their lives. He pondered on that thought while the temperature declined; the fog of the air that exited his mouth could be seen with each breath he took.  Onward he strode with no destination on his mind, listening to the wind sing at her highest, sing at her loudest, the cold air nipping and biting tinting his nose and ears causing a red hue.

Suddenly he stopped with a halt, something was wrong he could sense it, everything was quiet, too quite even the wind was silent. The man searched his surroundings, eyes narrowed, hunting something with cold blue eyes.  In the shadows he saw it, a set of glowing red eyes trying to pierce into his soul.  He could hear the low moans and groans coming from the creature hiding within the alleyway, the shadows covering it like a thick dark blanket.  Slowly it emerged from its hiding spot, it limped slowly towards him grunting as it did so.

The creature was deformed, it stood tall and had dark ashy grey skin lined with glowing blue veins, torn decaying flesh hanging here and there with oozing green puss. Where its mouth should be was a big gaping hole as if someone punched it in the face with full force.  Its eye sockets were wide and deep with neon glowing red hues in the centre.  It wore a long dark torn cloak that looked as if it was made from rags.  The cloak itself was splattered with blood, some old, some new and in its long thin bony fingers it held a scythe.  The creature was a being from hell, a demon.

The demon locked its unforgiving red eyes with the cold blue eyes of the human before it and with a soul-shattering shriek it pounced for its pray. The beast was quick but the man was quicker, he blocked the scythe that was aimed for his head with Hisu Orochi, sparks flew on contact.  The demon was thrown back some steps on impact but readied itself for another strike.  The man swung his blades and struck the creature causing it to hiss out in rage, it glared at him and screamed out in a high pitch frequency.

Suddenly the man was surrounded, more of the creatures appeared from thin air. He let out an annoyed “Tch”, before going on defence.  Each of the monsters swung at him with their weapons, he evaded most of the attacks but was still struck by many, his body covered with scratches and a gash here and there.  He gritted his teeth in both pain and anger, and switched to offence.  He swung Hisu Orochi swiftly, its blades colliding with many outer weapons, again and again he struck with speed that a human eye could not follow.

As he danced with his enemies the dance of death, slashing and slaying some with speed and force, a force so strong that the rain pouring from the heavens looked as if though it was surrounding them like a bubble which was held with an invisible force. Many laid dead at his feet, all but one, they faced each other with malice in their eyes.  Suddenly the man’s eyes turned a deep blood red, his canines’ tuning sharp as he let out a monsterist growl, startling the creature before him.  He then charged at it, slashing and cutting as fast and swift as possible, the monster stood still for seconds before it fell to pieces at the man’s feet.

The man stood there as he re-sheeted Hisu Orochi, his cloak was covered in inky black blood, his eyes slowly turning from a deep blood red to an icy blue. On closer inspection one could see his wounds slowly healing themselves together as if he was never injured. He slowly looked to the dark stormy sky above, to witness War, Famine, Conquest and Death, the four horsemen, riding their strong steads through the heavens.  A newspaper floats gently around him, its heading titled “Rise of the Apocalypse”. “So, it begins” he stated with a deep voice, continuing on with his stride.  There he walked, a being with the heart and face of a man, but with a soul of a demon.