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The Flickering Flame to Strike the Night
5:18 p.m. 2005-09-28

The silence as the night falls over ring4. Raised voices in murky distances cut off through curtains of gunfire and a perpetuation of the violent war. Overboard in the centre the blaze of the flame enclosing the structure. A rickety old house decrepit and dying with wooden porch and shattered windows. In the dying wind an ancient chair creeks and the whispers punctuate. He's inside now keeping watch over the children while the keeper looks on. Its the backroom, the basement of this old house and a flickering flame gutters in the shadows to bask in sterile cheap light from plastic sticks. The children are gathered at his feet and he is an affront in black leather and bloody cloth. Fresh scars on his cheeks and the Blade connecting the ground to his arm. The aspect of a monster and the voice of the beast as he sings them to sleep in preparation for the long night. And they laugh, ghosts and giggles and they are unafraid unaware of the deviant occurence outside and he whispers to the keeper 'keep them safe' and it is the only break in his song. haunting and delirious this tone the song whispers on as he disappears into the darkness of upstairs, murderous words sung tenderly from the floorboards, echoing through walls and wood to keep the children sleeping.
They are coming
A torch lit on the table to erupt a glow from the windows and the pitch of his song is a bait drawing the shuffling hobbling revenant to feed. The soldiers have retired to steel and protection leaving the outsiders to fend with the reborn abberations. And they come on, clutching guns and knives to rend the flesh of the children at the beckoning of the song. And up in the house from the top window it echoes and the figure waits looking out swathed in blood and expectancy, he watches as the dead approach.
-The scent and the presence felt unnerving insatiable. Up the steps over the threshold into the gloom of this feeble house, keeper of souls awaiting reaping and decay to overcome. A dozen of us the diminished and defiled to feed. and the song haunts us over the desire and the lust over it all the whispered song pervades this room to echo in our dead ears. The creaking of floorboards and the moans of this old house to keep rythm to this song and we fall. We were doomed from the start by the song and by the Blade.
-It lights the rooms so weakly this pathetic flame to keep watch over us. The children sleep below, lulled by his bewitching, this monster that protects us. He is here now, lighting that flame and disappearing, singing softly in a hollow, ravaged voice full of tortured remembering, he sings a song of abandonment and despair to the children as he haunts through this old house as a wraith. And outside I can hear them coming for us, the smell of us calling them, his song and this lighting giving them guidance. I can only hope he has a plan, or the children will die tonight in the ravenous tremors of this old house. There it is; there it comes, the answering sound from the stairs to the door, the shuffling and the ragged breath. They are here but they cannot see me, I am hidden in the door to the downstairs breathing lightly breathing quickly wondering. They will find me they are scrabbling through the rooms of this house seeking entrance unable to comprehend in their state of decay, they wander. some move up the old stairs to the upper level and the rest, falling against walls and each other attend to the countertop to attend to my fallen friends. And there is nothing to stop it. I wait. He comes, a flashing of steel and the eeriest glimpse of cold eyes in the flickering flame from that torch as they revisit death. A splattering of gunfire and a pained sigh and it is over. He stands in the light, eyes dead and full of agonized understanding, the blade in his hand covered in blood and he asks me if the children are alright. Who is this hell that would play redeemer?

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly