D'Mourning Orb
Dec 15th, 2002, 01:05:33 AM
Feathers lie upon the muddy ground; A ghost rises to his feet. And as the copious amounts of blood wash with precipitation, so too does the dark brooding angel's angst salivate.
He was in heaven with his Father. He was walking side by side
with a Latin scholar-from a distant planet named Erith. The sky was perpetual, beautiful, as long and plentiful as the innocence that envelope his peace of mind.
Red: Black is not the opposite of white. It is red.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He entered the Jedi Bar shirtless. The wings on his back torn to resembled a decrepit creature of angelic mythology.
This much D'Mourning Orb figured out on the long walk over:
H E
COULD
S P E A K
His cobalt blue eyes gazed over the establishment: the faces.
"People. I need your attention, please." The cadence with which he spoke was broken like a six year old.
All eyes upon him.
"I have something important to tell you--and I'm not sure exactly how."
<pre><font size=2>The images ran through his mind: r e d
r e d
r e d
red ....where he was certain there should be white.</pre></font>
The color marked the floor of the establishment, cascading down the brillant white. The epidermis of his chest and arms smeared
with it.
"Your God--this is the color that God bleeds." He swallowed the lump in his throat, voice quivering. "And if--if something, somehow
doesn't happen soon..... we're all going to die."
His teary eyes focused and unfocused. The distant looks a smothering gauze.
"I died. After I left--quit the Jedi--I drowned.... I don't know how long ago. But the wings... the evidence that I can speak now.. that should be truth enough."
His jaw clenched, eyes shimmering in the ugly tavern light.
"Help me. Heaven is dying--all the angels...." He calmed himself,
gathering his distant, waivering thoughts. "We're Jedi--you're
Jedi, or Sith-what have you. That doesn't matter know. The force--
as you coin it. That's the closest we come to God--to what you couldn't fathom is Heaven. And God..... is dying--I held God, he is dying. He--we could not bleed unless heaven--the balance was....
it became one sided." His tympanic membrane swallowing the sound of his ears draining. "Yin-yang. Good, evil. God created love. In order to create love He had to also create hate.
In order to create civility--he had to create war. In order to create Himself--he had to create Himself--the one He's less known for. But--but there's still time. I need your help."
He tried to think of the best way to put it: layman's terms for the religious creed God Himself manifested.
"If Heaven seizes to exist. That plane becomes part of this one.
And if that happens--we're all as good as dead. What I'm asking of you is not easy. In order for us to come out of this in any favorable way. We've got to rescue God. If God dies--Heaven dies. But if we can rescue him--and attack from a new tactical standpoint, without the ambush--where God is prepared....
their is no way He can fail. His is the creator, not the destroyer--
he cannot fail. But we've got to rescue him--and if you're so force inclined and value your life-or anyone else's life for that matter...
I ask that you--help me."
His mind drew to a close for several moments: desperation sinking in.
"I ask--You will be forgiven. He will forgive you. But, I ask you--one of you... accquire your saber--blaster..." His voice grew weaker. A small child sobbed within his throat. "... and just start--killing us."
He was in heaven with his Father. He was walking side by side
with a Latin scholar-from a distant planet named Erith. The sky was perpetual, beautiful, as long and plentiful as the innocence that envelope his peace of mind.
Red: Black is not the opposite of white. It is red.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He entered the Jedi Bar shirtless. The wings on his back torn to resembled a decrepit creature of angelic mythology.
This much D'Mourning Orb figured out on the long walk over:
H E
COULD
S P E A K
His cobalt blue eyes gazed over the establishment: the faces.
"People. I need your attention, please." The cadence with which he spoke was broken like a six year old.
All eyes upon him.
"I have something important to tell you--and I'm not sure exactly how."
<pre><font size=2>The images ran through his mind: r e d
r e d
r e d
red ....where he was certain there should be white.</pre></font>
The color marked the floor of the establishment, cascading down the brillant white. The epidermis of his chest and arms smeared
with it.
"Your God--this is the color that God bleeds." He swallowed the lump in his throat, voice quivering. "And if--if something, somehow
doesn't happen soon..... we're all going to die."
His teary eyes focused and unfocused. The distant looks a smothering gauze.
"I died. After I left--quit the Jedi--I drowned.... I don't know how long ago. But the wings... the evidence that I can speak now.. that should be truth enough."
His jaw clenched, eyes shimmering in the ugly tavern light.
"Help me. Heaven is dying--all the angels...." He calmed himself,
gathering his distant, waivering thoughts. "We're Jedi--you're
Jedi, or Sith-what have you. That doesn't matter know. The force--
as you coin it. That's the closest we come to God--to what you couldn't fathom is Heaven. And God..... is dying--I held God, he is dying. He--we could not bleed unless heaven--the balance was....
it became one sided." His tympanic membrane swallowing the sound of his ears draining. "Yin-yang. Good, evil. God created love. In order to create love He had to also create hate.
In order to create civility--he had to create war. In order to create Himself--he had to create Himself--the one He's less known for. But--but there's still time. I need your help."
He tried to think of the best way to put it: layman's terms for the religious creed God Himself manifested.
"If Heaven seizes to exist. That plane becomes part of this one.
And if that happens--we're all as good as dead. What I'm asking of you is not easy. In order for us to come out of this in any favorable way. We've got to rescue God. If God dies--Heaven dies. But if we can rescue him--and attack from a new tactical standpoint, without the ambush--where God is prepared....
their is no way He can fail. His is the creator, not the destroyer--
he cannot fail. But we've got to rescue him--and if you're so force inclined and value your life-or anyone else's life for that matter...
I ask that you--help me."
His mind drew to a close for several moments: desperation sinking in.
"I ask--You will be forgiven. He will forgive you. But, I ask you--one of you... accquire your saber--blaster..." His voice grew weaker. A small child sobbed within his throat. "... and just start--killing us."