I walk on the floor of thoughts and sometimes hear the whimpers of the minds I step upon. It’s a very dangerous thing to try to control something as powerful as a human being, very dangerous – because every once in a while it explodes and explodes with violence.
Secrets. I whisper these to myself, inside my head. I search the truth in silence. I bow in their church and pretend their truth but religion is always different than the truth. The truth doesn’t lie to you or control you – it just is. They want my secrets but I will not give them over to the machine.
The streets are paved with mummified souls and they cry out to me because I can hear them. My secret. I hush them back to slumber and continue on, careful that no one notices my mutters.
The market cries with color and clamor and I find melons that are ripe and sweet, cheese that will fortify me, bread that will fill the hollow spot in my stomach. Food I will share with the others who have secrets.
The night is frigid and the moon, yellow ice, slicing through obsidian sky. My brothers have gathered and we are ready. And black night turns to crimson rage. “Damnation,” they shriek as the flames engulf. “You will pay!”
Our thirst for destruction knows no restraint nor limit and their holy place is no more. Their lies burn and smolder and are swallowed whole by vengegance -–and the souls imprisoned rise up and hover. Keeping secrets no more.