Dystopian Satire

This age long curse, dressed up and presented as an irreplaceable gift bestowed to man, silently watches through its illusory cage. This prison of the soul however isn’t at all that bad, rather it is an oasis, and it is ultimately ones personal Utopia. Sweeping meadows, soft blue skies, the pastels and vibrancies of joy and life paint the walls, the grass, and the trees. The cage is more a home, be it small or big, in all truths it isn’t tangible, just a depiction of what it holds within. Its doors open and warmth seeps out, lulling its visitor to relax and come in. The air is pleasant, the smells are calming, as it should be when something so precious and so full of life is being held inside. For the soul is our burden to bear, yet it is our

A single crack can very easily lead to the creation of a web of lacerations, their soft light shining less and less until, regrettably, it shines no more. Instead of the familiar warmth they have grown so accustomed to, the winds blow cold, howling in the torment that is brewing within. Utopia transforms into dystopia, as the grand castles now stand in ruin, the once glittering stained glass windows shattering with the softest of breaths. With each creak, the tinkering of broken glass plays out its tune, sad and eerie in the otherwise silent landscape. Nature’s reaches begin to wear thin, rubble littering the surroundings while the greatest of thorns grow in a grotesque form of defence for the fractured

He opens the door and what is left of the castle begins to completely crumble, turning to dust to blow away with the wind. the searching grows more desperate, items that once held such importance being thrown carelessly throughout the otherwise organised room. The all-important item that was being searched for has finally been found, the chemical saviour whom shall flush out the beast, but time has drawn short, and he has found the last remains of the warmth. As the last hope slides down the throat, the loss of warmth can be felt as that inhuman beast consumes all that is left. As the bottle hits the floor and vision turns to black, the knowledge of what awaits bears no greater burden than the knowledge of what had been lost, despite being so dearly beloved. Now, the castle is gone, the warmth has faded into cold, and all that is left is the figure of the vampire who’s destruction had claimed yet another too