Darkness engulfed the vicinity in the wake of the raging storm. Only when everything lay in ruins did the silence finally settle.
Innocent lost. Tissues of hanging, singed flesh, were scattered all about. Burns. Wherever you rested your indifferent eyes.
A pang of ache, a feeling of sympathy was too much for those doomed and at the mercy of the wicked. The heavens turned upside down, and in the blink of an eye, humanity lost. Gone. Was it ever there?
Seeking solace in a cartel of lovers. Blood-thirsty lovers. What’s the point of innocence when a ring of murderers seeks to destroy it? Food. Object. Sex. There’s no innocence in that. The disfigured limbs come alive: “You did it, you did it.”
Island of Secrets, you did it. Sucked the blood dry and took out the innocent. A prominent author? A respected comedian? A leader with a penis-shaped brain? A senile old man?
The cartel of murderers. The ring of sex trafficking murderers. The cartel of lovers.
The wicked who see the innocent with detached eyes, objectifying even the most vulnerable:
“What’s the fun in a child but tearing it apart, ripping it to pieces and sucking its blood dry? Innocent meant to die.”
You did it, you did it, you did it. One day, the tide will turn. The sky turn bright. The innocent seek vengeance. Blood will splatter. On your insides rotten.
This is not the end.
But it will end with your heads impaled in a cemetery of singed limbs, singing:
“I told you, I told you! Now we’ll tear your insides rotten apart. Then set it on fire.”
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