Godsmack at the funeral x3

perfect for an atheist right?

That and your child being born into a Ronso tribe made me giggle x3

Well, look at the avatar, stuff just happens... how the hell he got that horn on his head though.... I have no idea.

...


ow


XD

Okay, get ready...

Scene I:
All seems right in the world as clouds dance high above in the sky, letting their shadows slowly sweep across the land in rhythm of the cool winds that turn the lush grass, allowing the young man lying in the field to know which way the wind is blowing.
There is nobody else in sight, he is at peace.
There are no other forms of life.
No other sounds than the ones he imagines.
Something is wrong.

Scene II:
Something was moving.
Eyes burst open as the ground quakes. The young man, you, clutches at the ground by his sides as he leaps to his feet; he fell off the bed during the night.
The dream was broken. Good. Dreams are dangerous, far too easy to lose yourself in.
He looks about, unable to determine the source of the tremors outside.
There’s a pressure in his head, one that makes him fall to his knees and grip his head as the quaking continues.
Another morning.

Scene III:
He enters the school. Uneasy footsteps bring him from place to place. No colours on the walls.
The morning pressure has subsided substantially, only a constant nagging now.
Everyone is looking at him. Some are direct, others sneak in glimpses.
Something is expected of him but he doesn’t know what.
Their eyes are hostile to him. Glaring, piercing, lancing, destructive and unending.
It’s all too much for the young man.

Scene IV:
Pressure, more pressure, more and more and more until it threatens to break him.
A girl catches his eyes. A stunning creation. Her hair is dark and luscious like the rest of her feminine form.
She stares at him with light brown eyes that look like a burning amber in rays of the run.
She smiles; he smiles. He will hurt her, she will do the same, they can see it clear as day but it doesn’t matter, they want each other, they betray their mind for their hearts.

Scene V:
He clutches his head, it’s too much, it needs a release, he screams.
Something flows out from him, quickly, destructively, shaking the very foundation of the building he stands in, sending those who draw close flying away with broken bones and damaged minds.
It takes everything he has to pull it back into his being. A long, agonizing struggle to stop the corruption. The girl wasn’t close enough to be hurt.
The damaged men and women rise, shambles of what they once were, eyes soulless and full of contempt. They charge, he retaliates.
He moves on instinct, fighting like a vicious beast. Nails become claws, bones become like steel, teeth sharp as razors, eyes focused on the carnage to come.
The attackers are dead, but they had died long before he tore them apart.

Scene VI:
The young man visits the girl’s home, hoping she’s alright. He looks different, nearly inhuman. Ash grey skin.
The dark mistress doesn’t allow him to draw close to her. She had seen the beast he had become, seen the damage he had done, and now she threatened his life as he draws closer.
Words do no good. She refuses everything.
He runs. She stands firm, blocking out the weakness.
There are no tears, yet, only anger.

Scene VII:
Voices now. Voices in his head. Broken, distorted, screaming, demanding.
Alcohol drowns them out. He takes anything he can get, anything his body can permit. Strength doesn’t matter. He needs it all.
The voices die, slowly. His are the opposite of expected: rigid, strong, forceful. There is no grace.
The removal of the horrid voices and pressure brings clarity to his tormented mind.
He stops the tremors from getting worse. He does not belong in the crumbling world he was thrust into. He is an agent of destruction, made painfully obvious by how he had corrupted the others.
He is from another side, the one causing the tremors. They are greedy. They are destructive. They march together, quaking the earth.
He consumed too much, he blacks out in darkness. Broken buildings and a glowing moon above.

Scene VIII:
After days of long recovery he returns to the horrid halls of the school. It’s prom and he’s dressed in the best clothes he has, but they are still ragged.
The pressure of their eyes is still there, always there, but it’s easier to handle after the previous, horrendous release.
The prom king, you are made this. Why? Who cares.
What do you say? You comment on how you despise those around you, how they don’t deserve the life that you should be having.
You leave after that spiteful speech, letting it sit in their judgmental minds.

Scene IX:
In the parking lot you find a car, black, with keys left inside, just waiting for you it seems.
Someone’s loss, your gain. You want to get away, far away, to take everything away.
You drive as fast as the vehicle permits down any road, turning whenever you please.
You had planned this.
A crash.
A crunch of metal.
Shattering glass.
Darkness.
Scene X:
Shapes form. Colours spin. You remember.
That girl, your mistress, perfect in your mind. She’s standing there, beckoning you. You hurt each other deeper than any knife will reach.
You both still care. Somewhere. Somewhere underneath the hate and apathy.
Eyes open. Something is wrong with the world, you feel it.
Something is broken. Is it you?

