Screams. My own.
And these of so many others.
We are in a Baby Ward or Factory - our first "job."
And a prick of a needle or the sudden absence of a mother's or a father's voice or touch decided the fate or fortune [or both] of us all.
We who survived were doomed to live among those with no ears or mouths or mothers or fathers or minds - soldiers, warriors, they for whom pain made their brain light up with so many fires of sacred knowledge and creative neuro-chemistry which would not soon suffer to be deprived of its greatest liberty, safety and power.
All they needed or craved was war. And they were never disappointed yet always inclined to complain to absolutely no avail - or ever likely to be.
This were so complete a hell that they called it the World and, on rare or holy occasions, heaven, paradise.
The darkening day faded like tales of elemental spirits into the silence of the night and a quiet yet even more deafening than that.
Spring was not long in coming or in sunning Herself beside rivers of deepest cold and molten ferocity of root and branch and stone, of moss and leaf and wind by darkest day.
And it was a fact commonly known among all peoples that the furnace of Hell had no greater flame than that of the unrequited shame and humiliation of its most captive audience, an humiliation that seemed to spring eternal as with its very first hot red blush upon the cheek and now and then visit upon a man here or a woman there a rare bolt of exhilaration-by-capitulation as from a time past and never to return, not until all the Earth were burned and consumed by an unquenchable inferno of thirst for the knowledge of war, of its language and story, its meter and rhyme as it heard the winds of Peace with all its flags and turned them into howling monsters - our ancestors - and viperous eels.
Such were this unrequited inferno of loneliness, alienation, fear and sorrow, anger, ambition and grit determination that bit like a dagger into the bone and blood whose "Holy language" our own mother's belly first succumb to on that fabled and fated day whose shadow never sets upon the mind of man a magic that requires his attention and a torture that requires his ignorance and incorporation of it into his every surviving language of flesh and blood devoid of all flesh and all blood, of all love.
- Fables and Fortunes Story Swap and Mischief Making
"As my whole flesh and blood mutiny said to my abusive and deluded Father and Family and They to Me in Their Turn - Know Thy Strength."
- Ancient Raynian Fable, early Twenty-First Century