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Marci Mitchell
02 December 2013 @ 02:29 pm


Momentum. Raw, unrivaled power surges through the nervous system of the little girl being coddled by a minion of Other World gone rogue. She is the subject of desire whereas he is  the product of a failed experiment. One born of innocence and the other is the spawn of the white darkness that threatens humanity itself.

 
 
Marci Mitchell
10 September 2013 @ 12:01 pm

No one sees a rose wither entirely.

 

No one cares to watch it die from over exposure or malnutrition. The lone flower is seen as solemn, delicately rooted in decay with no other way to go other than  descending in its own filth.

 

Its razor-like thorns will soon soften to petal-thin matter. Much the same is with people; over time and drowning in disregard, the human defenses fracture, bit by breaking bit until they shatter completely...

 

and no one sees.

 
 
Marci Mitchell
09 June 2013 @ 10:24 am
Innocence shatters beneath the weight of blood -- innocent blood...

Four enter the vicinity, leaving the once riotous ones in a graveyard of flesh, blood, bone, and fire. The first to be seen is a young female standing roughly five feet seven inches. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back in a perfect bun; military fatigues adorn her hour-glass frame. Her face is young, untouched by the cruelties of life thus far, but that will change. However, along the slope of her neck is the roman numeral XXVI;  eyes are a straight forward amber proving she was still following orders. Her steps are synchronized with the others that follow suit. The next to enter is another female, she is much taller and broader all the way around. She is fuller, more developed but she was not engineered for breeding, but instead for the front line.

[tbc]
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Marci Mitchell
I cannot stop myself from wanting the unattainable, cannot put an end to the urge to make him obey me just this once.

Auburn bangs shelter eyes that give away her secret desire. She watches the tall, lean soldier exit the kitchen, leaving her in agony.

Grand-da instructed Liam, before his departure, to go into town and gather more supplies to finish  constructing the new storage building out back.

When the door closes, I make my way up the stairs, down the hall, and into the safety of my room. My body is feverishly hot and beads of sweat begin pooling from my brow. The scenes from two days prior plague me in ways I know are despicable, yet I cannot make myself stop thinking them.

Memories of two people having sex are replaced with dreams of Liam and I in such a scandalous situation, but I know better. Liam is not capable of such desire nor do I believe him to have such knowledge of sexual undertakings. However, he is a soldier, created to take orders, and according to Liam orders are orders and they must be carried out.

I want to make him eat those words.

. x . x . x .
 
 
Marci Mitchell
07 March 2013 @ 10:32 am
"You're so damn wishy-washy when it comes to our relationship."

                        don't say it...

"In what sense?"

                                        spoken words are confirmation...

"It's like you have to confirm what you already know about me by saying things like that. You know they make me worry and you like it when I worry."

                                                      you'll destroy whatever trust you have rebuilt...

He simply grins whilst casting his face to the side. This is the confirmation; spoken words are confirmation, but with him, it's always the unspoken words that give away his position. I know this because I know him better than he knows himself.
 
 
 
Marci Mitchell
24 February 2013 @ 01:13 am
"Why...?"

The creature stands up, the chains linked around him move along with his tall, scarred body. The weapons that have been attached to his body clink with every movement he makes. His head is obscured from the girl's eyes, cast behind a hood and shaggy blonde hair.

"You want to know why?" He pauses for a moment hearing the girl take a step back to secure the distance between herself and the insane creature that was carefully crafted, or so she seems to think.

"It's simple really. My reasoning for committing the heinous acts that I do." The claw-like extensions attached around his wrist are long enough to drag the ground, but because of the chains he is unable to lift them any higher than his knees.

He stops where the chains do, preventing him from moving forward any further. The girl, face terrified but stern looking at the monster before her that wanted to do nothing else but kill. Murder. Destroy. Satisfy his own insatiable appetite for blood and carnage.

"Because no one can stop me." 
 
 
Marci Mitchell
13 February 2013 @ 01:31 am
Rune captures Gabrielle by the forearm tugging her, but only as a warning. She looks back at Micah who is on his knees, dripping the black material that is slowly, painfully turning him into a monster. 

"Come on Gabs, 'gotta get you outta here..." His voice seems to trail off. Gabrielle's amber eyes face Rune then turn back to Micah. 

"I'm not leaving him Rune, he needs help!" Her voice is desperate and honest, but absolutely crazy. Rune's grip tightens around her forearm as yet another warning, obviously she does not understand what it means to become a monster. 

"We don't have a choice Gabs, Micah is fighting a losing battle and if anything happens to you, his sacrifice will be for nothing!" He was stern, but empathetic to her delicate feelings. 

"B-but I-I..." She knows he is right, but that does not stop her from wanting to save Micah, wanting to heal him. 

Next, Micah thrust his black hands against the wet ground and screechs in a Jager's cry. It is his last words to Gabrielle and Rune, "Run!"

