Pestilence

I gaze unto the mirror, locking eyes with my reflection. I search within the retinas, looking for an answer, for a cure. I find neither, so I raise my palms and search there. Along the wrinkled lines and layers of skin, I see a different pigmentation, in spots, riddled around them. Curious, I touch one on my left hand with the other. My fingertips cause it to slide away from its contact, and falls off my hand slowly, making a sickening sound as it hits the floor.

Horrified, I look back into the mirror for an answer to this new threat, but I only see it smiling. I lock eyes once more, and see it tearing off my shirt. I find it harder to breathe now that I stare at my bare chest, but my reflection only smiles more. Unable to look away from its gaze, I stare as it starts to claw at his chest. I scream in pain as I notice myself doing the same, but still I cannot look away. Layers of skin fall upon the floor, resembling mummy scraps. What was skin filling my fingernails turned into muscle, muscle into bone, but I was no longer screaming. I was pleading with my reflection to stop. I saw no blood from its side, but felt it trickling unto the rest of my body, trickling down to the tiled floor.

Finally my reflection stopped with its smile and stared back at me, cocking its head. I shuddered from the cold air brushing against my mauled flesh. My reflection tilted back to its normal position, and placed his hands over his chest. I recognized what he was going to do, and begged him to stop. He only looked up for a moment, and gave me half a smile before he plunged his fingertips into my chest. I felt no pain, for some unknown reason, but instead cold. With each centimeter he plunged, I grew colder. His smile grew into a full one when he released his hands, and held his, mine, heart between his hands. The bloody mess seeped through his grasp, splashing crimson onto my toes.

The cold surged within me, caressing me almost. The reflection looked at me, at his new item he had dug up, back at me once more, and tossed it into the trashcan beside me. 'Twas then I felt the freedom from the spell of the Mirror, and stumbled out of the door. I was greeted by two figures, wishing to hold me to balance and help me. As I tried to brush them away, to flee, my hands touched a shoulder in accident, and I saw their shoulder flake away. The clothing fluttering off into the wind, the skin dissolving off, the muscles evaporating, and the skeletal bone mass collapsing. I found no air to shriek from the guilty horrorful action I committed, and stumbled some more in the direction away from my companions. The other figure reached out to stop me, but I instead slapped her hand away. I prayed that little contact was enough to not spread my sickness. I was mistaken. Her slapped hand smacked the wall beside her, shattering it into countless fragments. Horrified expressions were painted on her face, and I saw her crumble as well.

I stumbled finally through my desired doorway, and crashed through it. I was greeted by the harsh cold winds and iced ground. Bodies were riddled within it, corpses bearing my face, two sides wearing a flag of their own design. I gazed down at the hole formed within myself, but could not see into it. I instead raised my clawed palms for the search once more. I noticed a drop of water falling unto them. Came rarely, but consistently, until water washed over my hands.

I screamed in anger and sorrow as I let the flood of tears flow.

Time is not made of lines, but Circles.

Contact

The apples continue in a constant loop from my fingertips, spreading delight among the tables surrounding me. I catch two out of the three, and when the final one is in the air, I stare at it. On it's precipice of flight I observe how it stalls in the air, wanting to stay that high. Only to come tumbling, tumbling down. I neglect the urge to catch it, and allow it to break upon my scalp, apple bits scattered here and there. A tsunami of laughter crashes over my ears, followed by a roaring applause.
I take my bow and turn to leave.
Anger erupts however, when I turn. They demand more. I look into my bag of tricks and amuse them once again for hours on end. Throwing knives in a comical fashion, in a humorous design. The classic whoopie cushion. Even down to telling what each audience member is, to their face, but with a smile. I unload it all. Finally I am excused. I turn down the hall from this chamber of Hell. A shimmering light taunts me at the end, beckoning me. Not one to dissaude a calling, I go to it. My eyes find a mirror before Us. Yet my face seems different to me somehow. There are lines I do not remember existing before. Peering closer, I recognize them not as lines at all.
They are cracks.
My hands, trembling with realization and fear, go to the edges of my face, the seam of ear and flesh, searching. They find the edges, but not smooth as they once were. They have become rough, digging into my flesh with each expression of emotion. It worries me that I have not the memory of when I put this on.
It worries me more to wonder when I can take it off.

The most useful tool to ruling the crowd, is but a simple Fool.

Strife

What is a tree without its leaves?
What is a bee without its knees?
What is a clown without his jokes?
What is an arti without its choke?
What is it
What is the moon without its glow?
What is a blizzard without its snow?
What is a lawn without its mow?
What is an archer without their bow?
What is it
What is a sword without its edge?
What is a cliff without its ledge?
What is a Soldier without their pledge
What is it
What is a jester without his mask?
What is a man without his task
What am I?
What is a heart without its beat
What is a butcher without his meat
What is a mother without her brood
What is a man without their blood
What is it
What is a clock without the time
What is a jester without his rhyme?
What is a dollar without a dime?
What is it
What is a bomb without its Boom
What is a car without its vroom
What is a plane without its zoom
What am I when I meet my doom?
What.
What is a Breath without a Life?
What is a handle without a Knife?
What is Chaos without Strife?
What am I?

Sometimes You Cannot solve What you feel You should.

Scent

The mud smears under my feet, the rain trickling onto my tangled head of hair. Slowly it drips onto my face, filling my nose with the stench of the battlefield before me. A part of me pretends the rain to be my own tears, yet all I can really think about is the mulititudes of corpses that lay spread about. I cannot discern any wounds that could cause so many deaths, yet the look on their face remains the same: In pain. The rain brings up the smell of the rotting flesh into the air, and quickly it circles me. I can't help but to run from it, in hopes to find another survivor.

My toes greet the mud with ferocity as I frantically search, yet find none. I suppress the urge to vomit from the scene. Bodies beyond count, each with a blonde head of hair, each rotting now with nobody to bury them. I cannot even discern which side was which. Which was the Controller, and which the Survivor.
Subtlely, however, I picked up something else. A different scent not from corpses or filth, yet unsure of what. I followed it with much haste, hope once again surging through my veins. I stopped to find myself at a door, it's massive size intimidating at the sight. The scent was just on the other side, however, and to be this close brought me such unfounded joy.
I bursted through the door, falling onto my face. Yet not onto the wretched mud, but onto a patch of grass. The sunlight streamed my eyes into a blind stupor. Two pairs of hands reached towards me, and at first I felt a twinge of fear. When they instead hoisted me up, any fear had immediately dissipated. I embraced each figure, inhaling the life around them. Hope's surge found its way once more, but I did not feel pain from it. I found myself smiling at it all. Smiling that My War was over. Smiling that I can simply smile. Smiling, that I had won.