Operation Overlord
{Rumination, a nutritious mental exercise that can change a person if one's serious. Rumination, even the most depressed, "manic," lost, "found," ... can bettered if they don't repeat the same memory over and over again but actually sequence it out of how it came to be, what actually happened and what lead up to the rumination. Of course, who doesn't benefit from it? The cathartics, emotional purging and releasing is still rumination but in an end state of acceptance. The mellows, the concern is the conscious memory being on repeat and not them actually thinking. The short span-attention people, in a twist of irony they'd benefit after suffering so much mentally on something for so long. Then who benefits not? Those who simply benefit from the byproducts of modern society and weaponize that to enforce the current SuperStructure. Think too long? Punished for trying to work out a problem all by yourself and all its notions. Think beyond what is required for a subject? Punished for drawing any similarities outside the focus. Ruminating? Punished for making sense of anything... Today's post belongs to @bananafish's Mizu No Oto contest and Finish The Story contest... Today's music-aide: "Operation Overlord (extended)" [1.](Quake 2 OST).}
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Image by @f3nix
"Docked, tethered, loaded"
Wish, wash, wham, wish, wash, woosh, wham
- Maritime noises.
My sketchy sketch; uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, no steal.
- Operation Overlord -
Prompt by @f3nix
"What do you feel now?" The scalpel of a monotonous voice, cold as the halogen light blinding him.
"Let me go".
A sudden electric shock followed and almost broke the arched vertebrae of the specimen n. 19-B, while penetrating his limbs.
"What do you feel?"
"The ... the taste of a chicken".
Dense whispering, silent annotations, white everywhere.
He was floating in that white, for hours, perhaps days. Subtle lines, at the corners of his eyes. The last bulwark of Euclidean geometries. Over him, the ceiling was like an enormous virus. Not alive, not dead. Up there, all the gluttony of a pulsating white blasphemy was unfolding over his impotent being. A dodecaphony, ever hungry of new semitones in the musical scale of his moribund ego.
He felt his soul's entrails slowly peeled like an onion. That non-color was slipping inside him, like a sickly glucose sludge, inside every cavity, along every neuron, hair, capillary. It was a profound evil, different from pain. Pain is a vowel. If you're good enough, you can observe it from the outside of yourself till you inevitably lose consciousness.
That, instead. That was nothing less than a grinding profanation of his soul.
"Now. Some feelings?"
"Feeeeeeelings ..." was the mumbled answer, the sound resembling the broken lung of a deflating accordion.
Silent annotations following.
The synaptic stimulation was proceeding well, soon they could present the product to Mother Unit. It was said that, in prehistoric times, the human being populated the nano-swarm, when it was still called Earth. According to certain niche schools of thought, this.. thing.. could have been at the top of the food-chain. Go figure.
A new product, very efficient in its own way and not missing that pleasant touch of chaoticness, this human. No doubt that the Mother Unit would have liked it and find it entertaining, if not even useful.
The chief demiurge gently closed the skullcap of the specimen n. 19-B and left the room with its cohort of servile apprentices in tow. Enough for today.
- Ending by @theironfelix -
["Operation Overlord is a go!"]
All medical equipment froze, line of sight now tracing the source. Bells sang their jingles while the scythe whistled even after piercing a Demiurge. Medical equipment shriek upon ground-contact, the cloud of Demiurges fumble while their ears pick up the source of their blindness. The Grunt closing in, the darkness conceals the sight but their ears pick up neck-twists.
"Begone dark-"
"I deny thy demand! Burn New Angel, burn!"
"G-ahhhhh!"
"Where are you! Why?"
"Art thou New Angels."
"W-w-what? Hey!"
The Grunt’s hands chucked the Demiurge and its body got skewered by the Grunt’s hat.
"Unbecome!"
"Deflect! D’aww, thanks poncho for deflecting-"
"Ahhhh!- How did y-"
"Easy, have good gloves and gibs fly out. As for thee, the last Demiurge."
"We’re not New Angels!"
"Fine, derivatives~ Still act like them. Anyways, I need thy eyes."
Eyes jumping out from their masters, the room stops echoing the noise as its lights glowed again. Hands taking the eyes, the machine acquiesces to unlocking after receiving false positives. However, with eyes rolling from danger and the rest of the building screaming bloody murder, the Grunt soon learned how to fly.
"I knew it! Now I hold the culprit here, tell me-"
"I kick thee, for thy breath is horrid!"
"Childish, just like your kind before we exterminated-"
"P-peck off, y-yah Chief Demiurge. He-he-he, how messy m-me misty limbs are."
"Blue Myst of White-Flame! I am honoured by thy presence."
"I-I can see that with y-yer labour spent in th-this room. Excell-lent work! The other Grunts are f-fine. In fact, ha-ving fun."
"Splendid, anyways the package."
"Aw! I thank thee... H-how do ye Grunts s-stay so cute w-while being so d-deadly?"
"~Blue-Myst, I dunno how to respond. I thank thee for the compliments!~"
"M-may I get a h-hug from thee?"
"It would be an honour."
"I now u-understand why Dark Myst o’ Red-Flame l-loves ye Grunts~ Yer all so adorable- oh no! I squeezed thee hard... C-come back soul-kernel, for I force thee back to life!... Sowry Grunt~”
"~Myyyyy spine~"
"Almost forgot. Better?
"Thanks, let’s extract the package."
"Agreed. Look they’re h-here. How w-was it?"
"Gory excitement!"
"I see ye taken l-loot as well, compliments the looks! Anyways, b-back home to Red-Flame’s.”
"Yay!~"
"Now, I-I gotta wond-der why were they testin’ their own children? Red-Flame will know."
I would have an end blurb but: I am tired, remembered a bad memory and having to get ready for tomorrow.
Tired because all the work I have to do.
A bad memory that I rather not detail here.
And Heck is there waiting for me tomorrow.
Neck snapping your favorite move? You often write about neck-breaks. Reminds me of this
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments. I have many favorite moves, Ed boi. But the neck-twist is just the more convenient of moves that we recognize in our culture. That and it was the “less expensive” route when it came to the word count. (See if word count limit wasn’t a thing, this would’ve just been one item in that killing checklist.) Otherwise, that poor woman at the end! I wonder how the fourth one will play out, will he finally go more rouge?
I loved the fact that the Demiurges are ass kicked and also some humorous exchanges like
I hope that your work load is bearable now, chop.
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments. I lived up to my promises of Demiurge-carnage (hey that rhymed) and I couldn't wrap this work up without some humour. That line is very evocative though, especially if one has a keen eye. Anyways, yah chop, my work lord stopped bekkaken me for now - time to get serious a bit. Anywho, have this slippery boi (Mischief from Interface):
I see your "onomatopohaiku" exploration continues!
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! Yeah, these last two prompts have been very convenient to this trend. Also one of mój towarzysze (my comrades) was on one, so I wanted to reflect what they heard constantly. Otherwise, gotta give a taste of variety (we got Italian and Spanish Haiku-crafters, so we can do with some loose experimentation).
The 39th Edition stands ready for another journey through dreams and imagination. You've until next Wednesday to weave your tale. Will you share your story with us once again?
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