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Flygon_Zero
March 7th, 2006, 04:50 PM
Oi...it should be skies of grey -.-

The skies were covered in grey clouds of smoke and ash, and the air was filled with a putrid scent, each breath smelling of decay and of destruction. There were rooms of fire, were the decomposing flesh of those lucky enough to escape was disposed of, merely adding to the greyed skies, and the rank air. There were rooms of purification and cleansing where these lucky souls were released..Then there was the barracks, the "living" quarters of the ****ed, forced into lives of slavery, driven to starvation, and tossed into states of illness. In the midst of all of this, there was one boy, named Alexiz. This is the story of Alexiz and his skies.

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I remember the day I arrived as if it were just yesterday, which alone is enough for the others to judge me, as I should have been derived of all my humanity. It was a very sunny day when they picked my family and I up, shoving us into a tight train compartment, filled with screaming adults, and crying children, everyone aware of the fate that awaited, and wishing with all their might for some sort of salvation, absolution. Myself, I was already giving up hope. I had heard the stories of these hell holes, I'd heard of all the suffering and all the pain, and I had heard of how there was no escape.

When we arrived, something else I had heard was confirmed, I was torn away from my family, and watched as my mother and baby brother were directed to the showers for cleansing. I knew better than to think I would ever see them again. I looked up into the sky and saw the skies had become grey, the sun completely eclipsed, and began to wonder when I'd see my mother there. I had little chance to wonder however, as I was quickly shoved towards the next area of my ****ation. I was shaved completely, my hair which I had cared for so much back then, all gone forever. There was to be no individuality in the beginning, and no caring for it in the later parts of suffering. This is also the last place I saw my father. One of the guards was staring at him rather oddly. They had stripped him down, and it seemed they found an abnormality. He was sent to be cleansed as well, and that was it. I was alone again. However, before I was moved on, this guard turned and caught my eye. His eyes were a deep red, crimson even, and when he saw the slightest formation of a tear in my eye, he grined an evil grin. I imagined him as my salvation for some reason, and from that day forth, he was known as my red eyed angel.

I was sent to the dressing rooms, where all of my own clothes was taken from me, and I was forced into rags, torn and battered, ridden with insects of all kinds, and at least one size too small. They said it would not matter, as I'd be fitting into them perfectly rather soon. From here I was sent to my living quarters. A dark and dank room, filled with a horrid smell of sweat, blood, urine, most of the body fluids I had ever imagined. It was truly terrible. Luckily, I was saved from the smell for a while, as I was forced into work almost immediately.

I was on the fields with everyone else, given a shovel, and forced to dig endless trenches for our fallen people, not given a proper release, and just left to rot in the ground below us. I don't know how long it was until I stopped vomitting, but it took quite a while. Luckily, I meant a boy of my own age, he said his name was Francis. He had apparently seen me in my hometown just a few weeks ago, but I could not remember him for the life of me. His story seemed similar to my own, his family torn away from him, but in his case, he saw their release. His father had tried to fight, to gain at least some sort of freedom for his wife, and was shot down quickly. His wife, being loyal in life and death, sprang forth and rested his head on her shoulder, before being shot herself. Francis told me of how difficult it was to see this happen, and how much more difficult it was to be the one burying them. He told me it was quite common to bury one's own family here, that it was their way of tearing down your soul.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and soon, a year had gone by. Francis and I had grown closer, working together to keep one another strong, promising we'd see this through to the bitter end, for all those comrades we took our shovels to. However, we were both beginning to crumble. I myself had begun having night terrors, the most terrifying things I had ever experienced. I was working as hard as I always do, when everything grew black, and everything became eerily silent. Out of the skies, a small ray of light shone through, piercing the ash and smoke, growing thicker and thicker with each passing second. From within this beam, a figure began to emerge, human? possibly, but possibly not. As it grew closer, I saw more details of it, and realized its eyes grew a deep red, crimson, and I knew, my saviour had come, my red eyed angel. With one swift movement of his arm, I fell forth onto the ground, and awoke covered in dirt, unable to move, and staring into the eyes of Francis, watching as he poured more dirt onto my corpse, tears being fought back.

