GeneralAce

きみは闇 がより強力。 つぎ勝利。

A man lay at my feet, a switchblade clutched in his crimson left hand and a jagged gash tearing him apart from neck to hip. All I had fathomed for those few moments was "I did it. I killed that man." Had it mattered that he struck first? If there were any alternatives to violence then perhaps it wouldn't have been a corpse I left but a companion or even a rationalised man. And although the exchange ended swiftly, the moment I clutched the hilt of my weapon I experienced a sensation of timelessness, feeling as though I stood behind myself and watched metal carve through flesh until I returned to viewing the world through solemn blue orbs at a

I felt expelled and exiled in this city that begged me to belong to it. On the fifty-third floor of a sleek, repulsively clean apartment block, I struggled out of bed and into a world of modernised gloom and dark towers that accentuated the alacrity to which the world had developed. The light switch, opposite the bed, was coated in a dense layer of dust for I seldom used it. Light was merely an artificial and stagnant glow from a luminescent bulb and I found it unable to mitigate the dreary atmosphere this city exuded. The natural light of the sun was never present, it was shunned by the aphotic sky-scrapers that dominated the city and instea

Just when I beginning to suspect that my fatigue would overwhelm me, I arrived at a quaint little place, a desolated shack that stood out from the rest of the ruins with its modest glimmer in the evening sunlight, where a young woman with ash-white hair was tending to the dirt with a weary mannerism. She wore a dusty white dress of prominent raggedness, and as I paused to observe her the sun shimmered and seemed to stop in the sky and the world was bathed in a strange, stagnant luminescence as though trying to accentuate her significance. Her hair radiated in the soft, still radiance as though it was made of light. I cannot explain the fasci

目の光 は別のものの 闇である。

暗い 都市 の 放浪者 は 夢 を 見る。

穏やかに 思考のように 山の雪。