Untitled

[oceansatyrwrites]

Though I know not the visage of perfection.

Clear to me, is failure's face in my reflection.

[oceansatyrwrites]

In the jet black shadows of our dark ages, before the first light was cast into the lands by our hands, the devils that feasted on our minds and bodies skulked in the depths of what we could not fathom. Belonging to the frothing purple depths of ocean waves, the writhing darkness beneath the underbrush, and the maroon blood that spilled from virulent plagues. We cowered, raged, and loathed the myriad evils that doomed us.

And so we sought a light to illuminate the unseen evils. The spark of genius, the ray of hope, the fire of humanity. Through the brilliance we birthed, the devils of humanity shrunk as their dwellings were scorched in our march, never for their clawed hands to touch again.

Yet, as the devils retreated to the deepest, lightless corners they could reach, we never stopped to ponder if they were truly vanishing beneath the light, or simply hiding in the new shadows cast by it. Beneath our feet, they crept their way into us, worming malicious tendrils deep into the crevices of humanity. And thus, the devils of the new age came to be, hiding in the shadows of our people cast by our very own light.

Having fled our world, they sought refuge in our souls, so that they may further torment our lives. Or perhaps they lived there alongside us all along, only now the light we held, so very close to us, was enough to glint off their wicked horns and sharpened fangs through the dim shadows. Or maybe, just maybe, the devils we saw lived only within the shadows in view, a distorted vision of the darkness we could not hope to understand, evil being only the name we gave it.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Within the present lies the agency of existence, to decide the meaning of life.

The future cradles budding possibilities, lighting the best of the world and the worst of it too.

The tracks of the past show the shape of all, bringing to form joy and sorrow as ideals and fear.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Matte Grey

Slamming hard against the wall

Paint thickly smears across the canvas

Depicting violent and vivid greys

An expressionistic work masks the surface

As viscera drips down my gaping jaw

[oceansatyrwrites]

Bauble

Swirling, twirling, scraping against the inner glass walls.

Churning and turning, pretty ornaments float,

Suspended in space and weightless in the world.

Crack!

The glass smashes open.

Out pour the ornaments, ensnared by gravity and slick with fluid,

Each one greets the world whilst glistening in light.

They brush against the wind and press down on the ground,

Their mass firmly rooted, no longer a stranger to their weight.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Gluttony of Violence

Chapter 1

Thick stagnant air, strong with the deathly scent of iron floods my head with every breath. Every moment is spent fighting off a voice that whispered sweetly into my ear, telling me to give up, to lie down and sink deep into the muddy battlefield I had been condemned to. My nails dig into the dirt as I drag my body forward. Above me, fire, metal, and poison fly across the sky back and forth, and dying cries would rip into my ears before being abruptly silenced. And each time it happens I can only pray. Pray that each scream was not one of the voices I had heard as laughter before. Voices that had spoken to me of their hopes, their dreams, their fears. I grit my teeth and lurch forward. Blood seeps out of my muddy mouth while I ignore the burning pain emanating from my gut. My vision fades in and out, my mind almost blanking from horrible overloading from each one of my senses. Almost. I can almost feel my life slip away from me. Give in. I can hear the voice grow louder, more tempting. Screeching. A piercing whine fills my ears as the sounds of the battlefield grow quieter and my vision starts to fade away. A pale white clouds my eyes slowly, slowly.

My hand finds its way into the dirt once more, and my eyes snap to focus onto the dirt beneath me. I clench my jaw tight and pull energy into my core, before lunging, throwing myself forward again.

Again and again, I scrape through the dirt as I come to the brink and back. With each horrible exertion, I move closer to base camp. Through my blurred, fading vision I catch glimpses of more and more familiar sights. Of an oddly shaped rock I recall passing, a track of footprints in the dirt of our boots we left when we charged in, a dying tree that stood alone as if warning us of our similar fates. Before long I see a group of men in uniforms that match my own. Relief floods my body and I find myself losing strength rapidly. Before I feel the last of my energy leave me, I muster up what’s left and push against the soil. My head rises and my ragged throat shakes as I shout out to them. I see someone rush forward and hear their voices rising. I hear the concern in their voices as they move closer and I drop to the floor, assured of my safety and losing all strength in my body. I faintly feel gentle hands wrap around me and voices cry out for a response, but my hearing fades and my body numbs as I fall unconscious.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 2

Slowly, my eyes open to see a familiar cloth ceiling. I twist my neck to the side and see my fellow men standing over beds as they tend to more of the wounded. I finally feel the pain of my injuries and grunt softly, which causes a medic to snap his head to face me. He moves over to me quickly and checks my body before sighing in relief. He pulls his mask down and I catch sight of his face. No-Rat, the medic who lost four front teeth from a delirious patient, gave me a crooked smile showing me the gaping hole in his mouth. Tears roll down his reddened face from his eyes swollen from crying. “You stupid bastard.” He chokes out through the tears. “Got so lost you couldn’t even find your way to hell?” I smile back at him, and only then do I notice my own tears as the salty taste of it touches my tongue. “Not that stupid you broken set of ivory, I still crawled my way back here.” He grips my bedsheet so hard his knuckles turn white, hanging his head and laughing while tears fall onto the bed. I laugh with him but the pain in my guts force the laughter out of me as I choke on the pain. No-Rat slowly calms down, walking over to a table before returning with a small cup of amber rum. He helps me sit up slowly before handing me the cup and walking back to another patient. I cautiously pour it down my throat, trying hard not to spill it. The bitter liquid burns my throat as it slides down it. I holler at No-Rat, “Can’t even give a dead man a decent cup of booze?!” He replies without looking back at me, “Best thing you’ll ever get, save for a private night with a lady!” I chuckle and place the cup on a small table next to me. As I feel the alcohol spread through my broken veins, the screaming pain in my guts subsides. I take the opportunity to look around the tent. There are a few medics hovering over patients, some moving in and out of the tent bringing with and away supplies. Some of the men lying on the various beds grunt and moan every now and then while others lie silent. I see a medic cover one with a blanket, obscuring its face before grimly carrying it out. I can only stay silent at the sight, turning my head the other way as if to deny what I saw.

A while passes and I find myself waking up from a nap. I gently poke myself in the stomach before, after finding the pain tolerable enough, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the floor. As I put my weight onto my feet, pain shoots up my bandaged leg. It is then that I notice the two crutches placed beside me against the bed. I grab them and force myself off the bed. Limping and in pain, I slowly make my way to the entrance of the tent, passing a medic who looks back at me with weary eyes. As I brush the curtain door open, two medics carrying a stretcher enter and I watch them move the ferried patient onto the bed I lay on moments ago. I limp through the camp slowly, making my way to the tent belonging to my squad. I pass by several tents, some full of men wearing expressions dark with fear, some entirely devoid of life, and a few with men crouched and shaking quietly, bereaving the empty beds that occupy the tent. I… I keep going. I reach my tent and find it empty. I move over to my bed and sit, staring at the bed opposite to mine, belonging to Snake. It was the dead of the night when he ran through the camp, screaming at the top of his lungs about a snake, only for us to find a broken rope wrapped around him after he had fainted. I turn to my right, where the bed belonging to Pumpkin Pie was. The namesake pie he ate gave him the worst stomachache any of us had the displeasure of hearing, and smelling, in our life. I move my gaze to the beds beside it, blinking out the tears beginning to blur my vision. Rockhill, Joey, Dung, Claymore, Hourglass. I reach into my blood-stained uniform and pull out a ragged piece of cloth, on it is a cheaply painted image with all of us laughing. I stare deeply into the painted faces on the cloth before noticing a tear fall onto it. I fold it up and shove it back into my shirt, before the rest of my tears pour out. Without realising, my hand starts bleeding as my nails dig deep into my palm, but the pain of it is eclipsed by the tearing in my heart. The muscles in my chest tighten and pull me inwards, my heart squeezed tightly and beating fiercely against my flesh and bones. My throat is dry and painful, and each heaving breath I take is punctuated by my violent sobs. My cheeks flush with blood and my head spins. I feel myself fall onto my dirty pillow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out the tears that teetered on the edge of my eyelids. Crying myself to sleep, I slip away from the world and faintly hope to enter the one with all my friends.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 1

