Crunch.

-

 The sky fortress loomed in the distance, a vast dark silhouette against the blood-red sky. Its twisted spires reached into the high cirrus clouds like skeletal fingers, grasping at the last vestiges of daylight. A lone figure moved silently through the desolate landscape, stumbling from shadow to shadow.


The air was still and quiet except for the distant hum of machinery within the fortress. The figure pressed forward, navigating the labyrinthine and unrecognisable ruins that lay under the fortress's oppressive shadow. The scent of decay permeated the air as they slipped through the forgotten remnants of what was clearly once a thriving civilisation.


Tattered sigils, bearing the insignia of a forgotten regime, adorned the occasional standing pillar. The figure moved with purpose, a grim determination etched into their features. The only sound was the crunch of broken tiles beneath his worn boots as he traversed the desolate landscape.


Approaching the fortress, the figure's heart pounded in time to the rhythmic thuds emanating from the structure above. The entrance lay concealed beneath layers of rusted metal and broken stonework. With calculated precision, he navigated an entrance through what may as well have been a maze designed to confound even the most intrepid intruders.


Inside, the fortress revealed its true nature – a dystopian tangle of dimly-lit corridors and chambers. The air thick and choking with an acrid stench, a nauseating mix of chemicals and decay. An eerie glow emanated from flickering luminescent lights overhead, casting elongated shadows that danced menacingly across cold, metallic walls.


The figure moved silently through the labyrinth, guided only by a gut instinct honed through years of survival in an unforgiving world. The fortress seemed to pulsate with a malevolent energy, as if it were a living entity. It seemed to be aware of the intruder's presence.


As he explored further, the figure encountered the fortress's grim secret. It was a laboratory of grotesque experiments. Twisted and tortured remnants of humanity fused with machinery, grotesque hybrids that shuffled aimlessly in darkened alcoves. Lost, abandoned and betrayed, their hollow eyes reflecting their painful existence, a living nightmare etched into every sinew and circuit.


With each step, the figure's surroundings became increasingly surreal. The fortress seemed to defy the laws of reality, its architecture twisting and warping like a fever dream. Time itself felt distorted, seconds stretching into eternity as the figure navigated the ever-shifting corridors to the sound of the heart-rending wails of the fortress's prisoners echoing through the metallic halls, a cacophony of suffering. The figure pressed on, fuelled by a relentless determination to defeat and escape the clutches of this nightmarish stronghold.


Finally, he reached the heart of the fortress – a chamber bathed in an blue, pulsating light. Before him stood a colossal machine, its mish-mash of electrical and mechanical appendages reaching like tendrils towards the lofty heights of a ceiling that was lost in darkness. It hummed with an otherworldly power, the very essence of the fortress was concentrated within this awesome monstrosity.


Without hesitation, he pressed the device he was carrying in his pocket to a control panel, which initiated a sequence of commands. For a moment all was quiet but then alarms blared, and the fortress seemed to convulse in response. He ran. Back the way he had come as fast as his legs would carry him as the very fabric of the fortress unravelled, collapsing into a maelstrom of chaos and destruction. For much of his dash it seemed as though he would perish under falling masonry or steel but finally he emerged into the fading light.


The sky, once a canvas of foreboding red, began to shift towards a muted grey. He cast a final glance at the disintegrating fortress, now reducing to rubble and burying the remains of the civilisation that was under it in a dense blanket of dust.


The figure shrugged. Put the control device he had clutched with a fervour as he had made his escape back into hi pocket. Taking out instead a packet of extra strong mints, he popped one into his mouth and headed west.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Eli

-
Eli squinted, the unforgiving sun blazing relentlessly above. It has been years. A lifetime of this relentless brightness. His aged face, which bore the creases of someone who had lived through a particular era, looked out over the shimmering dunes of the desert, which seemed to go on forever. The tales of a bygone era, when the celestial expanse shimmered with countless stars and the serene glow of the moon illuminated the world, had faded into obscurity. Here, the past seemed to slip away, the moon a distant memory.  He embodied a bygone era, a living testament to a time when Earth's deteriorating ecosystems compelled a frantic quest for a fresh abode. This desolate, scorching planet, Proxima B, had provided the solution. But what is the price?  However, a gust of transformation swept through. The days gradually and inevitably became cooler. The sun appeared to sink lower in the sky. After months of careful observation, Eli confirmed a clear trend: the sun was gradually lowe...
Read more

The Kite.

-
He was definitely what you would call a weird man. No doubt about it. Bartholomew Wizzle lived in a charming little town that was like something out of a story book. The streets and alleyways were all narrow and twisty, with interesting nooks and surprising squares. The buildings all ancient and astonishingly close together. There was a Main Street, but it was mostly a market place and although the Main Street was paved with large stone slabs, the rest of the streets and alleyways were cobbled with the local blue-grey cobble stones from the silvery river that ran through the town. The town was surrounded by whispering forests and rolling hills. It was delightfully old fashioned and quaint. You wouldn't call Mr. Wizzle a regular guy. Nope. Not in a month of Sundays. What he was though, was a master of the esoteric arts, a dealer in anomalies, and a merchant of wonders. Hidden along a winding cobblestone alley, his little shop held an assortment of oddities, many of which would amaze...
Read more

The Spinney

-
When I was a boy, aged about nine or ten, I think, I used to ride my bicycle to a long, narrow wood. It was about a mile long and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide and filled with old, tall deciduous trees. There was a path down through the middle, from which it was not possible to see the edges of the wood in summertime. The path crossed the same stream three times along its length. It was called The Spinney.   A liminal space between a main road and a vast golf course, which was strictly private and where angry men in odd trousers and check argyle pullovers would shout at you if you ventured out of the Spinney and into the bright green sunshine. But it didn’t matter because the Spinney was, in my imagination, a vast and endless forest stretching for all eternity and filled with beasts and birds, hidden dangers, lurking wild men and aliens.   I went often with friends. We would dam the streams and race along the path through the middle. We would cook sausages on sticks over a ...
Read more