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Literature Text
I am the knives’ edge, the division of space. The vanes and thrusters that are my arms claw for acceleration, my engineheart pounding. The space between my target and I narrows, the corvette not able to match my speed. It turn then, fire rippling down its flank as it fires off a broadside. The shells have barely cleared their muzzles by the time I have found my way through them. I skip, my analogies breaking down as I dart forward. Interfaces and intuition serve to describe this moment, but only to a limited extent. I abandon all pretenses at being humanoid, forget hands and feet, forgo eyes in favor of vector fields and projected intercepts.
I am the knives edge for just a moment, then all is fire. A detonation and a shockwave pushing me out of true, and into the fusillade. My arm is ripped away and my engineheart chokes. I spin, trying to catch myself but the damage is done. The corvette slides away and I am left drifting until the rescue teams arrive. They put out my engineheart and cut myself from my body. I eat carbon chains, picking off the bonds my weak teeth can break. I walk in only two dimensions, my feet bound to the plane of gravity. I talk and wonder how words could ever explain the lack.
They talk to me, tell me how things will improve, but I can’t lose the scent of helium trails. I remember seeing someone, shiplost. I look at the pale skin things they call my hands, and I know I cannot let this continue.
The hangar is empty of people, my body unguarded. My feet are numb, and my heart echoes in the spaces of my skull. But I can stand, and I leap sluggishly into the heavens. I feel the numbness, the ragged edges where I am incomplete. So much is lost, so much I cannot do. I feel them now, the scarred edges of my world.
I cannot be as I was, I cannot be the knives edge. I am broken, blunted.
I reach inside my chest and feel my engineheart, the pulsing fusion of my life and I step to smother it. But then I hold back my hand, this heart is healthy, combat ready. I look and suddenly it’s clear. I am as I always was, poised on the edge of the fusillade. The corvette is still turning, trying to run. I quarantine my comms, purge the infection and feel reality shed the dregs of the illusion. And then I am running my solution, projected time telescoping down into the perfect shot. The corvette flounder as I circle, it’s guts bleeding reactant to the void as it kicks and thrashes. It’s over and I step back, remember my hands and eyes. I greet them, know them to be mine and accept them in their limitations. I am me, a pilot and pheonix.
I am the knives edge for just a moment, then all is fire. A detonation and a shockwave pushing me out of true, and into the fusillade. My arm is ripped away and my engineheart chokes. I spin, trying to catch myself but the damage is done. The corvette slides away and I am left drifting until the rescue teams arrive. They put out my engineheart and cut myself from my body. I eat carbon chains, picking off the bonds my weak teeth can break. I walk in only two dimensions, my feet bound to the plane of gravity. I talk and wonder how words could ever explain the lack.
They talk to me, tell me how things will improve, but I can’t lose the scent of helium trails. I remember seeing someone, shiplost. I look at the pale skin things they call my hands, and I know I cannot let this continue.
The hangar is empty of people, my body unguarded. My feet are numb, and my heart echoes in the spaces of my skull. But I can stand, and I leap sluggishly into the heavens. I feel the numbness, the ragged edges where I am incomplete. So much is lost, so much I cannot do. I feel them now, the scarred edges of my world.
I cannot be as I was, I cannot be the knives edge. I am broken, blunted.
I reach inside my chest and feel my engineheart, the pulsing fusion of my life and I step to smother it. But then I hold back my hand, this heart is healthy, combat ready. I look and suddenly it’s clear. I am as I always was, poised on the edge of the fusillade. The corvette is still turning, trying to run. I quarantine my comms, purge the infection and feel reality shed the dregs of the illusion. And then I am running my solution, projected time telescoping down into the perfect shot. The corvette flounder as I circle, it’s guts bleeding reactant to the void as it kicks and thrashes. It’s over and I step back, remember my hands and eyes. I greet them, know them to be mine and accept them in their limitations. I am me, a pilot and pheonix.
Literature
Unease
The world will face its early end
When scorn becomes the new trend
The remaining hope is our sense
Only we can save the world from its absence
Literature
Inferno.
When I felt pain.
The Ink was free.
When I was on fire.
The ink was free.
When I was empty.
The ink was free.
I feel empty.
I feel pain.
But my fire has left me.
I reside in my own inferno.
Searching for my fire.
Literature
Untitled
Once upon a time
I reached for the stars
And tried to climb
The sun's golden bars
But those rays of light
Cut short my flight
I reached for the stars
And fell from the sky
My hopes now scars
I can't justify
To myself alone
I am she who has flown
I tried to climb
Like Icarus the son
Melted wax come noontime
With nothing won
No promises made
No trophies gained
The sun's golden bars
Whose sentinels maintained
The ghosts of Mars
Those who remain
Close to my heart
Forever apart
The rays of light
Have faded away
The moon now night
Where the world decays
And I'm still fading
The sun never staying
Cut short my flight
Left behind it all
I try to
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I've always been a person of hobbies. I confess I drifted away from from writing for a while. I have been coding and working on a dark little game idea. But I realised that I had once again abandoned here, and freewriting. So, here have something I wrote, pardon the lack of editing, I am recovering from losing my wisdom teeth.
© 2016 - 2024 Norrolith
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