A set of rapid pats on my face pulls me from my slumber, my body jerking violently upwards. Blinking rapidly, my eyes attempt to adjust to the dim environment I find myself in. I see the figure of a man standing before me. I squint up at him, his face hidden in the shadow of the single weak light hanging from the ceiling. He lifts his hand up and speaks. “Look at that, I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to still be here.” The man takes a step back and the light reaches his face. I finally recognise the man before me as Bucket, someone from another squad I knew. He extends a hand out for me to grab and lifts me into a sitting position. I spot a set of playing cards and a bottle of alcohol with two cups on the adjacent bed. Bucket searches his uniform for a moment before retrieving a pack of cigarettes. I accept when he offers me one, and he lights both of ours before grabbing the cards. “What do you think of a game of Stoneface?” “More fun if there were more of us left. Maybe Liar? “I’ve been playing Liar for weeks, how about Usurper?” “Alright, I’m fine with that.” He splits the deck in two and sets aside the jokers. Bucket starts first, placing down a 3 of diamonds. “So how did ya get back?” I place a 7 of hearts. “Crawled back after the lot of us blew up, you?” He places an 8 of hearts. “Got knocked out in an ambush, reinforcements came and found me.” I place a King of diamonds. “So where’d the booze come from, don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on us?” He places down a King of clubs. “I was gonna pop it open for my squad when we finished our deployment. Can’t exactly do that now can I?” My hand freezes for a second, before I place down an Ace of hearts. “Well then I’ll thank what luck I have that I get to drink it with you.” He painfully gives a soft chuckle and places down an Ace of spades. “And you better relish it, I had to starve for half a month to afford it.” I place down a 2 of clubs. “How fancy, with how much booze I see you drink, I’m surprised you only starved for half a month.” Bucket stops for a moment, staring at his cards, before quickly placing down a 2 of hearts. “Bought the others with the previous half a month’s worth, felt like an addict holding back after buying this.” My eye twitches and I place down a 2 of spades. Bucket sighs and straightens the pile, sliding it over to me. I put the stack of cards to my side while he retrieves the bottle and cups. “Loser drinks or winner drinks?” He asks. I chuckle and respond, “Winner, of course. Getting drunk ain’t a punishment tonight.” As he pours out a cup, he says, “Thought I could get ya to let me have the first taste” before handing it over. I take the cup and bring it to my lips. A thick oaky aroma enters my nose, along with some sharp pricks of alcohol and spice. I let out a breath thick with alcohol and take a long drag from my cigarette. Staring at the cards in my hand, I find myself speaking. “Drink a cup with me Bucket. No booze in the world’s good enough to enjoy by my lonesome.” He pours out a cup and sits next to me while taking a sip from it. “Hey now, a good cup of booze’s been my best night-time companion since I started drinking.” I raise my cup to him and he raises his in response, the sharp clink of our cups ringing out clearly. “I can tell you’ve never spent a nice night with a pretty lady then!” The two of us laugh together while drinking, the game long abandoned. An ember falls from my cigarette onto my bedsheet. I feel a warmth grow slightly beside me and rush to stamp it out, while Bucket laughs even harder at me. As the fire dies prematurely, I sigh and take a sip of my drink. Bucket takes another sip before knocking back the rest of it.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 2

“I saw something on that battlefield,” he says. My cup stops before reaching my mouth and I lower my hand, “What do you mean?” I turn to look at Bucket, a faraway look fixed onto his face. “There was this strange man, carrying a great big sword in his hands.” “He was so skinny, you’d think a skeleton came to life. And the sword he carried was long and thick, and when he swung it I could feel a strong gust of rancid air blow past. It reeked of blood and rotten meat, like it was made of the battlefield itself.” I look into Bucket’s eyes, which continue to stare straight ahead. “He didn’t do much, the other men that attacked us killed most of us. But I saw Tank run at him.” A vein emerges on his forehead as his face flushes red. “He lifted that great big sword like it was nothing and swung it at him. Tank just fell over, his body coming off his legs with a horrible squelch.” By this point, I start thinking of calling No-Rat to give Bucket a check-up, to see if he hit his head too hard. “I couldn’t move after seeing that, and an enemy took that chance to whack me right in the head.” Bucket’s gaze returns to the present and he turns to look at me. “I still don’t know if I really saw that.” I see myself reflected in his desperate, blood-shot eyes. “I’m scared, Wagon. Scared that I’m going crazy. Scared that I’m not. Scared that that man will come to finish me off. That nothing of my squad will be left.” Bucket grips my shoulder, the tears in his reddened eyes threatening to spill out. “Am I safe here, Wagon? Will I still be able to blow my money on booze in a month? In a week? Hell, will I die before this bottle empties?”

I look deep into his eyes for a moment, before gripping his shoulder. “I think you’re crazy, if there was such a terrifying enemy we would’ve heard about it before.” I force a smile, “And don’t even think about dying before I get a chance to show you that pretty escort I met last year! I’ll show you there’s a better partner than a decent bottle.” The tears roll down his face as he tenses up. I see his mouth twitch as he forces a smile. Our nails dig into each other’s shoulders, before we both release our grip. I pick back up my cup that I had accidentally dropped onto the floor and fill it with a little bit of alcohol. I hand it to Bucket before picking up his and filling it as well. “Come on now, we still need to drink up this good booze while we have it to ourselves.” He smiles at me and we raise our cups together. A bright flash fills my vision and I feel a strong force on my side. My feet leave the ground as my body flies across the tent. I crash hard into the ground and smash my head against the dirt. Right before I pass out I hear a guttural roar, like that of a dying man gargling thickened blood, and smell the rancid odour of blood and rotten meat.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 4 - part 1

Screaming fills my ears alongside the roar of raging fires. My injuries bite into my mind causing me to struggle to lift myself up. I push against the dirt and raise my head to see what’s happening. All around me, men cry out in pain while others charge with weapons drawn. I see them rush in one direction and look towards their destination. There stands the grotesque figure of a man, hands clasped around the hilt of a massive sword. The dim silhouette of the man shows a shrivelled and naked body, the shape of each bone stretching against skin. His torso wrapped tight around his ribs and his abdomen caved in, as if all his organs were removed. He stood knock-kneed, leaning into his sword which was planted into the ground. The blade was garishly thick, wider than his entire feeble frame, and stood almost as tall as he was. As the men got closer, he pulled the blade from the ground, and cleaved all of them in two in one weighty swing. I heard the thump of their bodies as each piece fell to the ground, drenching the land in blood. Through the chaos, I heard the disgusting crunch of the man’s feet as he took a step forward. He inched closer to the corpses, his legs crunching with each step. And when he finally reached the corpses, he took the sword in his hands and brought it high above his head. Blood gushed out from the bodies after he slammed it down into the dead flesh. The horrible smell reached my nose, causing me to gag. The air was thick with the smell of rotting flesh and blood, as if it were a land that had long been a battlefield, a land of death. He twisted his massive blade and pushed it deeper into the corpse, spraying blood across the dirt. I could see him breath deep, heaving breaths as he leaned deeper into his sword for support. He lifted the sword up, as I gave witness to a gruesome sight.

As the blade rose from the body, flesh and bone were greedily dragged up with it. The mutilated flesh tore through the blood-soaked clothing, fused together with the blade. My eyes began to adjust and I saw the sword’s true form. Waxy, blackened flesh covered the large surface of the blade from top to bottom. Hard bony protrusions jutted out in places, and some tore through the rotted flesh to expose pale white fragments. The wide flat of the blade was misshapen and ugly like mottled and scarred skin. I felt my stomach twist as I heaved up its contents, a mixture of horror and disgust swirling in me. The flesh from the corpse began to warp as it crawled further up the blade and the broken bones buried themselves beneath the dark flesh. The man shuffled over to the next corpse and once more, thrust his blade deep in the body. As I reel from the sight, I hear a shout from behind, which draws both our attention. With blood dripping down his face and a long spear gripped tightly in his hands stands Bucket. His hands shake with fury and desperation, and he shouts at the skeletal man, “NO DEVIL MADE MAN WILL KILL ME! I WILL LIVE TO SEE THE DAWN OF TOMORROW!!!” I barely see him charge as his body flies forward with his spear at the ready. The dirt beneath his feet is torn asunder as he rips across the battlefield. The man attempts to swing his sword at him but is stopped as Bucket buries his spear deep into the fleshy blade. He pulls from his side a sword and before the man can react, embeds it into his neck. The man stares at Bucket, a mix of pain and anger as his blood foamed in his mouth. Bucket took the sword in both hands and pushed, cutting through the spine and freeing the man’s head from his body with a sickening crack. I watch it tumble through the air and land face down in the dirt. I look back at Bucket breathing heavily as he retrieves his spear. He turns back to me and smiles, giving me a thumbs-up. I smile back at him but notice something shift behind him.

The headless corpse of the man lifts up the black blade above itself, casting a long shadow over Bucket. I try to shout to warn him, but as Bucket turns back around his entire body collapses on itself as the sword cleaves him from crown to tail and splits him in two. I watch in horror as his body falls apart pathetically. The headless body stumbles before plunging the sword into the ground and falling to the floor. Alone in a field of mutilated bodies, and feeling as though I’ve seen enough horrors, I stare at the surface of that monstrous sword. My stomach drops as upon its rotting surface appears a seam which bulges out grotesquely. This seam splits open to reveal a large eye, blood-shot and dripping with yellow-green pus. The eye darts around, flinging pus as it does, looking all around the battlefield. The eye lands upon the head of its previous owner, the withered and balding head already attracting flies as it rots. Suddenly, it swivels to meet my gaze and I feel a pervasive sensation dig into me. I cannot look away as it stares into me. An unspeakable curse wraps around my throat and a strangling sensation squeezes around my heart, my breath grows haggard and my heartbeat drums loudly in my ears. Its iris glows a malicious purple hue, the many fibrous muscles undulating slightly as it focuses on me. The pitch-black depths of its pupils, like an endless void, seems to pull at my soul, trying to suck me in. The sensations of my body fades from my mind as my senses numb, I find myself rising up to my feet. My stomach rips open and dark crimson blood pours out onto the floor. I drag my feet forward, each step spilling more and more. My gaze remains fixed on the beckoning eye of the sword, drawing me close. I reach the sword, stepping over Bucket’s corpse, and stretch my hand out to grab it. I pull it back with my other hand, fighting with all my strength to resist. I look down at the eye and match its gaze. I bite my lip, and feel the pain spread through my body as I wrest control back. A deep horrible burning emanates from my abdomen and I can almost feel my stomach fall out of my body. My grip on my hand weakens as my strength is sapped by the pain spreading through my muscles. I dig into my skin to rouse some strength back. The eye’s purple iris and black pupil seem to blend together, my vision beginning to fail. I cough blood which splatters directly onto its slick surface. The eye snaps shut and I see it writhe in discomfort as more pus leaks through the gaps. It stops moving and snaps open. I feel faint as it glares fiercely back at me once more.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 4 - part 2

