legion

A legion of stone gargoyles come to life atop cathedral precipices. Wrought on their faces are expressions of deceit and mischief. They hop along and using their wings as they are airborne. They descend on the masses inciting violence and chaos. They have no soul. There is no spirit that controls them. Invisible strings hang from the sky like a cast iron god. Many arms and hands like Shiva, but in each grasp is a wooden cross. Puppet master controlling his many marionettes. It is a complex orchestration and invisible to all human eyes. From above, the screams sound distant. I am hiding on the roof, petrified. Perhaps if I stay hidden and don’t try anything stupid, I will be accidentally spared. The sky is grey, filled with smoke. I smell wood burning. The roof is hot after a long day baking in the sun. My stomach rumbles with hunger and I know I must ignore it. I hear the stamping of army boots and the sound of metal on metal. Two swords dueling in the night. Men cry out.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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