The Graveyard

The Lair Of Gary James

Word Wars Don’t Help Me In Writing Omni… The Proof:

Posted by BigWords on February 10, 2011

So I suck at first drafts. That is a given. There’s a little bloggish thing going on, and I’m meant to write in omni. This was the result of a Word War to help me warm up my writing muscles. Consider it a prevew of the even bigger mess which is to come…

The rain beats down in a tattoo of unearthly noise, ricocheting off leaves and men alike in the vast wasteland. This place has many names, though those who currently traverse the expanse call it by names which no cartographer would consider immortalizing. It is far from safe, and ancient structures pock mark the flatness in their absence, or remain – decaying tombstones upon the skyline – as warning to any who would consider the vastness an appropriate dwelling. Eight men walk the land. Their weapons held in front of them, they trudge through the thick water and swat away the insects whose habitat they interrupt with their inconvenient war. It is getting dark, and neither relentless rain nor gloomy skies can halt their progress.

Night. Night is the worst. They all think that the marshland is bad when they arrive, but few truly realize how bad until they live through their first night there. That is, if they survive. It has been said that such places are haunted, though military training and the cold necessities of war demand a more restrained view of the spiritual realm. I wouldn’t want to sway you, but there are things, however well hidden here, which defy explanation. But I am meant to be telling of those who ventured forth into the expanse in the hopes of military victory.

Who are they fighting? Why, that would be themselves, for mankind has always managed to set after itself in constant rivalries. To say more would require background, and I have little time to dwell at length on so trivial a matter. Regardless, the men continue their march, and their persistent chatter to a faraway command – a bodiless voice willing to order forth the assault though not willing enough to step into the fray with the others. And the butterflies… A remark on the butterflies here would draw your attention, no? Well, I can’t give away everything straight away. The riddle of the butterflies should be cleared up later.

So. Butterflies and military expansion. It’s another story which goes back to the dawn of mankind in this place, for the marshlands have been here since the epoch of great beasts which strode across the landscape utterly unaware of anything beneath them. They were the gods of their time, but are all gone now. Save for those which stick to the night. The things which you see out of the corner of your eye, then question what, precisely, you have seen. This is a place where the things in the corner of your eye exist. Don’t ask how, but know that I know.

This place is a riddle which has no answer, and a very difficult question to ask. It asks – of all who dare defile the landscape – if mankind is sturdy enough to survive the extremes it presents. It also asks, in a quiet voice which permeates the air – ARE YOU AFRAID?

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