The Hollow

Poetry and Prose

Strands of crimson stain rocks on a rustic mountain side. Dreams of a warrior crushed as shards of mastic bolders fall from the ashen sky. Each one, a burden, stuck to his exposed skin.

Fighting for every inch of progress, wounds slowly ozing life's precious liquid. With his every breath getting more difficult, he eyes his final prize. Taking each of his last painful strides. His warrior heart beating. 

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

But to his surprise the harder he would try, his body openly denied.  

Bleed!

Bleed!

Bleed!

The warrior's will broken, lying at the pedestal. His body shattered, thick blotches of crimson painted his pale blue body. His mission nearly finished, a battle never won.

A Soldier's future, to be food for worms. 

“Blood makes the green grass grow!”

AvnSgt

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It is said that “Old Soldiers never die, they Just fade away!” Nothing could be further from the truth today. I am perplexed and don't quite know what say.

Old Soldiers, we follow orders. Not death, only quarters. Even when the CO won't let that fly. She lovingly states, “Old Soldiers never die!”

No matter the mission or the task at hand,. Old Soldiers are always found in a band. Though these brother remain unbroken. All that is left is a token. A name engraved, behest and bespoken. Another Old Soldier's spouse, heartbroken.

No! Old Soldiers, they never die. They just fade away.

Originally written: August 22, 2018

By: AvnSgt

On this day, Retired Warrant Officer A. R. Montero, lost his battle with myeloid leukemia. There could not have been a greater loss of life. Chief Montero, will always be remember for his friendliness, kind spirit, and helpful hand.

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.

Little Death

I knew a guy who's wish it was to die, Each day he gave it a new try, And with every attempt, He felt like a wimp, For simply going limp,

If your mind is in the gutter, Be sure to spit and stutter,

For what is about to come, Might make your brain go numb,

On this night he saw something white, Oh my god, what a sight, He shook it in disgrace While looking upon your face,

With a sigh of relief, And a faint sound of queef, He exclaimed, at last I have release!

Originally written: August 15th, 2018 By: AvnSgt

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.

Ember's Curse

Even-though Ember was skilled with her sword and shield, allowing her to hold her own in combat. One might say she had taken too many blows to her head, as she couldn't do simple addition. This little fact left her completely unaware that the curse she was enduring, was caused by her own decision to venture to this far away land. A land where dying has no meaning, and death itself, is not finite. None the less she was determined to find a way to end to her burden.

Ember began thinking to herself, “why do I fail? My sword cuts, and bodies fall. My hunger is never satiated. Why do I crave more? And, what is it that I crave?” Without direction, she continued to push forward through the masses. Or, what she thought was forward, because there was no way to know where one was going. No sun or stars to navigate by, nor a compass or map to use in the foreign land. Only a hunger for the souls of the dead, to satisfy the burning of the curse.

And, as Ember's sword furiously cut down her foes. Rage making her momentarily blind to another being sneaking up on her. The being whispered in Ember's ear “It will all be over soon.” But, before she could turn around and mount a defense against her assailant, his serrated blade had already pierced the jugular. Ember's assailant watched as the life faded from her eyes and she began to collapse to the ground. Just moments before her death, she had hoped for a sweet release. But the curse would not allow for such a thing to happen, and in the flicker of the flame, Ember found herself once again arising from the ash.

Originally Written: August 11th, 2018 By: AvnSgt Part 2

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Ember's Curse

Ember awoke and arose from cemetery ash. She stumbled, nearly falling back to the ground, as she tried to find her footing. She thought to herself, “It is never gets any easier being reborn of the fire.” The ring branded on the back of her hand awash with a bright red glow. Why did I agree to come here in the first place? And, where is here? Her mind slowly slipping away, as her humanity fades.

She, like many others, ventured to Lordoran, initially seeking fame and fortune. But what she found was a curse. One of which, would not allow Ember's soul a moments rest, lest she go hollow, and lose all that is precious. For the price of her humanity was the blood of victims killed by her blade.

I must break the curse, and shed the brand upon my hand. Alas, this is no easy task. “Where do I even begin,” She thought. I don't even know who or what caused this curse. And, the longer I delay the less I seem to rememeber. Someone or something is responible for this condition. And, by my blade they will pay, so I might shed this acursed brand forever.

...

Originally written: July 26th, 2018 By: AvnSgt Part 1

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.

First, I want to thank you for visiting my little corner of the internet and discovering this treasure trove. The writings you will read here are the property of one Lawrence Ott, aka “AvnSgt,” and are subject to copyright protections under the law.

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.

Know that all works will contain the date they were originally written, as well as, my aka signature; with the exception of this post. I have added the Mastodon Signature to it, in the rare event someone would like to contact me.

Originally written: July 25th, 2018 @AvnSgt@Fosstodon.org

Lost

Scorched Veil, Adorned her blacken skin, Charred lace, Ample bosom, Flesh melted by liquid fire, Skin from bone, Tissue rending from flesh,

Who was this veiled woman, How came she by her death, What pain she suffered, Why did this happen,

Lost, Lost,

Dazed and dreaming, Can it be, The veiled woman is me, Impossible, For I am a man,

By what power, What deity, May I understand, For who made it so, That I would, That I should, Know a death of a woman,

Lost, Lost,

Originally written: Sept 27, 2014 By: AvnSgt

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.

Minutes Tick By...

Grains of black sand, in a glass hand. Hours belonging to some unknown man. Minutes tick by, while seconds fly.

As iotas pass, this man will not last. His moment is brief, in a world of unbelief. With time not on his side, he has swallowed his pride.

A fine layer of dust, belies the broken trust. Grains of black sand, in an empty glass hand. Time has expired for the unknown man. But, minutes tick by, and seconds continue to fly.

Originally written: June 22nd, 2018 By: AvnSgt

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.

Laceration

A cold steel blade nicks the wrist. Drops of sanguine fluid form, as he clenches his fist.

Temper flares. Shrieking, “No one cares!” Laceration, final lamentations!

Rending flesh and sinew, from his bone. For sins that one could not atone.

All alone. Laceration, act of desperation!

Confusing thoughts, constant and nagging. Shock but no awe, the body starts sagging. Frame so frail, just a husk soon passing.

Eyes heavy, lids shutter. Labored breathing, with a sputter. Not one more word can he utter.

Laceration!

Originally written: June 21st, 2018 By: AvnSgt

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Honor Bound

Honor bound, when the fife and drums sound,

To war!

He must defend the country's crown,

While leaders argue, as tensions boil,

Freedom's name, is forever soiled,

But, when the fife and drums sound,

Only then, will the Soldier be bound,

Upon Elysian Fields,

Where great sorrow abounds,

His pride is lost, in liberation's vain.

Forever soiled, in Freedom's great name!

As the fife and drums falls silent!

Upon a crimson morn,

He never condoned such violence,

But, instead he suffered in utter silence,

His wounds so deep, scars so real,

In Freedom's name, his life would be still,

For ever man whose life he did kill!

In Freedom's name...

Originally written: September 27th, 2014 By: AvnSgt

While I hope you enjoy the pieces I have written, please respect my works, and refrain from sharing them on any social media platforms outside of the fediverse.