And then I realised, I was a pawn of greater men by BrokenTales, literature
Literature
And then I realised, I was a pawn of greater men
I'm flying on three tabs of Andraxian Blue. I don't remember taking them, but the Blue has an unmistakable way of splitting your head in two with a four iron. The question is why. It's been years since I've hit anything this hard, and I can already feel it coming on too fast.
People surround me like a swarm. Their noise reverberates through my skull, and the stench of their salts fills my lungs and threatens to drag bile out onto the street. They gawk at me. They sense something is different, and they're just waiting for their chance to tear me apart. They keep coming closer, sidling up to me as if nothing is amiss, pretending to look away.
Heartless Automaton - A Love Story by BrokenTales, literature
Literature
Heartless Automaton - A Love Story
Combat Mechanoid 732 of the 3rd Armoured Battalion - though he went by the name Al in casual conversation (something easy for the fleshies to remember). During service he had dragged his ferrosteel body from the flaming wreckage of a particle tank on four separate occasions, once going back in to recover the memory core from a crushed comrade's skull. He dedicated himself to the cause not because of the propaganda or idealism, but because it was his job (and unlike the fleshies he knew how to do his job without whining, or stopping to rest every couple of days). But now the war was over (with both sides claiming victory) and Al was to be sent
02:37am 22nd July - depart from London by commercial jet, business class.
00:53am 22nd July - arrive in New York an acceptable 7 minutes behind schedule.
Slaying an archangel is hard work. It takes a great deal of study, picking your mark, separating fact from legend, learning your target's tells and vulnerabilities. Even if you succeed, and when I tore Gabriel's crystal heart from his open chest I became one of the precious few who have, there is still the matter of retribution. Angels never forget the death of one of their own, and a legion of these creatures now wait to descend and deliver their vengeance. My only sanctuary is the night.
I Delta woke to a blinking light flipping the room between murky green and dirty glow of a city waking up. He always woke up too early these days. Used to be that he could at least get a few hours blissfully drifting in and out of sleep each morning. Now he was awake at 6am every day, feeling too anxious to sleep but too tired to focus properly. Mira was sitting on the edge of their bed, an oversized band-shirt draped over her. Summer sweat made it cling as she waved her hands and fingers, manipulating screens only she could see. Delta skirted around her to put some coffee on, not wanting to interpose himself with whatever she was working on in the middle distance. "If you're awake, can I put some music on?" He looked at Mira. Her eyes were bloodshot from working all night. Her fingers were clawed and her back rounded because she refused to correct her posture. But she still had that curl to the edge of her mouth, that sly mischievous smile that had turned him on to her. He could
Inspector Andel removed her contact screens and allowed herself a small sigh of nostalgia. She had borrowed a tablet from the archives department, and now weathered hands were flicking their way through cold case files. Hand-typed files. She'd almost forgotten that she used to deliver reports just like these.
"It's not the 20s any more, Andel. We don't use tablets."
Andel had been too absorbed to notice Dieter sneaking up on her until the overbearing git had pulled up a chair opposite. Dieter was tall, young, charismatic, and by all accounts was everything Andel was not.
"Cold cases," she said, with a lot less venom than she had intended,
I remember colours. Every colour I've ever known streaming through my head. I didn't see them so much as have them forced into my mind. I didn't feel time passing, but when I woke in the hospital with tubes jammed haphazardly into my skin, I had a sense that it was missing.
I remember blurred movement and a slur of sound, but five words cut through it all as clear as day.
"You were in an accident."
I asked about my wife first. I still feel guilty about that, but I think I believed that if my wife was ok the kids would have to be too; that she would have protected them above everything else.
I was told they were fine; they weren't with me
BrokenTales writes to keep the demons away. Sometimes he falls asleep at his keyboard and one gets through, but it's usually rounded up in short order. This commitment to a demon-free lifestyle has produced many short stories that can be found in his gallery.
Looks great, I am looking for something like this for some music that I have written to draw a story line to the song. Let me know if you might be interested and how much you might charge. Keep up the great work!