The dark depths of its pupil burn with an indescribable horror and a faint glow pulses within. Needles stab into my head, agonising pain erupts from my stomach, and my blood constricts around my eyes. Tears gush forth from my eyes, before being replaced with warm blood which paints my face red. My mouth loses feeling and drool drips down, mixing with blood on the floor. My heartbeat drums loudly in my ear and soon I can hear nothing else but the thumping of my dying body. My outstretched hand frees itself from my grip and latches onto the hilt of the sword. Bony protrusions dig into my palm and a slick mucus covers the skin. I smell the scent of spoiled eggs and rotting meat intensify strongly and feel the odour pervade my body. My blood seems to freeze in my body and the pain ebbs, my body growing cold. My breath stops in my throat and the air within grows stagnant in my lungs. I feel my eyes dilate, the constricting strain on it weakening as it opens. My tongue becomes glazed in thick, clammy saliva as it fills my mouth. Overwhelmed, I drop to my knees, but my hand remains glued to the hilt of the blade, suspending my body above the blood-soaked dirt. My other hand weakly rises and grips onto the hilt with its other. The eye stares at me for a moment more, and an expression of glee flashes briefly across its gaze, before it disappears into the blade as if it never existed. A feeling begins to grow within my gut, a pang of yearning begging to be satisfied. A primal hunger to be sated. The feeling grows and grows, quickly overtaking my mind. I feel my jaw tighten as my stomach rumbles. My throat widens as gas erupts from my belly and the hunger grows once more. I look down at the corpses at my feet, drool dripping from my lips. By instinct, I lift the blade. Holding it in my shaking hands, I bring it above the halved carcass. I raise it higher, the anticipation almost making me keel over, and slam it down. The flesh melts as it fuses with the blade, smashing through skin and bone with a wet crunch. The painful hunger wanes as satisfaction spreads through my body. I shiver as it fills me to my core, like water after a drought. Before I can fully relish in the feeling, the hunger begins to return as the satisfaction fades away. I can barely control myself as I bring the blade up once more above another corpse. Again and again, I feed on the bodies around me, desperate to sate my hunger. Before long there is nary any flesh left, only dirty red stains on thick mud. I glance across the ground and stare at Bucket’s head. It lies in the dirt, split in half and eyes glazed and vacant of life. Its jaw remains loosely connected to the skull by the thin strip of skin of its cheeks. I stare at the lifeless head, flies buzzing around it as they too hunger for the flesh on it.

I feel a prickling at the back of my head and turn around. A distance away stands No-Rat, his body covered with layers and layers of flesh. I meet his gaze, seeing an indescribably pained look of horror in it. I grip my sword tighter, feeling the protrusions of its hilt press against my skin. My legs move, carrying my body forward and accelerating towards him. My mouth begins to twitch upwards and saliva begins to fill my mouth in anticipation. No-Rat’s face twists, transforming into a panic as he tries to run. In an instant, the shadow of my blade covers him and I can smell the odour of his body, oil and sweat seeping out of his skin. My consciousness disappears as I feel the sensation of my blade ripping through juicy flesh and brittle bone passing through the blade, into my hands.

end

[oceansatyrwrites]

Gluttony of Violence

Chapter 1

Thick stagnant air, strong with the deathly scent of iron floods my head with every breath. Every moment is spent fighting off a voice that whispered sweetly into my ear, telling me to give up, to lie down and sink deep into the muddy battlefield I had been condemned to. My nails dig into the dirt as I drag my body forward. Above me, fire, metal, and poison fly across the sky back and forth, and dying cries would rip into my ears before being abruptly silenced. And each time it happens I can only pray. Pray that each scream was not one of the voices I had heard as laughter before. Voices that had spoken to me of their hopes, their dreams, their fears. I grit my teeth and lurch forward. Blood seeps out of my muddy mouth while I ignore the burning pain emanating from my gut. My vision fades in and out, my mind almost blanking from horrible overloading from each one of my senses. Almost. I can almost feel my life slip away from me. Give in. I can hear the voice grow louder, more tempting. Screeching. A piercing whine fills my ears as the sounds of the battlefield grow quieter and my vision starts to fade away. A pale white clouds my eyes slowly, slowly.

My hand finds its way into the dirt once more, and my eyes snap to focus onto the dirt beneath me. I clench my jaw tight and pull energy into my core, before lunging, throwing myself forward again.

Again and again, I scrape through the dirt as I come to the brink and back. With each horrible exertion, I move closer to base camp. Through my blurred, fading vision I catch glimpses of more and more familiar sights. Of an oddly shaped rock I recall passing, a track of footprints in the dirt of our boots we left when we charged in, a dying tree that stood alone as if warning us of our similar fates. Before long I see a group of men in uniforms that match my own. Relief floods my body and I find myself losing strength rapidly. Before I feel the last of my energy leave me, I muster up what’s left and push against the soil. My head rises and my ragged throat shakes as I shout out to them. I see someone rush forward and hear their voices rising. I hear the concern in their voices as they move closer and I drop to the floor, assured of my safety and losing all strength in my body. I faintly feel gentle hands wrap around me and voices cry out for a response, but my hearing fades and my body numbs as I fall unconscious.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 2

Slowly, my eyes open to see a familiar cloth ceiling. I twist my neck to the side and see my fellow men standing over beds as they tend to more of the wounded. I finally feel the pain of my injuries and grunt softly, which causes a medic to snap his head to face me. He moves over to me quickly and checks my body before sighing in relief. He pulls his mask down and I catch sight of his face. No-Rat, the medic who lost four front teeth from a delirious patient, gave me a crooked smile showing me the gaping hole in his mouth. Tears roll down his reddened face from his eyes swollen from crying. “You stupid bastard.” He chokes out through the tears. “Got so lost you couldn’t even find your way to hell?” I smile back at him, and only then do I notice my own tears as the salty taste of it touches my tongue. “Not that stupid you broken set of ivory, I still crawled my way back here.” He grips my bedsheet so hard his knuckles turn white, hanging his head and laughing while tears fall onto the bed. I laugh with him but the pain in my guts force the laughter out of me as I choke on the pain. No-Rat slowly calms down, walking over to a table before returning with a small cup of amber rum. He helps me sit up slowly before handing me the cup and walking back to another patient. I cautiously pour it down my throat, trying hard not to spill it. The bitter liquid burns my throat as it slides down it. I holler at No-Rat, “Can’t even give a dead man a decent cup of booze?!” He replies without looking back at me, “Best thing you’ll ever get, save for a private night with a lady!” I chuckle and place the cup on a small table next to me. As I feel the alcohol spread through my broken veins, the screaming pain in my guts subsides. I take the opportunity to look around the tent. There are a few medics hovering over patients, some moving in and out of the tent bringing with and away supplies. Some of the men lying on the various beds grunt and moan every now and then while others lie silent. I see a medic cover one with a blanket, obscuring its face before grimly carrying it out. I can only stay silent at the sight, turning my head the other way as if to deny what I saw.

A while passes and I find myself waking up from a nap. I gently poke myself in the stomach before, after finding the pain tolerable enough, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the floor. As I put my weight onto my feet, pain shoots up my bandaged leg. It is then that I notice the two crutches placed beside me against the bed. I grab them and force myself off the bed. Limping and in pain, I slowly make my way to the entrance of the tent, passing a medic who looks back at me with weary eyes. As I brush the curtain door open, two medics carrying a stretcher enter and I watch them move the ferried patient onto the bed I lay on moments ago. I limp through the camp slowly, making my way to the tent belonging to my squad. I pass by several tents, some full of men wearing expressions dark with fear, some entirely devoid of life, and a few with men crouched and shaking quietly, bereaving the empty beds that occupy the tent. I… I keep going. I reach my tent and find it empty. I move over to my bed and sit, staring at the bed opposite to mine, belonging to Snake. It was the dead of the night when he ran through the camp, screaming at the top of his lungs about a snake, only for us to find a broken rope wrapped around him after he had fainted. I turn to my right, where the bed belonging to Pumpkin Pie was. The namesake pie he ate gave him the worst stomachache any of us had the displeasure of hearing, and smelling, in our life. I move my gaze to the beds beside it, blinking out the tears beginning to blur my vision. Rockhill, Joey, Dung, Claymore, Hourglass. I reach into my blood-stained uniform and pull out a ragged piece of cloth, on it is a cheaply painted image with all of us laughing. I stare deeply into the painted faces on the cloth before noticing a tear fall onto it. I fold it up and shove it back into my shirt, before the rest of my tears pour out. Without realising, my hand starts bleeding as my nails dig deep into my palm, but the pain of it is eclipsed by the tearing in my heart. The muscles in my chest tighten and pull me inwards, my heart squeezed tightly and beating fiercely against my flesh and bones. My throat is dry and painful, and each heaving breath I take is punctuated by my violent sobs. My cheeks flush with blood and my head spins. I feel myself fall onto my dirty pillow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out the tears that teetered on the edge of my eyelids. Crying myself to sleep, I slip away from the world and faintly hope to enter the one with all my friends.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 1

