Green

A SHORT STORY

By Zayd Taliep

 

Sullied and desolate it lies

Broken and dashed,

With muted cries

Smashed.

The armies begin running towards each other. Each side garbed for war in opposing colors of Grey and Green. The Grey army’s weapons are barbed and drip poison that sizzles everything it drops onto it. The Green army’s weapons seem to radiate a light that thrums with the sound of their pounding feet. The soldier’s mouths are open and I can only imagine their battle cries as the music of the violent cello begins to play. The armies meet in a brutal clash that must be deafening to them but soundless to the imagination, breaking upon each other like waves on rocks.

Blackened heart

Poison seeps

Ripped apart

Longing for eternal sleep

The poison from the treacherous Grey blades, that bite deep, begin to take their toll as they seep into the Green army. Fear and hatred spread rampantly amongst them. But death is not an option and they convulse and writhe upon the ground gurgling the white light deep in their throats as it begins to bubble and purge from their very pores. The poison tarnishing their clothes, staining them with darkness of obsidian.

Sullied and desolate it lies

Broken and dashed,

With muted cries

Smashed.

 

Blackened heart

Poison seeps

Ripped apart

Longing for eternal sleep

 

Hatred consumes the broken soul

Anger burns and festers

The light darker than coal

Becoming violent despairs vector

I can’t see the army but I feel the Green has lost.

My soul once whole and pure was broken and torn, ripped and discarded. Now I am made full again in the guise of hatred and anger.

I have not seen her since, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapped around his waist and him grunting like a sweat dripping hog as he rammed his meat into her, in the back seat of his 2002 blue Toyota Corolla. I remember seeing them intertwined in blasphemous sex. The trembling of anger beginning as I hear her screaming his name in forbidden ecstasy, HIS NAME! Not mine. I run, each step sees pieces of my soul crumble and fall to be left behind to be stepped upon by others who follow in my footsteps. That was the last time I saw her.

My blackened soul, now hardened by hatred, cries for violence. Retribution has been carved upon my heart, each letter dripping poison that courses through my veins to my brain, igniting it with dark thoughts that become ever more appealing with every brooding moment.

 

Men are still good

Some, wholly misunderstood

Find the last light

of Green

Clutch the peace

 

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