ProrokVala

There is no spoon

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Today I can see nothing at all except for a vague vision. You can come up with your own haiku or a poem for this one. As soon as I get my hands on this beauty (and I will), I'll give it away to the author of the best one.

 

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The squeal of saws coming from the neighboring sawmill have been distracting me all night long. The sound was intensifying at first, and fading later. It was a high-pitched squeal on the verge of ultrasound, penetrating through the closed windows and doors of my house. I was up for the whole night. 

In the morning, when I came to the sawmill to find out who’s been working at night, I found no one there. Empty canopies and hangars. And blood stains next to the huge saws…
 

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Time is our God in the Wastelands. It's neither good nor evil. Time does not require worship and prayers. Sit by the river. Watch the river go by. And you will understand how time burns everything. Old life, memory, cities and skeletons of our last true friends - armored cars…

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The serpent fell unto the ground
The owner of the sky's gone mad
It smashed the Wastes, tore banners down
And only speed has cured its bate.

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The weather is changing. See how it's become stuffy and hot? And this desert wind. Sand stuck between teeth. All night long I dreamed of the terrible eyes of desert hyenas. These scavengers, waiting for your armored vehicle to break down in the desert. Yellow, white. Bright and dazzling. It's all the wind and the weather...

 

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Every night that wretch Hammer Tim wakes me up with a loud rumble of his car. He rides around our village, but instead of the muffler he’s got "Two Extra Chromosomes"! He says that before the disaster he used to collect cars designed for autocross.  Liar! I got a good look at him in my visions. Always doing something in his garage during the night. And there is always a pair of high looming silhouettes. The dark business - that's his thing. But the vehicle is fast and noticeable. That's true.

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The ashes of the dead world hid everything that the past generations lived with. Even I cannot see their desires, passions and ambitions. But Tim ... Tim doesn't get off the beaten road. He keeps the same pace, using the same fuel.

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A man looks in the mirror. What does he see? Himself or the decisions he made that led him to the mirror? What if there are no more memories? What will change then: a reflection or a man?

Wasteland will be filled with lost souls who will have to find answers to these questions. And I see in the flames that soon my fate and the fate of the man without memory will intertwine.

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The blazes cleave through the
    coldest heavens.
Our fire is crackling,
    so skittish.
All turned to ashes
    the festive woods.
Gerda holds for Kai,
    she's sobbing.
Out of the blue chill
    into the white flame
Two will ascend
    unknowing,
The house won't be back
    they won't forge their own path,
Having hit the very Wasteland's
    edges.

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Yellow lemon smoke cloud covers that very
Ironclad battlefield.

In chainmail, they are going to battle
So soon.

The trophy stand cut all over by death itself.
The body's alive

Calling for goddess of victory with a shudder,
It's looking for peace.

The sky through the transparent fingers
Can't be made out.

We are weeping and crying, but we can not
Take wing.

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Mysterious laughter once a year is heard in the night.
All those long-lost in the Wasteland
Go on and find them.

No, there will be no one left. The dust on the roads will all settle down.
Nobody who'd tried to escape from her grasp,
Could ever leave.

For a long time the Witch was incredulous. Laughing, tempting her fate.
But she got lost once and she could see clearly
And dressed herself in darkness.

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The number prophecies of the fallen world earned no trust. Only the flames hold the truth. And it sleeps under the cover of the earth, burning the firmament with tears.

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