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A Brave New World: A Brief Narrative Fiction

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A silent shadow, blurred from the crowd, standing still. Waving hands, the earth's stood silent, one footstep, the doors were opened. Man wielded by diverse flags, holding hands through the roaring floor. United was someone's words threw a microphone, communication was someone's finger in their ears. A train that accidentally dropped angry chickens, would fight their reasons, without a cause. The stairway to the grip in which we strangle each other, the waves colliding onto our vision, an empty space. The single man walking the line, standing tall along the forgotten memories. The smell of ash onto the sky, flying angels staring down upon the fallen structures. Standing still, surrounded by arms for only the white of their eyes could be …show more content…

The wind was cold but was defeated by the fire that conquered the lands, we stood our post covered in , my feelings were vanished by the pictures that were projected onto my mind. Savaged turned simple, shoulder to shoulder, the faces of my enemies were unknown but their actions were enough to show their nature.
My weapon, wielded force while my arms are frail, my body moving as my mind was frozen. Imagery only to be seeing by the books, but never to be experienced; moments that can't be touched. For I could not find the meaning, my mind was left cold, men running towards their end. “Necessary,” the words, the phrase for the slitting of a man's throat, the butt of my gun hitting a faceless image.
They yelled and yelled, but only the deaf replied. People closing their eyes, closing their reality, and open to their realm, their...blockade. For the people would inherit the violence and walk amongst the weak, and open their arms to the strong. The eye would look away, the ears would ring, for we few good men the arms would rest its shoulders to shake hands. For was not an understanding, but a …show more content…

Now a forgotten ash, my hands, weighless, for my action carry guilt. Once I lay down my weapon, I step into my distant memory. They see the same face, but feel a different person, they sense trouble but only smile and stand behind the soft floor, where I stand is the dirt, sleeping in the fire. My friend was my enemy, and I was his determination, to catch me and to drown me.
Four months staring, waiting, watching the shadows creep out from behind. For my heart stops at the moment, the first touch is the last breath. As they sing to the sky, the rain pours on us, for I am perhaps past help. The man is torn apart by the room they sleep in, the things they touch, a weapon to them. I am relieved off my pain, the picture is burnt, the tears are washed away, but the whiteness rising is still behind the eye. Was it a dream, am I insane? Or perhaps I was living a

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