A set of rapid pats on my face pulls me from my slumber, my body jerking violently upwards. Blinking rapidly, my eyes attempt to adjust to the dim environment I find myself in. I see the figure of a man standing before me. I squint up at him, his face hidden in the shadow of the single weak light hanging from the ceiling. He lifts his hand up and speaks. “Look at that, I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to still be here.” The man takes a step back and the light reaches his face. I finally recognise the man before me as Bucket, someone from another squad I knew. He extends a hand out for me to grab and lifts me into a sitting position. I spot a set of playing cards and a bottle of alcohol with two cups on the adjacent bed. Bucket searches his uniform for a moment before retrieving a pack of cigarettes. I accept when he offers me one, and he lights both of ours before grabbing the cards. “What do you think of a game of Stoneface?” “More fun if there were more of us left. Maybe Liar? “I’ve been playing Liar for weeks, how about Usurper?” “Alright, I’m fine with that.” He splits the deck in two and sets aside the jokers. Bucket starts first, placing down a 3 of diamonds. “So how did ya get back?” I place a 7 of hearts. “Crawled back after the lot of us blew up, you?” He places an 8 of hearts. “Got knocked out in an ambush, reinforcements came and found me.” I place a King of diamonds. “So where’d the booze come from, don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on us?” He places down a King of clubs. “I was gonna pop it open for my squad when we finished our deployment. Can’t exactly do that now can I?” My hand freezes for a second, before I place down an Ace of hearts. “Well then I’ll thank what luck I have that I get to drink it with you.” He painfully gives a soft chuckle and places down an Ace of spades. “And you better relish it, I had to starve for half a month to afford it.” I place down a 2 of clubs. “How fancy, with how much booze I see you drink, I’m surprised you only starved for half a month.” Bucket stops for a moment, staring at his cards, before quickly placing down a 2 of hearts. “Bought the others with the previous half a month’s worth, felt like an addict holding back after buying this.” My eye twitches and I place down a 2 of spades. Bucket sighs and straightens the pile, sliding it over to me. I put the stack of cards to my side while he retrieves the bottle and cups. “Loser drinks or winner drinks?” He asks. I chuckle and respond, “Winner, of course. Getting drunk ain’t a punishment tonight.” As he pours out a cup, he says, “Thought I could get ya to let me have the first taste” before handing it over. I take the cup and bring it to my lips. A thick oaky aroma enters my nose, along with some sharp pricks of alcohol and spice. I let out a breath thick with alcohol and take a long drag from my cigarette. Staring at the cards in my hand, I find myself speaking. “Drink a cup with me Bucket. No booze in the world’s good enough to enjoy by my lonesome.” He pours out a cup and sits next to me while taking a sip from it. “Hey now, a good cup of booze’s been my best night-time companion since I started drinking.” I raise my cup to him and he raises his in response, the sharp clink of our cups ringing out clearly. “I can tell you’ve never spent a nice night with a pretty lady then!” The two of us laugh together while drinking, the game long abandoned. An ember falls from my cigarette onto my bedsheet. I feel a warmth grow slightly beside me and rush to stamp it out, while Bucket laughs even harder at me. As the fire dies prematurely, I sigh and take a sip of my drink. Bucket takes another sip before knocking back the rest of it.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 2

“I saw something on that battlefield,” he says. My cup stops before reaching my mouth and I lower my hand, “What do you mean?” I turn to look at Bucket, a faraway look fixed onto his face. “There was this strange man, carrying a great big sword in his hands.” “He was so skinny, you’d think a skeleton came to life. And the sword he carried was long and thick, and when he swung it I could feel a strong gust of rancid air blow past. It reeked of blood and rotten meat, like it was made of the battlefield itself.” I look into Bucket’s eyes, which continue to stare straight ahead. “He didn’t do much, the other men that attacked us killed most of us. But I saw Tank run at him.” A vein emerges on his forehead as his face flushes red. “He lifted that great big sword like it was nothing and swung it at him. Tank just fell over, his body coming off his legs with a horrible squelch.” By this point, I start thinking of calling No-Rat to give Bucket a check-up, to see if he hit his head too hard. “I couldn’t move after seeing that, and an enemy took that chance to whack me right in the head.” Bucket’s gaze returns to the present and he turns to look at me. “I still don’t know if I really saw that.” I see myself reflected in his desperate, blood-shot eyes. “I’m scared, Wagon. Scared that I’m going crazy. Scared that I’m not. Scared that that man will come to finish me off. That nothing of my squad will be left.” Bucket grips my shoulder, the tears in his reddened eyes threatening to spill out. “Am I safe here, Wagon? Will I still be able to blow my money on booze in a month? In a week? Hell, will I die before this bottle empties?”

I look deep into his eyes for a moment, before gripping his shoulder. “I think you’re crazy, if there was such a terrifying enemy we would’ve heard about it before.” I force a smile, “And don’t even think about dying before I get a chance to show you that pretty escort I met last year! I’ll show you there’s a better partner than a decent bottle.” The tears roll down his face as he tenses up. I see his mouth twitch as he forces a smile. Our nails dig into each other’s shoulders, before we both release our grip. I pick back up my cup that I had accidentally dropped onto the floor and fill it with a little bit of alcohol. I hand it to Bucket before picking up his and filling it as well. “Come on now, we still need to drink up this good booze while we have it to ourselves.” He smiles at me and we raise our cups together. A bright flash fills my vision and I feel a strong force on my side. My feet leave the ground as my body flies across the tent. I crash hard into the ground and smash my head against the dirt. Right before I pass out I hear a guttural roar, like that of a dying man gargling thickened blood, and smell the rancid odour of blood and rotten meat.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 4 - part 1

Screaming fills my ears alongside the roar of raging fires. My injuries bite into my mind causing me to struggle to lift myself up. I push against the dirt and raise my head to see what’s happening. All around me, men cry out in pain while others charge with weapons drawn. I see them rush in one direction and look towards their destination. There stands the grotesque figure of a man, hands clasped around the hilt of a massive sword. The dim silhouette of the man shows a shrivelled and naked body, the shape of each bone stretching against skin. His torso wrapped tight around his ribs and his abdomen caved in, as if all his organs were removed. He stood knock-kneed, leaning into his sword which was planted into the ground. The blade was garishly thick, wider than his entire feeble frame, and stood almost as tall as he was. As the men got closer, he pulled the blade from the ground, and cleaved all of them in two in one weighty swing. I heard the thump of their bodies as each piece fell to the ground, drenching the land in blood. Through the chaos, I heard the disgusting crunch of the man’s feet as he took a step forward. He inched closer to the corpses, his legs crunching with each step. And when he finally reached the corpses, he took the sword in his hands and brought it high above his head. Blood gushed out from the bodies after he slammed it down into the dead flesh. The horrible smell reached my nose, causing me to gag. The air was thick with the smell of rotting flesh and blood, as if it were a land that had long been a battlefield, a land of death. He twisted his massive blade and pushed it deeper into the corpse, spraying blood across the dirt. I could see him breath deep, heaving breaths as he leaned deeper into his sword for support. He lifted the sword up, as I gave witness to a gruesome sight.

As the blade rose from the body, flesh and bone were greedily dragged up with it. The mutilated flesh tore through the blood-soaked clothing, fused together with the blade. My eyes began to adjust and I saw the sword’s true form. Waxy, blackened flesh covered the large surface of the blade from top to bottom. Hard bony protrusions jutted out in places, and some tore through the rotted flesh to expose pale white fragments. The wide flat of the blade was misshapen and ugly like mottled and scarred skin. I felt my stomach twist as I heaved up its contents, a mixture of horror and disgust swirling in me. The flesh from the corpse began to warp as it crawled further up the blade and the broken bones buried themselves beneath the dark flesh. The man shuffled over to the next corpse and once more, thrust his blade deep in the body. As I reel from the sight, I hear a shout from behind, which draws both our attention. With blood dripping down his face and a long spear gripped tightly in his hands stands Bucket. His hands shake with fury and desperation, and he shouts at the skeletal man, “NO DEVIL MADE MAN WILL KILL ME! I WILL LIVE TO SEE THE DAWN OF TOMORROW!!!” I barely see him charge as his body flies forward with his spear at the ready. The dirt beneath his feet is torn asunder as he rips across the battlefield. The man attempts to swing his sword at him but is stopped as Bucket buries his spear deep into the fleshy blade. He pulls from his side a sword and before the man can react, embeds it into his neck. The man stares at Bucket, a mix of pain and anger as his blood foamed in his mouth. Bucket took the sword in both hands and pushed, cutting through the spine and freeing the man’s head from his body with a sickening crack. I watch it tumble through the air and land face down in the dirt. I look back at Bucket breathing heavily as he retrieves his spear. He turns back to me and smiles, giving me a thumbs-up. I smile back at him but notice something shift behind him.

