Many stories circulated around The Eye, some grim, some make others grin. These are four, that's for sure, sure to shed some light on those who were an apocalyptic blight.
The Little Plague.
A girl confined to her bed.
Thinking she was dead.
Wearing a mask, that did hide her hideous face.
Her sickness was great, only thing greater? Her wonder.
She wanted a doctor, one who could love and support her.
Her wish was fulfilled, and she wasn't ill any longer.
Her body still weak, but she could still play.
Though her mother still saw her as nothing more than a bother.
Her parent dismayed, yet with the sickness at bay, they couldn't lie to themselves any longer.
A single drink was all it took, a simple sip was what meant she wouldn't live any longer.
Longer.
Longer.
Longer.
If she had more time, who knows what she could have done?
Become a doctor herself, help those have given up on themselves.
Cure plagues great and small, yet only now...
She was no more.
The Scales of Famine.
Judgement was all he knew.
Even when he stared at his stew.
He only wanted a bite, yet was only given spite.
The scales that tipped in his favour, would meet him with a bizarre flavour.
He was left in the streets, gobbling on discarded sweets, only to find something that caught his eye.
A golden scale left on the street nearby.
Without much thought, the boy did rob, stealing the scales for himself.
He tried to sell them, yet none would buy, for what he didn't know was...
The scales were a lie.
Not made of any gold, but a fool he would be called.
His hunger ever growing almost as much as it was snowing.
The winter had come, and he was done.
Left in the snow. Alone
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
He was alone, the snow that filled the street was like his own.
But the scales tipped with a simple bit of his last remaining piece of spit.
His hunger faded, but he was jaded.
Not at the world but those in charge, he would give food to the needy and leave those at the top to starve.
As he grew, so to did his outlook on those he once knew.
He soon vanished on one random day, when it was discovered everyone was nothing more than food for his weird ways.
The Dog of War.
Every dog has its day, that was the saying that drove the armies on their way.
A group of nine, each skilled in the art of war, even still they were not ready for...
The dog of War.
It only looked like a cute little pup, that was until it ran amok.
Biting, chewing and barking its way through them, the nine where faced with something like a demon.
The youngest among them, thought it cruel to kill such an innocent thing.
So he was sentenced to be hanged by who he thought were like kin.
As he lay still on the block, a bit of luck was given to him in the form of a cute little pup.
The dog avenged the spirit of the one it saw fit, yet he realised it was only playing with him.
It was not a beast, but a dog without much.
So he did what he thought and gave the dog his own home.
The dog was confused, staring at the body.
But it knew, it was super lucky.
Lucky.
Lucky.
Lucky.
Lucky was a word that not many knew, as after that day, a new thing was born anew.
A dog eared man, who loved to stab, almost as much as he enjoyed to prattle.
Everyone became aware, and this tale was made to give a name to the beast that wanted nothing more than to chase its own tail.
The Shepard and Her Flock.
There once was a girl named Mary.
She lived in a home with fairies.
Some people thought she was scary.
The town said she was a witch, but her parents would just call her a... Bit unique.
One day, the girl asked her parents for a pet.
Her mother looked grim, but her father couldn't help but grin.
And on that day, Mary got her wish.
Three little lambs, each of them glad.
Mary was happy, humming a tune that soon caught on to the town. They were joyful, the song filled their hearts, almost as much as Mary.
With her crook in hand, she led her flock.
Though on a stormy night, Mary was in for a shock.
Humming her tune and checking on her young crew.
She opened the pen, only to be left confused.
Her lambs were gone, the only thing left were three funny little bows.
In her worry, she left only her shoes.
Into the forest she went, her energy all but spent.
But she held her crook, ringing the bell to find her herd.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
The bell did ring, yet only silence would it bring.
Try as she might, it seemed the night had taken her lambs for itself.
Despair would be apart of the girl, much like her own hair.
The sun came up, her parents where stuck, wondering why their girl had fled from her bed.
No one heard from her again, only three little rings were all she could bring.
Mary was gone.
Along with her flock.
Never to be seen again.
With those four stories done, I better run. But I'll part these words onto you. The stories here are only stories, but every tale starts with a truth. Where does the lie begin?
Questions.
Questions.
Questions.