"It began when the sky peeled open like paper, and instead of clouds, eyes poured out—eyes with no pupils, only teeth."
The teeth-- Were they teeth? Though, they were biting-- What of? Meat hull. Was it a monster? they questioned.. Stupid punks, it's a shark-- right?
The sky began chewing, not the ground, not the air—the timeline itself. Children cried backwards. Old men were born from puddles.
A boy stared upward and whispered, "The shark is real. The shark is me!"
The gentlemen, beside me questioned, not out of fear, not out of questions, but of curiousity, "What will it spit, afterwords?", he stood stunned, my eyes unspoilt and wide open, with my stunning mouth.. "Well whatever" he continued.
I, who had a popcorn, searched for a chair, but got hurdle of huge rock shoved in my pants instead.. Oh, they were torn though..
"Stupid of me to not notice... Oof!" he let's out a sigh of relief..
The girls stare at him, "Oh, I mesmerised few beauties, eh?", stunned they smuggled over ugliness, bursting in laughter before the moment they were crushed a paramagnetic beast. Their cloths split, their eyeball popped out, thier mouth slipped against each side. The body was covered in dust-- the rods I meant..
And from the cracked ground where the girls' laughter had died, the beast—paramagnetic as it was—paused. Not because of resistance. Not because it was full.
But because it saw him.
Not the boy with torn pants. No, not anymore.
It saw a mirror.
Not of glass.
But of consequence.
"Ah… so you do spit back," the beast gurgled, adjusting its bones like a suit collar.
He adjusted his torn pants, still chewing popcorn, now soaked in blood and static.
"You started it."
He said.
No, someone said.
Maybe the violin.
And then, silence cracked—not broke, not shattered—cracked, like porcelain trying to remember it was once bone.
It spat out a violin. No, not the instrument, but the sound of one. It bled out, notes unraveling like veins across the sky.
The gentleman, now melting from his shadow upward, asked again—
"Then, who tuned it?"
"Did the violin just t-talk? Eh, weird world.." he continued.
"Did that shock you? Loyce?" they screamed.
As ugly he was, the more hollow he wasn't-- suddenly, Loyce started blabbering, "The god's have forsaken us, now we sha-" being interrupted by the gentlemen being crushed by rock, uttered the quote, "Shut yer' trap, dum'as!" he told.
The world had shaken to it's core.. It shook.. IT shook.... I-IT s-shook... Was it madness? It was, yet it wasn't. It is what the sane call insanity...!
"Could you be mine.. Be mine.. Be mine.. Be m-minee...!", the voice was heard, it echoed, the vibrations stewed like medium-steak.. But the monster-- A monster? No, it was a angel...!
As everyone submerged in thought.. The ones who sweat in fear died.. And to the left, the ones who had legs fled-- Fled where? They had no legs..!
Angel, it-- He was..! Hands starting from the mouth, ending with death of the parasites-- They refer as humans...! In place of bones, was raw skin, eye pupils open clearly to the wide world..
The angel chew their arms.. Crackling sound it spouted, what from? The bones.. The eyes were juiced.. The hair stuck in their teeth...
"I am not a monster, I just like food.. Alot of food!" it said smiling-- menacingly, it's jaw wide open....!
But the popcorn wasn't finished. Not yet.
Because he was still chewing.
And he was still watching.
Loyce, now splattered in debris and irony, cracked his neck like it owed him money.
"You ain't no angel," he said, brushing off a chunk of someone's regret.
"You're just hunger pretending to be holy."
The angel blinked. Once. Twice. In reverse.
Then came the violin again—out of place, out of tune, but somehow conducting all of this.
"And what are you, fool?"
The monster-angel asked, teeth now a spiral staircase, blood dripping like jazz.
Loyce licked the last kernel off his lip.
"I'm the last audience member."
The sunrise, was it? " Evening, everyone, evening", greetings on the right, and the children yelled, "Mama, that's beautiful!", on the left.
Where is that, my go?
Mine, was painted white-- the face, if you call it. Brown, they were, what was it? The eyes, it's announced. Mine, were smiling-- the lips, with a red charisma. Called lipstick among the beauty..
The lover in grey, the loved in white.. They sat? They had to? Why so? A sturdy campade-- a time disputal toy, "Clock was it-?"
Am I walking, "Ahh, I was charmed by beauty once too..", though mine was addressed as beauty..
It thought, myself, behind found approached? Who might this quintessential needy gentleman be?
"Aye, how are ya'!", spoke the man in a local accent.. Traditional they consider it, huh..
"It was found.. That it myself, huh?" it blabbered..!
"The name was, what was it again-?" thought the it with a blasphemered vision..!
"Aye, Loyce, com'ere-- vicious prick!" said the woman.. The it was confused, or did they call the creature, a mother? or was it sister? thoughts awoke..
This, they called it food. It called it survival.. The thing called it tasty, or was it that, his taste-- did it have one to begin with?
"It was great.. It was weird.. What do they address it as again? Time, yes-- time!", continued on the melody of the Eve of Darkness, the night, they call it..
It's vision crippled, it fell back, losing consciousness-- or rather aware of the subconscious-- found itself-- now questioned in the lake-- "Am I he? Or am I a she? Ohh, I was a he!!!"