The headless corpse of the man lifts up the black blade above itself, casting a long shadow over Bucket. I try to shout to warn him, but as Bucket turns back around his entire body collapses on itself as the sword cleaves him from crown to tail and splits him in two. I watch in horror as his body falls apart pathetically. The headless body stumbles before plunging the sword into the ground and falling to the floor. Alone in a field of mutilated bodies, and feeling as though I’ve seen enough horrors, I stare at the surface of that monstrous sword. My stomach drops as upon its rotting surface appears a seam which bulges out grotesquely. This seam splits open to reveal a large eye, blood-shot and dripping with yellow-green pus. The eye darts around, flinging pus as it does, looking all around the battlefield. The eye lands upon the head of its previous owner, the withered and balding head already attracting flies as it rots. Suddenly, it swivels to meet my gaze and I feel a pervasive sensation dig into me. I cannot look away as it stares into me. An unspeakable curse wraps around my throat and a strangling sensation squeezes around my heart, my breath grows haggard and my heartbeat drums loudly in my ears. Its iris glows a malicious purple hue, the many fibrous muscles undulating slightly as it focuses on me. The pitch-black depths of its pupils, like an endless void, seems to pull at my soul, trying to suck me in. The sensations of my body fades from my mind as my senses numb, I find myself rising up to my feet. My stomach rips open and dark crimson blood pours out onto the floor. I drag my feet forward, each step spilling more and more. My gaze remains fixed on the beckoning eye of the sword, drawing me close. I reach the sword, stepping over Bucket’s corpse, and stretch my hand out to grab it. I pull it back with my other hand, fighting with all my strength to resist. I look down at the eye and match its gaze. I bite my lip, and feel the pain spread through my body as I wrest control back. A deep horrible burning emanates from my abdomen and I can almost feel my stomach fall out of my body. My grip on my hand weakens as my strength is sapped by the pain spreading through my muscles. I dig into my skin to rouse some strength back. The eye’s purple iris and black pupil seem to blend together, my vision beginning to fail. I cough blood which splatters directly onto its slick surface. The eye snaps shut and I see it writhe in discomfort as more pus leaks through the gaps. It stops moving and snaps open. I feel faint as it glares fiercely back at me once more.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Gluttony of Violence

Chapter 1

Thick stagnant air, strong with the deathly scent of iron floods my head with every breath. Every moment is spent fighting off a voice that whispered sweetly into my ear, telling me to give up, to lie down and sink deep into the muddy battlefield I had been condemned to. My nails dig into the dirt as I drag my body forward. Above me, fire, metal, and poison fly across the sky back and forth, and dying cries would rip into my ears before being abruptly silenced. And each time it happens I can only pray. Pray that each scream was not one of the voices I had heard as laughter before. Voices that had spoken to me of their hopes, their dreams, their fears. I grit my teeth and lurch forward. Blood seeps out of my muddy mouth while I ignore the burning pain emanating from my gut. My vision fades in and out, my mind almost blanking from horrible overloading from each one of my senses. Almost. I can almost feel my life slip away from me. Give in. I can hear the voice grow louder, more tempting. Screeching. A piercing whine fills my ears as the sounds of the battlefield grow quieter and my vision starts to fade away. A pale white clouds my eyes slowly, slowly.

My hand finds its way into the dirt once more, and my eyes snap to focus onto the dirt beneath me. I clench my jaw tight and pull energy into my core, before lunging, throwing myself forward again.

Again and again, I scrape through the dirt as I come to the brink and back. With each horrible exertion, I move closer to base camp. Through my blurred, fading vision I catch glimpses of more and more familiar sights. Of an oddly shaped rock I recall passing, a track of footprints in the dirt of our boots we left when we charged in, a dying tree that stood alone as if warning us of our similar fates. Before long I see a group of men in uniforms that match my own. Relief floods my body and I find myself losing strength rapidly. Before I feel the last of my energy leave me, I muster up what’s left and push against the soil. My head rises and my ragged throat shakes as I shout out to them. I see someone rush forward and hear their voices rising. I hear the concern in their voices as they move closer and I drop to the floor, assured of my safety and losing all strength in my body. I faintly feel gentle hands wrap around me and voices cry out for a response, but my hearing fades and my body numbs as I fall unconscious.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 2

Slowly, my eyes open to see a familiar cloth ceiling. I twist my neck to the side and see my fellow men standing over beds as they tend to more of the wounded. I finally feel the pain of my injuries and grunt softly, which causes a medic to snap his head to face me. He moves over to me quickly and checks my body before sighing in relief. He pulls his mask down and I catch sight of his face. No-Rat, the medic who lost four front teeth from a delirious patient, gave me a crooked smile showing me the gaping hole in his mouth. Tears roll down his reddened face from his eyes swollen from crying. “You stupid bastard.” He chokes out through the tears. “Got so lost you couldn’t even find your way to hell?” I smile back at him, and only then do I notice my own tears as the salty taste of it touches my tongue. “Not that stupid you broken set of ivory, I still crawled my way back here.” He grips my bedsheet so hard his knuckles turn white, hanging his head and laughing while tears fall onto the bed. I laugh with him but the pain in my guts force the laughter out of me as I choke on the pain. No-Rat slowly calms down, walking over to a table before returning with a small cup of amber rum. He helps me sit up slowly before handing me the cup and walking back to another patient. I cautiously pour it down my throat, trying hard not to spill it. The bitter liquid burns my throat as it slides down it. I holler at No-Rat, “Can’t even give a dead man a decent cup of booze?!” He replies without looking back at me, “Best thing you’ll ever get, save for a private night with a lady!” I chuckle and place the cup on a small table next to me. As I feel the alcohol spread through my broken veins, the screaming pain in my guts subsides. I take the opportunity to look around the tent. There are a few medics hovering over patients, some moving in and out of the tent bringing with and away supplies. Some of the men lying on the various beds grunt and moan every now and then while others lie silent. I see a medic cover one with a blanket, obscuring its face before grimly carrying it out. I can only stay silent at the sight, turning my head the other way as if to deny what I saw.

A while passes and I find myself waking up from a nap. I gently poke myself in the stomach before, after finding the pain tolerable enough, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the floor. As I put my weight onto my feet, pain shoots up my bandaged leg. It is then that I notice the two crutches placed beside me against the bed. I grab them and force myself off the bed. Limping and in pain, I slowly make my way to the entrance of the tent, passing a medic who looks back at me with weary eyes. As I brush the curtain door open, two medics carrying a stretcher enter and I watch them move the ferried patient onto the bed I lay on moments ago. I limp through the camp slowly, making my way to the tent belonging to my squad. I pass by several tents, some full of men wearing expressions dark with fear, some entirely devoid of life, and a few with men crouched and shaking quietly, bereaving the empty beds that occupy the tent. I… I keep going. I reach my tent and find it empty. I move over to my bed and sit, staring at the bed opposite to mine, belonging to Snake. It was the dead of the night when he ran through the camp, screaming at the top of his lungs about a snake, only for us to find a broken rope wrapped around him after he had fainted. I turn to my right, where the bed belonging to Pumpkin Pie was. The namesake pie he ate gave him the worst stomachache any of us had the displeasure of hearing, and smelling, in our life. I move my gaze to the beds beside it, blinking out the tears beginning to blur my vision. Rockhill, Joey, Dung, Claymore, Hourglass. I reach into my blood-stained uniform and pull out a ragged piece of cloth, on it is a cheaply painted image with all of us laughing. I stare deeply into the painted faces on the cloth before noticing a tear fall onto it. I fold it up and shove it back into my shirt, before the rest of my tears pour out. Without realising, my hand starts bleeding as my nails dig deep into my palm, but the pain of it is eclipsed by the tearing in my heart. The muscles in my chest tighten and pull me inwards, my heart squeezed tightly and beating fiercely against my flesh and bones. My throat is dry and painful, and each heaving breath I take is punctuated by my violent sobs. My cheeks flush with blood and my head spins. I feel myself fall onto my dirty pillow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out the tears that teetered on the edge of my eyelids. Crying myself to sleep, I slip away from the world and faintly hope to enter the one with all my friends.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 1

