[color="DarkRed"]Bodies; decaying, rotten. Bulbous black flies buzzing
	and hovering over broken bones and cracked skin.
	They speak to each other in burrs and whines
	and dance above the stench, caught in a fragrant updraft,
	like ballerinas in a musicless, soulless opera,
	graceful, hideous. Between the legions of ganglions
	of grass they glide, weaving. Hovering over a body, inspecting,
	moving on, marks out of ten; a seven, adequate.
[I]			Smell the charred flesh upon charcoaled bones and molten skin
			dripping upon the ground and flowing away as bloody rivers.[/I]

 A sword, twinkling in the moonlight as the sun dies
	and hides below ground, ashamed as a witness
	of death and gore and violence. It shall not sleep to-
	night. Blood-spattered face; Embarrassed? Shy?
	The night delivers respite from the massacre, however
	slight. Mites and ticks burrow beneath dead flesh
	and chew and inject their poisons; an irony?
			[I]Feel the earth move beneath these bodies of man;
			a day to remember is already being forgot.[/I][/COLOR]
Last edited by Dæmönika at Sep 29, 2007,