"Or was he, me?"
Said the it-- man, as it slowly regained something, a memory? a past? the past oblivion? It was wonderous...!
It was perseverance.. Or was it something else entirely? A single expression was not let out. Or is he even capable to give out a expression.
He alone knew it, yet he knew it because he was alone. Rather, did he know, because he was alone?
A deck of cards were sobbed.. The honourables' who placed it out where out of the numbers that represented them. Found there, was a king, queen and the jack. And the Joker..!
The king and his power.
The queen and her pawns.
Who might prevail in the end though? The king and his armour or the queen and her pawns. Else, would it be a stab from someone else entirely.
Later, no-- there was no later, the lazy creek waking up. Loyce decided to talk a walk and go bless others. His mother was out buyin' them, groceries..
Loyce, topped by a marvelous hat, a crooked stick, well groomed hair, the black coat and a brown tie of a magician, the look of a gentleman. He smiled, as he walked through the crowd, full of filth and somewhere honour, elsewhere love.
Loyce was astounded by the pillars high in the sky, which they call the 'four heavenly pillars', but yet not. What in sight of his 'now' insignificant view were the colours..
On one end of the route, was a butcherer-- cutting the carrot, adding the potatoes, the raw, deep-dried medium-steak, with the spices, were literally a cherry on top. He served it-- he threw and caught it! Showing marvelous performance with marvelous deliciousy... On the other end, the gentlemen were eating a popsicle, the one side of their eye covered in a star-- though it covered the both? It was refered to in only the right one... Was it a omen? Or was he the omen? He held a shotgun in one hand and a popsicle in other. "Gentle nobles, and graceful ladies', would it not-- it is definetly a honour to have you shoot yer luck!" the mysterious star-shape eye-patched man shouted, gathering the curiousity of the employed and the eyes of the unemployed...
"Wow, look at that, honey-", the noblesse with a white safira said. The other noble gentleman also whispered, "That idiot, is putting on quite a show, eh?", the other nobleman agreed, nodding their head. Mocking him, and bursting in laughter.
The star-shape eye-patched man, struck his head suddenly, in the direction of the voices-- he smiled..!
The noblemen furious, but what could they do, but mock, after all... they were, below them..!
Loyce amused, saw upon the people. The people stunned, why so? Looked at Mr. gluttony as if they witnessed a figure upright down.
Expressing nothing, saying nothing.. The man walks silently to star-shaped, uttering, "May I?", the eye-patched man amusingly surprised, later first breathe, did he smile, handing over the shotgun to him.. Loyce taking it, valiantly, as he kept his stick still held unto the ground, he took a aim-- but where? he took a aim at the man.. The eye-patched man, still smiling, taking the situation back, he continues "Alright, you gentlemen, may win!"
The star-shaped continues, explaining word to the next. In a game of animals-- the zodiac must be hunted down, and this gentleman over here, did it..!, he longs and says "But sir, how'did you grace the shot?"
Loyce, eyes smothered, interrupted while tasting over by the butcherer, he says "Oh, that? I missed my aim.."
"Indeed!" the man said calmly, smiling..
He tilted his head in shock. He rose his eyebrows, his jaw looked like the crooky edge of penguin bent upside down. Nonetheless, he is quite handsome he thought while remembering a flashback of being rejected by the beauty of his years..
He kept walking.. What he maintained was not charisma, it's not even fear.. It was silence..
"...who might that young mistress be?" he continued..
She swirled her eyes not her attitude, she glared, but how could the cornea of a vague little child spot a grown pig in the crowd? He questioned..
The infant in the arms of a mother was too smiling.. The gentlemen in front oh his vision were too.. Certainly sir, you can, but why is so? he murmured..
From the abnormal arm of a unborn to a perfect leg of a born.. The beauty which was considered treasure, but it looked ugly... Quite vaguely enough, though..
He clinched his teeth, his hands stopped in fear but couldn't because it was fear.. Fear death? Fear of anomalous traits? Fear of monsters? Fear of the devil's, also, the god's? He whispered... "I-I am s-scared, I am scared, please, p-please-- save me-!" he continued.. And what exactly was it, a woman in the crowd, a handful of love, the 'his' mother too smirked menacingly..
Yet to the surprise of the 'strings', he completed his quota by continuing, "Kidding~"
They were surprised.. The strings and their thread, if you are curious enough so..
A sight-- retro.. The weight-- unordinary.. A castle? No, it would be foolish- nay, beyond foolish, if you address that thing by a honourific..
The tip of the string, was not the top- not the edge- and also not a dream. It was infact-- you. Questions raised, hands clapped, but were flate, if you describe so.. Only if it is described so.. To the surprise of lord's divine intelligence, there appeared a huge eye-- no, a pupil.. Piecing puzzles, eating mysteries, creating faiths.. What was it though?
The angel.
Far beyond the end. And way behind the start. It never began yet it always ended. If a gun shot, the bullet was penalized. For the sake of filth, even the devil addressed it was a age..
The age set, it didn't start. The era of monsters ended. And began the era of monsters. Was it a loop? Or was it a paradox? Or was it age-- the thread?
Loyce, sleeping like the belzebeth after a meal..