A set of rapid pats on my face pulls me from my slumber, my body jerking violently upwards. Blinking rapidly, my eyes attempt to adjust to the dim environment I find myself in. I see the figure of a man standing before me. I squint up at him, his face hidden in the shadow of the single weak light hanging from the ceiling. He lifts his hand up and speaks. “Look at that, I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to still be here.” The man takes a step back and the light reaches his face. I finally recognise the man before me as Bucket, someone from another squad I knew. He extends a hand out for me to grab and lifts me into a sitting position. I spot a set of playing cards and a bottle of alcohol with two cups on the adjacent bed. Bucket searches his uniform for a moment before retrieving a pack of cigarettes. I accept when he offers me one, and he lights both of ours before grabbing the cards. “What do you think of a game of Stoneface?” “More fun if there were more of us left. Maybe Liar? “I’ve been playing Liar for weeks, how about Usurper?” “Alright, I’m fine with that.” He splits the deck in two and sets aside the jokers. Bucket starts first, placing down a 3 of diamonds. “So how did ya get back?” I place a 7 of hearts. “Crawled back after the lot of us blew up, you?” He places an 8 of hearts. “Got knocked out in an ambush, reinforcements came and found me.” I place a King of diamonds. “So where’d the booze come from, don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on us?” He places down a King of clubs. “I was gonna pop it open for my squad when we finished our deployment. Can’t exactly do that now can I?” My hand freezes for a second, before I place down an Ace of hearts. “Well then I’ll thank what luck I have that I get to drink it with you.” He painfully gives a soft chuckle and places down an Ace of spades. “And you better relish it, I had to starve for half a month to afford it.” I place down a 2 of clubs. “How fancy, with how much booze I see you drink, I’m surprised you only starved for half a month.” Bucket stops for a moment, staring at his cards, before quickly placing down a 2 of hearts. “Bought the others with the previous half a month’s worth, felt like an addict holding back after buying this.” My eye twitches and I place down a 2 of spades. Bucket sighs and straightens the pile, sliding it over to me. I put the stack of cards to my side while he retrieves the bottle and cups. “Loser drinks or winner drinks?” He asks. I chuckle and respond, “Winner, of course. Getting drunk ain’t a punishment tonight.” As he pours out a cup, he says, “Thought I could get ya to let me have the first taste” before handing it over. I take the cup and bring it to my lips. A thick oaky aroma enters my nose, along with some sharp pricks of alcohol and spice. I let out a breath thick with alcohol and take a long drag from my cigarette. Staring at the cards in my hand, I find myself speaking. “Drink a cup with me Bucket. No booze in the world’s good enough to enjoy by my lonesome.” He pours out a cup and sits next to me while taking a sip from it. “Hey now, a good cup of booze’s been my best night-time companion since I started drinking.” I raise my cup to him and he raises his in response, the sharp clink of our cups ringing out clearly. “I can tell you’ve never spent a nice night with a pretty lady then!” The two of us laugh together while drinking, the game long abandoned. An ember falls from my cigarette onto my bedsheet. I feel a warmth grow slightly beside me and rush to stamp it out, while Bucket laughs even harder at me. As the fire dies prematurely, I sigh and take a sip of my drink. Bucket takes another sip before knocking back the rest of it.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 2

“I saw something on that battlefield,” he says. My cup stops before reaching my mouth and I lower my hand, “What do you mean?” I turn to look at Bucket, a faraway look fixed onto his face. “There was this strange man, carrying a great big sword in his hands.” “He was so skinny, you’d think a skeleton came to life. And the sword he carried was long and thick, and when he swung it I could feel a strong gust of rancid air blow past. It reeked of blood and rotten meat, like it was made of the battlefield itself.” I look into Bucket’s eyes, which continue to stare straight ahead. “He didn’t do much, the other men that attacked us killed most of us. But I saw Tank run at him.” A vein emerges on his forehead as his face flushes red. “He lifted that great big sword like it was nothing and swung it at him. Tank just fell over, his body coming off his legs with a horrible squelch.” By this point, I start thinking of calling No-Rat to give Bucket a check-up, to see if he hit his head too hard. “I couldn’t move after seeing that, and an enemy took that chance to whack me right in the head.” Bucket’s gaze returns to the present and he turns to look at me. “I still don’t know if I really saw that.” I see myself reflected in his desperate, blood-shot eyes. “I’m scared, Wagon. Scared that I’m going crazy. Scared that I’m not. Scared that that man will come to finish me off. That nothing of my squad will be left.” Bucket grips my shoulder, the tears in his reddened eyes threatening to spill out. “Am I safe here, Wagon? Will I still be able to blow my money on booze in a month? In a week? Hell, will I die before this bottle empties?”

I look deep into his eyes for a moment, before gripping his shoulder. “I think you’re crazy, if there was such a terrifying enemy we would’ve heard about it before.” I force a smile, “And don’t even think about dying before I get a chance to show you that pretty escort I met last year! I’ll show you there’s a better partner than a decent bottle.” The tears roll down his face as he tenses up. I see his mouth twitch as he forces a smile. Our nails dig into each other’s shoulders, before we both release our grip. I pick back up my cup that I had accidentally dropped onto the floor and fill it with a little bit of alcohol. I hand it to Bucket before picking up his and filling it as well. “Come on now, we still need to drink up this good booze while we have it to ourselves.” He smiles at me and we raise our cups together. A bright flash fills my vision and I feel a strong force on my side. My feet leave the ground as my body flies across the tent. I crash hard into the ground and smash my head against the dirt. Right before I pass out I hear a guttural roar, like that of a dying man gargling thickened blood, and smell the rancid odour of blood and rotten meat.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Gluttony of Violence

Chapter 1

Thick stagnant air, strong with the deathly scent of iron floods my head with every breath. Every moment is spent fighting off a voice that whispered sweetly into my ear, telling me to give up, to lie down and sink deep into the muddy battlefield I had been condemned to. My nails dig into the dirt as I drag my body forward. Above me, fire, metal, and poison fly across the sky back and forth, and dying cries would rip into my ears before being abruptly silenced. And each time it happens I can only pray. Pray that each scream was not one of the voices I had heard as laughter before. Voices that had spoken to me of their hopes, their dreams, their fears. I grit my teeth and lurch forward. Blood seeps out of my muddy mouth while I ignore the burning pain emanating from my gut. My vision fades in and out, my mind almost blanking from horrible overloading from each one of my senses. Almost. I can almost feel my life slip away from me. Give in. I can hear the voice grow louder, more tempting. Screeching. A piercing whine fills my ears as the sounds of the battlefield grow quieter and my vision starts to fade away. A pale white clouds my eyes slowly, slowly.

My hand finds its way into the dirt once more, and my eyes snap to focus onto the dirt beneath me. I clench my jaw tight and pull energy into my core, before lunging, throwing myself forward again.

Again and again, I scrape through the dirt as I come to the brink and back. With each horrible exertion, I move closer to base camp. Through my blurred, fading vision I catch glimpses of more and more familiar sights. Of an oddly shaped rock I recall passing, a track of footprints in the dirt of our boots we left when we charged in, a dying tree that stood alone as if warning us of our similar fates. Before long I see a group of men in uniforms that match my own. Relief floods my body and I find myself losing strength rapidly. Before I feel the last of my energy leave me, I muster up what’s left and push against the soil. My head rises and my ragged throat shakes as I shout out to them. I see someone rush forward and hear their voices rising. I hear the concern in their voices as they move closer and I drop to the floor, assured of my safety and losing all strength in my body. I faintly feel gentle hands wrap around me and voices cry out for a response, but my hearing fades and my body numbs as I fall unconscious.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 2

Slowly, my eyes open to see a familiar cloth ceiling. I twist my neck to the side and see my fellow men standing over beds as they tend to more of the wounded. I finally feel the pain of my injuries and grunt softly, which causes a medic to snap his head to face me. He moves over to me quickly and checks my body before sighing in relief. He pulls his mask down and I catch sight of his face. No-Rat, the medic who lost four front teeth from a delirious patient, gave me a crooked smile showing me the gaping hole in his mouth. Tears roll down his reddened face from his eyes swollen from crying. “You stupid bastard.” He chokes out through the tears. “Got so lost you couldn’t even find your way to hell?” I smile back at him, and only then do I notice my own tears as the salty taste of it touches my tongue. “Not that stupid you broken set of ivory, I still crawled my way back here.” He grips my bedsheet so hard his knuckles turn white, hanging his head and laughing while tears fall onto the bed. I laugh with him but the pain in my guts force the laughter out of me as I choke on the pain. No-Rat slowly calms down, walking over to a table before returning with a small cup of amber rum. He helps me sit up slowly before handing me the cup and walking back to another patient. I cautiously pour it down my throat, trying hard not to spill it. The bitter liquid burns my throat as it slides down it. I holler at No-Rat, “Can’t even give a dead man a decent cup of booze?!” He replies without looking back at me, “Best thing you’ll ever get, save for a private night with a lady!” I chuckle and place the cup on a small table next to me. As I feel the alcohol spread through my broken veins, the screaming pain in my guts subsides. I take the opportunity to look around the tent. There are a few medics hovering over patients, some moving in and out of the tent bringing with and away supplies. Some of the men lying on the various beds grunt and moan every now and then while others lie silent. I see a medic cover one with a blanket, obscuring its face before grimly carrying it out. I can only stay silent at the sight, turning my head the other way as if to deny what I saw.

