ktbcat

Hidden beneath the canopy of a forest older than man, a garden protected from time thrives.  Its ancient walkways spreading out to thread their way through blossoming hedges, and around trees bearing emerald green leaves.  The air is filled with the glow of fireflys, and ribbons of mist, like pearlesnt streams, swirl and weave to and fro.  A pond of sapphire blue marks the center of this protected place, its undisturbed waters provide a dazzilng reflection of the early dawn sky.  At the far end of the pool, doors can be seen, standing alone in the garden. Heavy tho they appear, the deep rich cherry wood doors swing readly open at the slighte

Evening falls upon the rolling plains, a chill breeze racing across the hills and valleys, bending the tall grass into rippling waves.  High on a hill, silouetted against the darkening sky, four stones stand tall, each marking the final resting place of a soldier.  At the base of each, a momento, a scrap of cloth, or even a small toy, declares to whom the marker is dedicated. A lone child stands over the markers, a silent sentinal to guard the lost souls, a sword in her left hand, a rose in her right.  Tears stained red by the setting sun fall to the ground, annointing the earth with blood borne of loss. The child kneels, placing the rose i

The decaying rays of a dying sun sear the windswept and time worn street. The empty shells of old buildings still line the sides, their broken and darkened windows leering out onto the street as if in contempt of those dark alleys and cracked flagstones. A dry searing wind sweeps across the burnt tar and stone, and a noxious fume rises from the surface. The rusted remains of ancient vehicles litter the street amidst other derbis. The suns rays are dying now, and the whole of the street seems to quiver, as tho dreading the darkness that steadily encroaches. Distant scratching, and the low moan of the wind are the only sounds now, and ever sti