When I told Francis of this, he said it was crazy, because as we both knew, the guards would rather he die first. At this, we would both laugh, for a short time, and then we'd grow silent. The silences between us were always the worst, as if a chilling dagger had been plunged directly into me.
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Moving into the second half of the second year, I awoke to find Francis had vanished. I asked around the barracks to see if anyone knew what had happened, and turned out my very own red eyed angel had come for him. No one knew for sure why, but we all felt why deep inside. At this point, I broke down. Francis had been my only family for, as ironic as it is, the best parts of my life. He had kept me strong, kept me going, he was more than family to me at this point, and now he was gone. What would I ever do without him...? How would i possibly make it through another day of suffering?....He was my connection to life, and without him, I'd have died long ago...

As always, my thoughts were cut short, and I was forced back to the fields, where we were given a new batch of comrades to dig for. I chose not to look at any of them, for fear of spotting Francis. I merely dug my holes, slower than usual it seems, as the guards were yelling louder at me. At one point, I was even getting whipped to go faster. I still remember the pain of each blow as it cut into my skin. That pain is nothing now. I kept going, working until it was almost time to go. However, I had not eaten for well over a week already, I had given most of my food to Francis as he seemed to need it more. I believe I collapsed at this point, at which time my dream began once more. However, when I awoke, I was no longer in the dirt, I was in the cleansing room. There were others in here with me, and I was able to feel each of their fear. They all began running frantically for the doors, the windows, any opening possible, a hopeless quest for survival. I sat there, straight in the center where the pellets dropped and waited. I knew what was coming, and I knew it was all for the best. I would finally see my mother an father in the grey skies, and be reunited with my dear Francis.
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It has been quite a while already, and I believe the guards are merely taunting us. They want us to suffer more, to want our fates to arrive instead of fearing them. I walk slowly to the window, where I am greeted by a pair of crimson eyes, and an evil grin. He signals to his left, where I see bits of a lever, which he quickly pulls. A faint hissing sound begins, and I return to my place in the center. It's time, and I am perfectly fine with it. I wonder if my Francis is alright. I wonder if they treated him to a noble death, or gave him what those lower than us slaves got. At any rate, soon, I'd know for sure.
As the gas falls, I hear the mothers and children cry, already gasping for air as the poison seeps into their lungs, shutting off their bodies, and leaving them as limp bags of flesh and bone. It gets closer and closer to me, and seems as if it turns, gets those around me, before finally taking me. It's as close as it can be now, and I shall sleep.
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I find it odd that I am awake again. I figured dying meant I'd stay dead...but I can hear and feel things yet. Though I cannot see, as everything is dark, and the putrid smell is worse still. In the distance, I begin to see something, a part of my dream is my first thought, the ray of light which always brought my demise, but how can this be, if I am already fallen?
..
My red eyed angel descends as always, but when light returns to the scene, I see no longer my vision of release, but my dear, and departed - or so I thought- Francis. My finally dream had come true, and after the release of my red eyed angel, my dear dear Francis is the one to finish me. I can feel the clumps of dirt begin to pile, I can feel myself go limper and limper as the light fades once again. I choose as my final vision of the world, not my Francis, and not my red eyed angel, but the skies of grey which from the beginning, spelled out my fate, the skies of grey which are my release.

Flygon_Zero
March 17th, 2006, 08:50 PM
Is it that bad of a story? >_>

Lily
March 17th, 2006, 09:05 PM
Not really, no. Just that some people are too lazy to review properly [hence: me].

It was realistic and confusing, at times. The story overall presented itself in a rather serious mood, conveying the theme of the importance of family as well as the atrocity of some of life's cruelties.

Grammar wise, some odd, meaningless typos and you should condense the commas a bit - way too many of them in the beginning. I'd also advise you to stray away from another one of those 'This is a story about..so and so' as an introductory paragraph, but to each his own~ The red-eyed angel was intriguing, to say the least..

Not bad; I liked the consistent poetic tone, especially near the end. The ending was beautiful. ^_^