A while passes and I find myself waking up from a nap. I gently poke myself in the stomach before, after finding the pain tolerable enough, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the floor. As I put my weight onto my feet, pain shoots up my bandaged leg. It is then that I notice the two crutches placed beside me against the bed. I grab them and force myself off the bed. Limping and in pain, I slowly make my way to the entrance of the tent, passing a medic who looks back at me with weary eyes. As I brush the curtain door open, two medics carrying a stretcher enter and I watch them move the ferried patient onto the bed I lay on moments ago. I limp through the camp slowly, making my way to the tent belonging to my squad. I pass by several tents, some full of men wearing expressions dark with fear, some entirely devoid of life, and a few with men crouched and shaking quietly, bereaving the empty beds that occupy the tent. I… I keep going. I reach my tent and find it empty. I move over to my bed and sit, staring at the bed opposite to mine, belonging to Snake. It was the dead of the night when he ran through the camp, screaming at the top of his lungs about a snake, only for us to find a broken rope wrapped around him after he had fainted. I turn to my right, where the bed belonging to Pumpkin Pie was. The namesake pie he ate gave him the worst stomachache any of us had the displeasure of hearing, and smelling, in our life. I move my gaze to the beds beside it, blinking out the tears beginning to blur my vision. Rockhill, Joey, Dung, Claymore, Hourglass. I reach into my blood-stained uniform and pull out a ragged piece of cloth, on it is a cheaply painted image with all of us laughing. I stare deeply into the painted faces on the cloth before noticing a tear fall onto it. I fold it up and shove it back into my shirt, before the rest of my tears pour out. Without realising, my hand starts bleeding as my nails dig deep into my palm, but the pain of it is eclipsed by the tearing in my heart. The muscles in my chest tighten and pull me inwards, my heart squeezed tightly and beating fiercely against my flesh and bones. My throat is dry and painful, and each heaving breath I take is punctuated by my violent sobs. My cheeks flush with blood and my head spins. I feel myself fall onto my dirty pillow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out the tears that teetered on the edge of my eyelids. Crying myself to sleep, I slip away from the world and faintly hope to enter the one with all my friends.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 3 - part 1

A set of rapid pats on my face pulls me from my slumber, my body jerking violently upwards. Blinking rapidly, my eyes attempt to adjust to the dim environment I find myself in. I see the figure of a man standing before me. I squint up at him, his face hidden in the shadow of the single weak light hanging from the ceiling. He lifts his hand up and speaks. “Look at that, I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to still be here.” The man takes a step back and the light reaches his face. I finally recognise the man before me as Bucket, someone from another squad I knew. He extends a hand out for me to grab and lifts me into a sitting position. I spot a set of playing cards and a bottle of alcohol with two cups on the adjacent bed. Bucket searches his uniform for a moment before retrieving a pack of cigarettes. I accept when he offers me one, and he lights both of ours before grabbing the cards. “What do you think of a game of Stoneface?” “More fun if there were more of us left. Maybe Liar? “I’ve been playing Liar for weeks, how about Usurper?” “Alright, I’m fine with that.” He splits the deck in two and sets aside the jokers. Bucket starts first, placing down a 3 of diamonds. “So how did ya get back?” I place a 7 of hearts. “Crawled back after the lot of us blew up, you?” He places an 8 of hearts. “Got knocked out in an ambush, reinforcements came and found me.” I place a King of diamonds. “So where’d the booze come from, don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on us?” He places down a King of clubs. “I was gonna pop it open for my squad when we finished our deployment. Can’t exactly do that now can I?” My hand freezes for a second, before I place down an Ace of hearts. “Well then I’ll thank what luck I have that I get to drink it with you.” He painfully gives a soft chuckle and places down an Ace of spades. “And you better relish it, I had to starve for half a month to afford it.” I place down a 2 of clubs. “How fancy, with how much booze I see you drink, I’m surprised you only starved for half a month.” Bucket stops for a moment, staring at his cards, before quickly placing down a 2 of hearts. “Bought the others with the previous half a month’s worth, felt like an addict holding back after buying this.” My eye twitches and I place down a 2 of spades. Bucket sighs and straightens the pile, sliding it over to me. I put the stack of cards to my side while he retrieves the bottle and cups. “Loser drinks or winner drinks?” He asks. I chuckle and respond, “Winner, of course. Getting drunk ain’t a punishment tonight.” As he pours out a cup, he says, “Thought I could get ya to let me have the first taste” before handing it over. I take the cup and bring it to my lips. A thick oaky aroma enters my nose, along with some sharp pricks of alcohol and spice. I let out a breath thick with alcohol and take a long drag from my cigarette. Staring at the cards in my hand, I find myself speaking. “Drink a cup with me Bucket. No booze in the world’s good enough to enjoy by my lonesome.” He pours out a cup and sits next to me while taking a sip from it. “Hey now, a good cup of booze’s been my best night-time companion since I started drinking.” I raise my cup to him and he raises his in response, the sharp clink of our cups ringing out clearly. “I can tell you’ve never spent a nice night with a pretty lady then!” The two of us laugh together while drinking, the game long abandoned. An ember falls from my cigarette onto my bedsheet. I feel a warmth grow slightly beside me and rush to stamp it out, while Bucket laughs even harder at me. As the fire dies prematurely, I sigh and take a sip of my drink. Bucket takes another sip before knocking back the rest of it.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Gluttony of Violence

Chapter 1

Thick stagnant air, strong with the deathly scent of iron floods my head with every breath. Every moment is spent fighting off a voice that whispered sweetly into my ear, telling me to give up, to lie down and sink deep into the muddy battlefield I had been condemned to. My nails dig into the dirt as I drag my body forward. Above me, fire, metal, and poison fly across the sky back and forth, and dying cries would rip into my ears before being abruptly silenced. And each time it happens I can only pray. Pray that each scream was not one of the voices I had heard as laughter before. Voices that had spoken to me of their hopes, their dreams, their fears. I grit my teeth and lurch forward. Blood seeps out of my muddy mouth while I ignore the burning pain emanating from my gut. My vision fades in and out, my mind almost blanking from horrible overloading from each one of my senses. Almost. I can almost feel my life slip away from me. Give in. I can hear the voice grow louder, more tempting. Screeching. A piercing whine fills my ears as the sounds of the battlefield grow quieter and my vision starts to fade away. A pale white clouds my eyes slowly, slowly.

My hand finds its way into the dirt once more, and my eyes snap to focus onto the dirt beneath me. I clench my jaw tight and pull energy into my core, before lunging, throwing myself forward again.

Again and again, I scrape through the dirt as I come to the brink and back. With each horrible exertion, I move closer to base camp. Through my blurred, fading vision I catch glimpses of more and more familiar sights. Of an oddly shaped rock I recall passing, a track of footprints in the dirt of our boots we left when we charged in, a dying tree that stood alone as if warning us of our similar fates. Before long I see a group of men in uniforms that match my own. Relief floods my body and I find myself losing strength rapidly. Before I feel the last of my energy leave me, I muster up what’s left and push against the soil. My head rises and my ragged throat shakes as I shout out to them. I see someone rush forward and hear their voices rising. I hear the concern in their voices as they move closer and I drop to the floor, assured of my safety and losing all strength in my body. I faintly feel gentle hands wrap around me and voices cry out for a response, but my hearing fades and my body numbs as I fall unconscious.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Chapter 2

Slowly, my eyes open to see a familiar cloth ceiling. I twist my neck to the side and see my fellow men standing over beds as they tend to more of the wounded. I finally feel the pain of my injuries and grunt softly, which causes a medic to snap his head to face me. He moves over to me quickly and checks my body before sighing in relief. He pulls his mask down and I catch sight of his face. No-Rat, the medic who lost four front teeth from a delirious patient, gave me a crooked smile showing me the gaping hole in his mouth. Tears roll down his reddened face from his eyes swollen from crying. “You stupid bastard.” He chokes out through the tears. “Got so lost you couldn’t even find your way to hell?” I smile back at him, and only then do I notice my own tears as the salty taste of it touches my tongue. “Not that stupid you broken set of ivory, I still crawled my way back here.” He grips my bedsheet so hard his knuckles turn white, hanging his head and laughing while tears fall onto the bed. I laugh with him but the pain in my guts force the laughter out of me as I choke on the pain. No-Rat slowly calms down, walking over to a table before returning with a small cup of amber rum. He helps me sit up slowly before handing me the cup and walking back to another patient. I cautiously pour it down my throat, trying hard not to spill it. The bitter liquid burns my throat as it slides down it. I holler at No-Rat, “Can’t even give a dead man a decent cup of booze?!” He replies without looking back at me, “Best thing you’ll ever get, save for a private night with a lady!” I chuckle and place the cup on a small table next to me. As I feel the alcohol spread through my broken veins, the screaming pain in my guts subsides. I take the opportunity to look around the tent. There are a few medics hovering over patients, some moving in and out of the tent bringing with and away supplies. Some of the men lying on the various beds grunt and moan every now and then while others lie silent. I see a medic cover one with a blanket, obscuring its face before grimly carrying it out. I can only stay silent at the sight, turning my head the other way as if to deny what I saw.