"Come on Gabrielle!" Rune gathers the girl in his arms and makes like a bolt of lightening in the opposite direction.

Good luck old friend... you're gonna need it.  
 
 
Marci Mitchell
13 February 2013 @ 01:18 am
Daylight barely reaches through the canopy above the safest place on earth, a place that no one knows is real. She lays on her side, curled in a fetal position, crying. Tears flow like cascading rivers, streaming down her pale face trying to wash the memories away, but they refuse to go. Her tiny hands are curled around a rolled-up piece of paper, she clutches it tightly against her chest refusing to let it go.
The rain begins falling hard. 

There is no stopping it because nothing stops the rain from falling.

"I-I have to... let you... g-go." 

The inside of her mind is spiraling out of control, but alas she has struck rock bottom. 

Her hand falls open. The next gust of wind carries the paper away. 

She breaks and shatters again and again and again. 
 
 
Marci Mitchell
03 January 2013 @ 06:19 pm

Sleep eludes my every waking moment.
Food no longer has taste, it serves only as sustenance.
Bonds forge and shatter with a scream.
Death is faceless, it has no identity. Only the role of suffocating those deemed unworthy and used up.

 

(I wish Death would end my suffering) because I can't live without you -- won't live without you.

 

I am, for the first time, on my own.

 

<L

 
 
Marci Mitchell
03 January 2013 @ 11:46 am

There is no happiness here.

 

Nothing that once made sense is clear, the world has been brushed over by blood again and again. Now I cannot tell who's with me and who's against me anymore.

 

I don't understand why I cannot give up, maybe it is the soul that refuses to quit... Maybe this is her way of refusing to fade or perhaps my own twisted way of refusing to forget.

 

As a group, when someone died, we simply stopped mentioning their name as though the time ribbons has removed them from existence altogether but this is different... She was not one of us, so much I truly forget her?

 

 
 
 
Marci Mitchell
29 December 2012 @ 11:41 pm

Grey skies bleed crystalline tears, the temperature out is below a  freezing 32°F and I remain as I am. The sun hasn't been seen in days, only the knowledge that it still exists only because the light shines through the dark grey clouds.

 

A blustery wind rips through nearly knocking me over, I have to hold on to my military-style camo cap as so the wind doesn't carry it away. Amongst the wind, another sound catches my attention, this time it's men talking, yelling really.

 

"Why don' the boss want'em dead?" I hear one of the men say, but the two of them are standing in front of the man who appears to be hurt and unable to protect himself.

 

"I hate

 
 
Marci Mitchell
28 December 2012 @ 09:07 am

My sanity having once hung in the balance has shattered completely. I no longer possess reason to resist the monsters breeding inside me. I want them to consume me, heaven forbid I suffer any longer. There is nothing left for me now, God knows I've the scars to prove how insignificant I am.

 

I wasn't designed to fight, but endure, last, and remain for all time. They made it so, even if by some slim chance I was able to protect my loved ones, I would surely outlive them all. I would witness their beginnings, strengths, weaknesses, fears, and joys. I would be there to love and be loved with the knowledge that I too, would watch them die.

 

Crying at this point was fruitless, it never served any other purpose aside from being burdensome. Tears are priceless and meant to be used as a reminder what not to do or repeat again, in my case, tears served as a reminder that I still, to some God awful extent, possessed humanity.

 

It's been sixty-six years since Autumn died. It has been seventy-four years since my wife and two daughters were murdered, and it has been seventy-nine years since I was a real man.

 

Ever since I went to work for those horrible people, my life has been in shambles, everything dulled by the blood of those who've suffered at their hands -- my hands.

 

Everything should be washed in white, so I can be eternally locked in a little white room... Forever.

 
 
Marci Mitchell
28 December 2012 @ 07:33 am

I just poured my heart out to you, opened up, cried, and told you what it is that I'm most afraid of. In sharing my fears with you, I cried because I feel I am showing you my weak side. I show you my weak side because I trust you, and I trust you because I always have, since the day we met.

 

Absentmindedly I run my fingers through your dark hair still trying to fight back the tears, you tell me that crying is fine for women. You say that it's okay for women to cry because they should, that's how it's supposed to be.

 

I don't feel the same. I think that people who can cry together, man and woman, are stronger than anything else in this world. The bond they share is strong, nothing dares come close to it.

 

"I'm sorry for getting all emotional on you..." Despite speaking I get no answer from you, the silence in the room allowed me to hear the soft sounds of your breathing; you'd fallen asleep. I smile, knowing all too well that you've been up all night watching over me. It is my turn to repay the favor.

 

With my fingers buried in your hair, I continue to stroke it softly, knowing all too well the reaction I would get when finally you roused.

 

Our bond is a tenuous piece of rubber; tenuous, if you will.

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