Return of post apocalyptic girl.

I am the apocalyptic girl:

The blood along my thin hands and frame flow cold and absolute as I walk amongst this baron land, i see people on their knees praying to their gods, i look up hoping that they’d come down with a hand and help them as they prophecy states, so i can slit the wrist of the helping hand itself, so that i can bathe and taste the blood of their beloved savior, and watch the minds of their worshipers minds and bodies crumble like the lands they inhabit.

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The last writting. Soul of a journalist.

Journalist - Title

The last writing of a failed cloning experiment – The soul of a Journalist.

I the lone journalist am riding the great crest of civilization, flowing through the emotional sea of the metaverse. If you look just beyond the crashing wave; you begin to see things. Things that the human mind is not meant to comprehend. Things that break people, shatter families and destroy entire civilizations just by thought alone. I have seen those things. It lies just beyond the point of the neither-realms of the conscious world and the subconscious. That in another dimension; The one which feeds us the energy that pulsates the synaptic patterns of the human brain, lay a world almost inconceivable of our own.

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I am the post apocalyptic girl

Taco-Geddon - Post Apocalyptic - Title

Diaries of the post apocalyptic girl.

I am the post apocalyptic girl. I can feel the energy coming off of the satellites above me, calling out for their masters, I wish i can shut them up, tell them that their masters are dead, and they’re as isolated as i am. the survivors don’t understand why i wear high-heeled boots.

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