The Shores of the Nameless Gods
By E.S. Wynn
I have been there. I have walked the shores of the nameless gods. I have seen the spires that rise up from the distant fog to pierce the breathing, visceral sky. I have beheld the rigid, tattooed face of the guardian, have held its reed-thin hand and tasted the sweet nectar of sleeping death that lingers on its sexless lips. I have felt the touch of the cold, vacuous winds that shudder and breathe in the haze where the stained and tainted stones meet and wash thickly into the corpulent purple sea. I have lain there, sprawled and broken upon the rocks. I have let the unknown rise up and take me as I sleep, have felt the raspy gelatinous tide as it washes over and through me, consuming every inch of my flesh and silencing my mind within sheets of rubbery, violet darkness. I have felt the way the sea presses thickly upon the open mouth, closes the nose and takes the air from heavy lungs. There is a part of me which suffocates succulently every time I let the tide take me, every time I slip into the beyond on the sweet and heady taste which the lips of the guardian leave lingering on my mouth. I feel its muffled cries in the haze of my death-sleep, but it is a dull, quiet sensation. I do not waken, do not move. I know the cries, almost expect them, need them. I know they are the dying sounds of a forgotten childhood, tired notes, mind-spun strains of a life never lived. A life lived only in dreams.
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E.S. Wynn is the author of the Pink Carbide Trilogy and the long running series The Cygnus War. He lives in rural California and is slated to graduate with his B.A. in English in May of 2010. He works as a part time author, part time editor, part time sword salesman and part time broker for Pre-Paid Legal services.
By E.S. Wynn
I have been there. I have walked the shores of the nameless gods. I have seen the spires that rise up from the distant fog to pierce the breathing, visceral sky. I have beheld the rigid, tattooed face of the guardian, have held its reed-thin hand and tasted the sweet nectar of sleeping death that lingers on its sexless lips. I have felt the touch of the cold, vacuous winds that shudder and breathe in the haze where the stained and tainted stones meet and wash thickly into the corpulent purple sea. I have lain there, sprawled and broken upon the rocks. I have let the unknown rise up and take me as I sleep, have felt the raspy gelatinous tide as it washes over and through me, consuming every inch of my flesh and silencing my mind within sheets of rubbery, violet darkness. I have felt the way the sea presses thickly upon the open mouth, closes the nose and takes the air from heavy lungs. There is a part of me which suffocates succulently every time I let the tide take me, every time I slip into the beyond on the sweet and heady taste which the lips of the guardian leave lingering on my mouth. I feel its muffled cries in the haze of my death-sleep, but it is a dull, quiet sensation. I do not waken, do not move. I know the cries, almost expect them, need them. I know they are the dying sounds of a forgotten childhood, tired notes, mind-spun strains of a life never lived. A life lived only in dreams.
- - -
E.S. Wynn is the author of the Pink Carbide Trilogy and the long running series The Cygnus War. He lives in rural California and is slated to graduate with his B.A. in English in May of 2010. He works as a part time author, part time editor, part time sword salesman and part time broker for Pre-Paid Legal services.
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