Scene XI:
You return to her house, you see that girl. Sitting there. Was she waiting?
The tremors haven’t stopped, not since you woke up. Something is shaking.
She’s different, you’re different.
No words are spoken as you draw near.
Long, hard breaths meet each other once your faces draw near. Anger and fear.
You move first, holding her against your still-changing body.
A blade is hidden in her hand and it trembles as she thinks.
Metal clangs against the floor as she holds you in her arms, moving for a kiss.
Tremors.

Scene XII:
Weddings? No need for traditional.
Your separate lives are bound in the night, in the heat of the moment.
You bring each other pain; bring each other pleasure, emotional and physical.
The actions are animalistic, feral. Teeth bites, hands claws, the pain only seems to enhance the moment.
You’re entwined forms are illuminated by the flames she uses to keep her home bright, flickering light that almost shifts colours with the mood. The heat they bring is nothing compared to what you’re sharing.
The world seems to be burning down around you.

Scene XIII:
Months slip by. Your wife, the dark haired woman is pregnant.
A cry signals new life. You reach for your child, gently, aware of the danger you can bring.
There are no voices. The pressure is gone. The tremors cease. You hold your child in your arms.
You hand the newborn to your wife.
For the first time, you cry, happy.

Scene XIV:
You see them in your dreams now, when you can bring yourself to sleep. Men, women, monsters, clamoring for everything your world holds.
The ground splits open and consumed everything above, handing grip the stone and pull up vile bodies.
When you wake you say your goodbyes to your wife and child, departing to prepare for what is approaching.
Time is passing… strangely. Something is wrong.

Scene XV:
You are no leader, but you are a fighter. Men, women, and children stand at your side, anyone willing to fight, willing to give their lives to repel an attack.
This is happening elsewhere, places you’ll never see or reach.
You teach them everything that is in your blood: fighting, war.
You break them to the horrors and tell them of every way they will be slaughtered.
You should be fighting for the other side, but you don’t care. The apathy is returning.
Your body is your strongest weapon, and it will be destructive.
Tremors.

Scene XVI:
There was calm before hell broke loose. Both sides charged, one was bloodthirsty and the other terrified.
They had numbers and intimidation, your side had nothing hope and the knowledge that they could not fail, not if they wanted their people, their families and loved ones to survive.
The enemy was stupid, boastful. They would gloat, only to die. Dozens would rush the body of a fallen to consume the flesh, only to die. Brains as appealing as their bodies.
One stood out, a brute. A grotesque, misshapen body that swung a mace-like weapon to shatter and snap anything it could touch.
You catch each other on the field. His actions are clumsy but each potentially fatal. Yours are accurate, quick.

Scene XVII:
Before death claimed the brute he lashed out at you once more with all of its terribly weight, missing, but terrifying you.
Chunks of flesh and soft tissue were missing from the monster, scraps of which hanging in your teeth and under your nails. Anger floods you. It’s exhilarating. It’s your life.
You defeated the beast. One beast. Others surround you.

Scene XVIII:
‘Til your last breath you fight, rending as many in half as you can, too many too count. You fight alone to the bitter end.
This is your purpose, to fight, to kill. In the end, you were one of them that was masquerading as a human.
You laugh hysterically as they swarm you.
Something is wrong with the world as a smile graces your lips.
The sky shakes.
You’re happy.

Scene XIX:
The monsters retreat. Those you fought alongside had pushed them back, barely and with extreme difficulty. It was one fight they won. One fight.
They take your body away from the battlefield, that grim smile still on your face, a taunt.
You’re buried alongside those you fought with. It’s tradition. Not yours. Well, it is and it isn’t.
You were respected by them; respects were paid in every manner they knew. Your wife and child are nowhere to be seen.
You can see it all happening. You’re standing there with the small few near your makeshift grave.
Things were going bad. Things were going to get worse. All the more reason to celebrate and throw care away until the threat returned. They had defended themselves this time; at least they could enjoy it.

Scene XX:
The creatures would return, they would always return. Countless numbers, countless times. The ones you fought beside, the humans, they banded together to fight for their lives, their homes, their loves.
But it doesn’t seem real, not to you. The ground still quakes, the sky shakes more and more. Light becomes blinding. The pressure returns, but you’re dead, at least to the people around.
The pressure, it comes from your chest now. A surge. It hurts. There’s a light.
It subsides. It returns. You gasp. A voice.
Roll credits.