A while passes and I find myself waking up from a nap. I gently poke myself in the stomach before, after finding the pain tolerable enough, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the floor. As I put my weight onto my feet, pain shoots up my bandaged leg. It is then that I notice the two crutches placed beside me against the bed. I grab them and force myself off the bed. Limping and in pain, I slowly make my way to the entrance of the tent, passing a medic who looks back at me with weary eyes. As I brush the curtain door open, two medics carrying a stretcher enter and I watch them move the ferried patient onto the bed I lay on moments ago. I limp through the camp slowly, making my way to the tent belonging to my squad. I pass by several tents, some full of men wearing expressions dark with fear, some entirely devoid of life, and a few with men crouched and shaking quietly, bereaving the empty beds that occupy the tent. I… I keep going. I reach my tent and find it empty. I move over to my bed and sit, staring at the bed opposite to mine, belonging to Snake. It was the dead of the night when he ran through the camp, screaming at the top of his lungs about a snake, only for us to find a broken rope wrapped around him after he had fainted. I turn to my right, where the bed belonging to Pumpkin Pie was. The namesake pie he ate gave him the worst stomachache any of us had the displeasure of hearing, and smelling, in our life. I move my gaze to the beds beside it, blinking out the tears beginning to blur my vision. Rockhill, Joey, Dung, Claymore, Hourglass. I reach into my blood-stained uniform and pull out a ragged piece of cloth, on it is a cheaply painted image with all of us laughing. I stare deeply into the painted faces on the cloth before noticing a tear fall onto it. I fold it up and shove it back into my shirt, before the rest of my tears pour out. Without realising, my hand starts bleeding as my nails dig deep into my palm, but the pain of it is eclipsed by the tearing in my heart. The muscles in my chest tighten and pull me inwards, my heart squeezed tightly and beating fiercely against my flesh and bones. My throat is dry and painful, and each heaving breath I take is punctuated by my violent sobs. My cheeks flush with blood and my head spins. I feel myself fall onto my dirty pillow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out the tears that teetered on the edge of my eyelids. Crying myself to sleep, I slip away from the world and faintly hope to enter the one with all my friends.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Gluttony of Violence

Chapter 1

Thick stagnant air, strong with the deathly scent of iron floods my head with every breath. Every moment is spent fighting off a voice that whispered sweetly into my ear, telling me to give up, to lie down and sink deep into the muddy battlefield I had been condemned to. My nails dig into the dirt as I drag my body forward. Above me, fire, metal, and poison fly across the sky back and forth, and dying cries would rip into my ears before being abruptly silenced. And each time it happens I can only pray. Pray that each scream was not one of the voices I had heard as laughter before. Voices that had spoken to me of their hopes, their dreams, their fears. I grit my teeth and lurch forward. Blood seeps out of my muddy mouth while I ignore the burning pain emanating from my gut. My vision fades in and out, my mind almost blanking from horrible overloading from each one of my senses. Almost. I can almost feel my life slip away from me. Give in. I can hear the voice grow louder, more tempting. Screeching. A piercing whine fills my ears as the sounds of the battlefield grow quieter and my vision starts to fade away. A pale white clouds my eyes slowly, slowly.

My hand finds its way into the dirt once more, and my eyes snap to focus onto the dirt beneath me. I clench my jaw tight and pull energy into my core, before lunging, throwing myself forward again.

Again and again, I scrape through the dirt as I come to the brink and back. With each horrible exertion, I move closer to base camp. Through my blurred, fading vision I catch glimpses of more and more familiar sights. Of an oddly shaped rock I recall passing, a track of footprints in the dirt of our boots we left when we charged in, a dying tree that stood alone as if warning us of our similar fates. Before long I see a group of men in uniforms that match my own. Relief floods my body and I find myself losing strength rapidly. Before I feel the last of my energy leave me, I muster up what’s left and push against the soil. My head rises and my ragged throat shakes as I shout out to them. I see someone rush forward and hear their voices rising. I hear the concern in their voices as they move closer and I drop to the floor, assured of my safety and losing all strength in my body. I faintly feel gentle hands wrap around me and voices cry out for a response, but my hearing fades and my body numbs as I fall unconscious.

[oceansatyrwrites]

The Cold

At a standstill, my heart lingers.

Frozen in the moment, my breath freezes into mist inside.

Skin prickles as the hoarfrost covers all.

The fire grows cold, and warmth fades away.

Sinking deep, stagnancy claims me.

As it all turns cold.

[oceansatyrwrites]

The Fifth Death

I jolt upright as my heart beats fiercely as though it wishes to tear itself from my body. A throbbing pulse runs through my body with every beat, squeezing my flesh and viscera tight against skin and bone. My chest heaves as I breathe deeply, taking in the rancid air. A sickening smell pervades my lungs, the thick, choking sensation of rotting flesh and spore-bearing fungi fills every crevice within me. I reach for my face to wipe off sweat dripping down my skin, and find shards of blood-stained bone stuck loosely to my face. As I pry pieces off my skin, I look around to see where I am.

The sunlight shines gently down, filtered through a dense layer of leaves. Tall, dark trunks obscure my view, and the dense foliage of the undergrowth further hiding the world from me. Not a sound can be heard, save a gentle rustle of the trees above.

As I find the strength to stand, I strain against my body to lift myself to my feet. A wet crunch resounds through the woods as I rise, like broken bones from a broken body. I catch myself before I stumble over, and turn to see my resting place. Laid against a sturdy tree is the hollow shell of a skeleton which bears a horrible gash running down its skull, which continues down its pried open ribs and split pelvis. Darkened flesh clings to the bones in pieces, maggots slithering slowly across its surface.

Jutting through the open ribs, a single arrow is embedded into the bark. Its wooden shaft stained a deep red and its fletches wilted, as though its deep desires have been sated. As though by instinct, I reach out and grip the arrow before pulling it from the wood. The unfamiliar weight lies still in my hand. I find myself drawn to the arrowhead affixed to its tip. A shining metal point gleams in the sunlight, a beautiful piece of metalwork ignorant of its crime. My hand shifts across the arrows body and comes to a stop at the sharp edge of the tip. I gently press my finger against it, and wince at the pain.

In a hundredth of a second, distorted flashes of memories I cannot recall run through my mind. A recognition of pain I never felt from a scene I never saw. A bubble of red forms on my finger tip. I squeeze my hand to try to close the wound and numb the pain as sensations dyed crimson red fill my mind alongside visions of velvet and maroon. My free hand makes its way to my chest, searching for a wound that isn't there. Like a flood of water, memories rise from deep inside me. Like a rush of wind, a sense of emptiness brushes against my skin. Like a forsaken child, something which I will never know is lost to me.

Blood dripping from my hand lands on my foot and pulls me from my mind. I squeeze my fist tighter as I cast my gaze unto my corpse once more. A hollowed body forgotten and overgrown, mired in filth and bathed in sunlight. I stand in solemn silence to mourn the death of the one I was before, and the seed of who I am now.

My breath escapes my lips, breaking the silence and the sounds of the forest fill my ears. Great branches covered in bright green leaves rustle softly in the wind, a babbling brook churns in the distance as water rushes over stones, the mark of life resounds through shrill distant chirps of unseen birds, and like a whisper from a faraway land, the words of man are just barely heard. I feel my feet rise as I am pulled towards those familiar sounds. My heavy steps plunge into the undergrowth, carrying me forwards. Lighter and lighter my footsteps grow as my walk breaks into a run, and into a sprint. My legs tense and swell, my heart beats faster once more and my muscles burn. Weaving clumsily through the layers of trees hiding from me what I seek. Blood rushes through my ears and my heartbeats drown out the faint sounds of life. Yet still I race blindly onwards through the cage of trees and ferns, led only by the yearning of something I recognise. Branches scratch at my face and tall grass slash at my legs as I charge. Suddenly, the woods release me and I almost fall on my face as I stumble into an open field.

In front of me, an empty patch of grass separates me from a simple village, thatched roofs covering abodes and still-growing wheat standing upright in the fields. My ragged breaths slow as I lean against a tree and stare. I realise the arrow is still firmly in my grasp, old blood staining the shaft and a hint of red smears the tip. Staring at it fills my mind with an overwhelming noise, a storm of unknown sensations and memories. A voice gently floats into my mind, "This time, do better."

I lift my head to face the village. I boldly step through the field though my goals remain yet unclear, my heart is filled with conviction. Disregarding my forgotten failures and bygone achievements, the cycle repeats in a new way. As I start to move forward towards my future, I tighten my grip on my past, open my eyes to the present, and continue through my timeless existence.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Really, surreally jealous of everyone who is able to push themselves to create what they like so often and put it out there for the world to see, driven only by their passion and love it.

[oceansatyrwrites]

My, what a shallow view. Passion is beautiful and all the world loves to look it. The ugly is hidden, ignored or forgotten, and even if the blemishes show I look past it all too easily. When I see my face in the mirror everyday I am bound to see the undesirables through my search of what is not right. Lay thy foolish ambitions to rest and pick up the torch that will light my way. No one ever stumbled out of the dark with just desire.

[oceansatyrwrites]

Of Flesh And How Blood Flows

I pry my skin from my body and reveal flesh and bone to others.

I stand exposed, my bare organs churn and pulse in the open air.

I say, my blood flows through the lumps of flesh and energy fills my body as mulch is wrapped in the iron-smelling meat.

They ask why, your blood is housed by flesh and not veins. Why, mulch is held in meat within and not nourishment held in guts.

They say, my body lives and breathes, to feast and revel, to bleed and heal.

They tell me, my body does not pulse with blood, it does not turn food to shit in the gut, does not heave and creak as air fills its cavities.

[oceansatyrwrites]

As a collective, our goal is to perpetuate and our main means of doing so is reproduction. Through reproduction we develop a process of refinement with which we attempt to produce a means of perpetuating with greater efficacy. In order to facilitate and encourage, or rather as a result of this method of selection, those who do not find the desire to reproduce will contribute as unsuccessful individuals which prove what is successful. Successful traits found in individuals who do not reproduce are lost through biological disappearance, however our current advancement has resulted in an environment reliant on factors outside a biological advantage. As such, traits that were not previously advantageous become so through the change in environment alongside the change in how non-biological traits are reproduced in new individuals which further perpetuate the collective.

[oceansatyrwrites]

An Empty Box

Pouring sand flows out a box, as a hole sets loose cascading grains and the walls collapse on empty space.

A nothing born of something, is neither here nor there.

From glittering stones, jagged gems, colourless sand, and all that lies between. All reflect a dull light as they pour into the dark.