Mr. BedlamA tall dark man, black hair, handlebar mustache, dressed in a black suit, black boots and a black Stetson hat casts his stare into the distance. A .44 strapped to his thigh, a slightly malevolent smile, he sips black coffee in the cold morning. A pale gold sky, sun shining and rising over the horizon, distant trees silhouette.Mr. Bedlam by the-ketchup-kommando
Behind him, a camp of hired guns, more eager for the gold he promises in return for their services. Scruffy, dirty gunslingers, sitting here and there; one, a grizzled old man, dressed in unwashed jeans and long johns, tends to the fire. Two others sit about, young bucks looking for fortune and to prove their skills. A red haired lad sits on the log, a short sleeved shirt and dark pants, carving a piece of wood into nothing in particular. The other, a dark haired man with pale blue eyes, cleans his gun, a .38 nickel plated revolver; he's wearing a brown jacket as meticulously kept as his employer's. A tin percolator on th
Freewriting journal entry, January 2, 2014It's the dawn of a new age, and it shines bright, no? Glinting like polished metal and burning our retinas out... Nothing ignoble, low or rude can be seen, a truly glorious world...Freewriting journal entry, January 2, 2014 by the-ketchup-kommando
A rusted bird cage at the bottom of a mechanical chasm, bones and dust collected in the bottom.
Busted snake with wings spreads out and blackens the sky. The harsh rattling voice bleats DEATH to the masses. The gleaming metal city seems to be immune to the crumbling as it shimmers and vanishes behind the clouds. It cannot be reached and THUS
CANNOT BE TOUCHED!
While the rust pile below crumbles to dust and detritus.
A young child sits on the heap, a little girl on the cusp of perceiving. There, she observes the illusory quality of the Metal City. The rust pile stretches before her, a yawning void, toothless and old.
A mother cat and her litter, colored red from the crumbled world whirling about them, crawls out from the p