In which there is fading out
Sep. 11th, 2012 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katzenstreuAuthor: Katzenstreu Gesicht
Date Written: September 11th, 2012
Fandom: Crossover, Good Omens/One Man Cleanup Crew
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Oh, fuck me with a Polaroid camera. Going to another, less demanding prompt because I tried for hours on one and the muse was not with me.
When the battle was over, they were no more.
War, a dweller in false sophistication of the art of blood shed, butcher of the flesh and possessor of an unquenchable thirst was the first to die out due to exhaustion and a throat so dry from screaming. They went out without proving whose method was better.
Famine, who started with a starvation of the body that was evident in his frame, so bony and brittle and bare, learned too late what a monopoly he might've gained in learning to starve the soul. They went out without profit.
Pollution, turned over and over and over, like a coin tossed into a fountain on a whim. Joyful was he in his nature and purpose, and yet dubiously ignorant of how much this was not as he predicted and envision, when another liked him would silently whisper 'I told you so' beneath cowardice. They went out without understanding.
Death, which is proud in the ultimate truth that it is the end, every end, all ends which are unavoidable. And in that there is sadness and hunger and void, as starving jaws and bony hands together try to eat distant stars, but fail and cry out. They wait for another world, one day, where more long nosed dreams and thinkers are born.
Thus, they went back into the minds of men, and died with them.
Date Written: September 11th, 2012
Fandom: Crossover, Good Omens/One Man Cleanup Crew
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Oh, fuck me with a Polaroid camera. Going to another, less demanding prompt because I tried for hours on one and the muse was not with me.
When the battle was over, they were no more.
War, a dweller in false sophistication of the art of blood shed, butcher of the flesh and possessor of an unquenchable thirst was the first to die out due to exhaustion and a throat so dry from screaming. They went out without proving whose method was better.
Famine, who started with a starvation of the body that was evident in his frame, so bony and brittle and bare, learned too late what a monopoly he might've gained in learning to starve the soul. They went out without profit.
Pollution, turned over and over and over, like a coin tossed into a fountain on a whim. Joyful was he in his nature and purpose, and yet dubiously ignorant of how much this was not as he predicted and envision, when another liked him would silently whisper 'I told you so' beneath cowardice. They went out without understanding.
Death, which is proud in the ultimate truth that it is the end, every end, all ends which are unavoidable. And in that there is sadness and hunger and void, as starving jaws and bony hands together try to eat distant stars, but fail and cry out. They wait for another world, one day, where more long nosed dreams and thinkers are born.
Thus, they went back into the minds of men, and died with them.