This World

This World We Live In

Timor initium.

This corrupt world is tainted with the everlasting feel of misery, which, like the plague, infects everybody whom inhabits this living hell. Continuously shrouded in a blanket of fog, sinister shapes silently move around in the shadows, ready to pounce upon an unsuspecting victim. Labyrinths of identical brick tombs, desolate of life line every direction as crimson red as blood. Once trapped in this madman’s maze one cannot escape, one can only wait to be devoured by the satanic darkness. In this arid wasteland a pin’s drop can be heard yet a child’s desperate screams are silent, but in such a hopeless situation: what does this matter? When trapped the scent of death is forever present, lingering like a  sadness tinged moment in long forgotten history.

Amor fractus
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Wretched creatures grasp ones hope and wring it dry like a dirty cloth, tis this which sentences one to a life of melancholy depression, or if you’re lucky, ends your suffering abruptly. This nightmare is heavily laden with sins which would bring tears of sorrow to the popes eyes ; wrath, check ; envy, check ; lust, check ; greed, check; pride, check ; sloth, check ; gluttony, check. These sins are the sustenance of the anxiety which has stained this world’s gruesome existence. When wandering in the masses of identical catacombs which form just the surface of this hellish place, one can only try and truly withhold its terror.

Odi regit.

Monsters wander the streets slyly in search of a meal to fulfil their insatiable bloodlust, in appearance they may look just like any average person, perhaps a beautiful young maiden or perhaps a greying, frail old man, clumsily trailing around. However underneath they are a raging beast wanting to be freed into the path of innocent souls. They can smell your fear. Sweet as a sugar mouse and as alluring as an oasis in the centre of a desert. Once their attention is focused upon their next victim, they will get what they want, no questions asked. They will harvest a person’s life and swallow it whole for it is just the appetizer of their demonic banquet. You can feel their presence when they are near, it is suffocating. You want to run but you feet are glued to the spot. You want to hide but there is nowhere to hide. You want to fight but you can’t muster the strength. And the saddest thing is, you can’t do a thing about it.

Monstra occidere.

You ask: why don’t the people leave? Why stay and suffer? Why not just end it all? This, we cannot answer but in a world enveloped in a fog thicker than bitumen and impregnated with pure evil the smallest bit of hope which manages to wriggle it’s soft, delicate body through the seemingly impenetrable walls of this reality can gift a person with enough inspiration to fight this condemned world and perhaps win. The saccharine sense of victory earned from this seemingly mad battle is strong enough to transport a person from average being to a divine God whom can help rescue a poor soul from this wicked existence. It is with this hope that people remain in this damned place: they want to save each other, this sense of loyalty keeps them alive.
Perennis spes- Everlasting hope.