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Spiritual

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Whispers are truths, twisted into our fears and forming knots beneath our boiling blood. Those words of passion, seduced out of hiding and trusted only by the extremely gullible, reside in the very pits of our soul, a never-ending drive to immerge from this depression and be a survivor. Dead languages and hidden feelings, crawling over our skin and giving us goose bumps in the dead of night. Lost lives and selfish herds of sheep, all of them craving the attention of their masters in the wake of society. Doomed to inevitable death, no chance of immortality, you will grasp that last hand hold called 'hope' and pray to God that you will still be
A Good Deed Too Far  By Ambrose Merle.   
Bonril Magestrane shall be this storys fatality. Despite his attempts to fortify, fear would over rule his totality. Paranoia when accompanied by boundless berations can be harder to hide from than vile fiends of eight eyes and eight legs who serve as beholders for the depths. Fail not from wasteful figmentations, lest you leave the hosts craving. He will this night endure more than merely what makes tears flush red.   
Straining his eyes while heart beats shutter, Mr. Magestrane let imaginations flee to every corner. Every shadow with every breeze let tricksters have their pl
Being in their company was like being stuck in a web. You didn't know where you were until you could see the hairy beast crawling towards you, ready to suffocate your innocence with the same shit that got you there. It was sick, and it was inhumanely cruel, but never-the-less, once you got there it was crazy and stupid to think that you were ever going to get out.
It was glass. All of the others were too, but most had little protective cases. Hers didn’t. Hers was a little thin clear thing. Missing a few pieces, and cracked.   She’d been told that it was golden, was red. Was opaque. Then someone told her they were all thin little pieces of glass. Clear as water. Reflective, too. She didn’t believe it. She didn’t want to.   But it was true. She could see it. She held it in her hands, staring in awe at the thing’s painful, broken beauty. Her heart.
"An Angel's Funeral I"   
The crack of dawn, a heavenly golden light embraces the waking earth.  Mourning has broken.  The eye of God, the seat of the Angel's divine light tears throught the soft, thick clouds.  The graveyard, the doorstep leading to the pearly gates themselves.  The priest, the ferryman, blessing the final resting place of one ecxeptional woman.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  The little girl lowers a rose onto the modest wooden casket.  Pure, birght and fresh wood, a simple box, but a fitting one.  The casket descends slowly, gently, resting peacefully in the earth the woman
Chapter five  1  K  Dust was flying all over the place tonight. Brian sure does have a knack for being messy when slaying evil (so much for dream seer’s being peaceful). Anyways he has grown a lot in his powers. He can’t choose what he wants to see in the future, but he can see into the future whenever he chooses to (ofcorse he will get a massive headache if he does it too often, and he still gets random visions every now and then as well).  
“Where did you learn how to kill so well if your such a peaceful person?” I asked one night  “Don’t know, it just comes naturally. Die!” Brian
   "This must be the place." I stood in front of the door, assuming that this is where  Jegudiel lives. I knocked then a young woman opened the door for me. "Yes, may I  help you?" I was wondering if she was the only one who lived here so I asked, "Pardon me for bothering you this early, but may I ask if you are the only one living here?" "Yes. Why do you ask? Are you looking for someone else?" Jegudiel is a woman? Then again it could happen since angels don't have bodies and you really can't tell whether it is a he or a she. "Jegudiel?" "How do you know my name?" "I'm your brother, Gabriel." She stood still for a whi

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