Worms and Riddlers

  And again…  The Mother breathed life into his mortal spine… Into his strange brain…. Into the curled, rapidly withering form of his… He was weak… Lacking anything… Nearly crumbling… So, he fell into a deep sleep for another hundred years… Until the Mother would regenerate him…When the day would come, and when war was no longer an ’idea’, or even a word… When he would forget all that he’d done, and his mind was replaced anew… And the rust would be washed away, and he would regenerate from the ashes... And he would remember thoughts… Thoughts implanted… Thought’s recycled... From the emptiness… From the near-oblivion of his thoughts… He awoke…. Rose forth from the metal sheets, and the metal carapace, the engines, the infinite black, and grey. Then down the infinite carriers, down the staircases, through the melting flames, where heat rushed through his frozen fingers… Frozen body, and he breathed a new identity, a new place in reality… Filled his empty shell with newfound life. There

  As I sat inside my local diner, sipping a coffee and wine, I listened to the music from the jukebox. Wonderful, wonderful music flowing slowly, so that I could hear the humming at my fingertips. Graceful, graceful heavy metal... Like empty ribbons of lead that ground in a strangely harmonious melody, swinging back and forth through his bones, again and again. I sighed and sighed, thinking I could hear my brain buzz and my eyes water and my heart scream out in pleasure. Ah, yes! The dully lit jukebox playing random notes, placing those strangely chaotic, fast, screaming notes in glorious melody. Nostalgia rippled down my spine while I thought about grand pianos and the flickering color of blue screens. I went up to the bartender, a fat, gross man who could barely stand up, and ordered a round of drinks for myself. Drinking and drinking those grand martinis and gross little olives out of the cup, I felt a shock of bliss and transcendental emotion that pumped through my shriveled heart

    ...The Prophet seemed to shine above, but this was only an illusion. He looked away and ahead. The sun glared down at everything below. Sunlight flooded the desert, and rays peeked their way past the clouds. The animals hid in the shade and drank from puddles. Thousands of footprints led toward the mountain. All remnants of the Prophet. David followed them. He winced as the heat beat on his back, blinked from the sand around his eyes. Below, the sun-baked mud cracked with every step and the scents of cooked clay filled his nose. Sweat dripped off him and onto the ground. Lush forests full of animals once stood here. Blue rivers had run through these stones. But now, in its place, a dry, isolating, desert had buried paradise, with the ground crumbling beneath his feet, and heat streaming in the air and wavering in blurred lines. David used his crusted hands to push through the sandy winds and squinted to look at the sky. Yesterday's winds had stopped, as sand had swept through h