LOGINNow everything is changing...with everyone of us sweeping under the carpet the scars of yesterday's sins. Those scars are what kept me alive until you are all born to hear the story. The world government was powerful and taking advantage of the human colonial minds, they buried our freedom and equity. But now that we the Elites whom they educated and rose to revolts against the fingers that had fed us... What do you call it? Oh! yes they had termed it Rebellion. They did call us rebels, for seeking a small ration part of the best that nature has given to mankind. Al-sural-tu-Nas. This for mankind, tell ye that the beast you trained in the dark had turned to an angel in the day. We are filled from the pot of lies now that our bellies cannot contain what they obtain, the promises that were compromised, treaties that were breached, least they covered the black mails and lies with a blanket of Diplomacy. But now is the snatch of the gallon beer from the drunkard because now there is what when diplomacy fails.....is war. "Now we are free." Later in the future a seed germinates bearing fruits of the YESTERDAYS as she possess the abilities to time travel and set broken pieces together but this has consequences in the future of mankind. Read along
View MoreGracie
My fiancé is gay. That was the thought echoing through my head as I stood there frozen, watching a scene I could never unsee. I stared at the man thrusting into my fiancé’s ass, and at Charles moaning like a goddamn whore in heat. This was my fiance, the man I was supposed to marry in five days. The man I had shared a bed, a future, a life with for five whole years. But he was there, legs spread wide, eyes rolled back in bliss I had never seen cross his face when he was with me. I couldn’t breathe anymore, everywhere felt like it was spinning. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My eyes stayed locked, watching as if my brain couldn’t register that this was real. “Ah, fuck, Mark… yes, I love this… fuck… you’re so big.” Charles moaned, and the words hit me like punches to the gut. My hand flew to my mouth, pressing hard to keep the nausea down. My heart felt like it had been torn from my chest and shoved down a garbage disposal. Was this a nightmare? Was I going to wake up in our apartment, beside him, with his arms around me and none of this real? “Fuck yeah, Charles, baby,” the man grunted. “Take my big boy. Take him good.” “Ah, daddy! Give me your big boy!!!” Tears burned the back of my eyes. My knees buckled slightly, and I reached out to the doorframe for support. Daddy? He had never called me anything in bed. What was I saying? He had never seemed that interested in sex with me. Two minutes. That was the amount of minutes he took before he came. Anytime I asked him for more, he would say he was tired or he would just give me a disgusted look before leaving. My mind raced, spiraling out of control. Is he gay? Bisexual? Has he always been like this? Had he been faking it with me? All these years? Every kiss, every time he said I love you, every plan we made for the future, was it all a lie? I felt humiliated, sick, and like a goddamn fool. How do women process this? How do they act when they find out their supposedly straight fiancé is getting his back blown out by another man days before the wedding? But what was I saying? Most women haven’t caught their future husband mid-thrust with another man. I felt something wet on my cheeks. My hand lifted, brushing my skin. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. “Fuck, yes, I’m close!!” Charles moaned from the bed. I shook my head slowly, like maybe if I shook hard enough, I could wake up from this twisted reality. But the sound of him panting, the sight of them tangled together was still there. I laughed bitterly. “You know what?” I said, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You’re really fucking shameless, Charles.” They froze and Charles’s head whipped toward me. His eyes stretched wide in panic. He scrambled away from the man between his legs, grabbing at the nearest blanket and yanking it over himself like that could somehow undo what I’d just seen. “G-Gracie…” he stammered, his voice cracking. “What… what are you doing here?” I pressed harder against the wall, still wiping at the tears with the back of my shaking hand, trying to stay on my feet. “What am I doing here?” I repeated slowly, meeting his eyes. “That’s the first thing you have to say? After I walk in on this?” He shook his head, still clutching the blanket. “No. No, it’s not— it’s not what it looks like.” “Not what it looks like? Not what it looks like?!” I pushed off the wall, legs wobbling, hands balled into fists. “Charles, you’re cheating on me with a fucking man. In our bed. In the house we brought to live together after our wedding. You are spreading your ass for someone else, moaning his name like you have never been fucked before, and you have the audacity to tell me it’s not what it looks like? What exactly does it look like, then? He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His face crumpled as he looked at me with shame, guilt, and mostly fear. “You’re a bastard,” I hissed. “After everything I’ve done for you. After five years of loyalty, patience, planning our goddamn future together, this is what I get in return? This is who you are when I’m not looking? How dare you do this to me!” The man who had been inside him only moments ago rolled his eyes and sat up. “Jesus,” he muttered. “How dramatic.” He started pulling on his clothes, unbothered. “I don’t want to be caught up in this mess, Charles. I’m out.” Charles turned to him, panicked. “Mark, wait— I’m sorry. I didn’t know—” Mark cut him off with a dismissive wave. “It’s fine. You were right about her, though. She is dramatic.” That did it. Something inside me snapped. My whole body shook with rage. Why were they acting like this was normal? Why were they not on their knees begging? Why was no one crying but me? He didn’t even look surprised, that meant he knew Charles was already in a relationship and still went ahead and fucked him on our bed. “You fucking asshole!” I stormed toward him, hand raised, ready to deliver the slap he damn well deserved, but before I could reach him, Charles moved fast. “Stop it, Gracie!” he shouted, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back. His grip was tight, fingers digging into my skin. “What the hell are you doing?!” “What am I doing?” I spat, eyes blazing. “Stay out of it, bastard! Wait for your fucking turn.” I jerked toward Mark, but Charles stepped in front of me again, blocking my path. “Don’t be delusional,” he said coldly. “I won’t let you touch him. Don’t even dare.” My heart dropped. He sounded so… protective of him. The man he cheated with. The man who had just mocked me, smirked at me, and walked out of bed with my fiancé like this was some goddamn sitcom. “Why?” I whispered, stunned. “Why are you protecting him? Are you seriously defending him? After what you did to me? Shouldn't you be on your knees right now?” Behind Charles, Mark straightened his shirt, not even trying to hide the smugness on his face. Then he looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Why are you surprised?” he said, shrugging casually. “Did you honestly think he ever liked you in the first place? Use your brain, girl.” My mouth opened, but no sound came out. “If it weren’t for your families being involved,” Mark continued, “do you really think he’d even look at someone like you?” My vision blurred with anger. I could feel the blood roaring in my ears. “Let me go,” I growled through gritted teeth, yanking at my arm. “Let me go this instant, Charles!” “No!” he barked. “Stop it, Gracie!” I shoved him hard enough to make him stumble back a step. I charged toward Mark, ready to slap the smug off his goddamn face but Charles lunged between us and in a flash, his hand shot out and slapped me hard. My head jerked to the side, cheek burning at the sudden impact. “Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on Mark!”The blood moon rose like an omen, swollen and red, casting a harsh glow through the thin curtains of Thelma’s home. The children were asleep, or so she believed, but the silence in the house was not peaceful. It was thick with tension—as though even the walls held their breath.Thelma stood before the mirror, no longer flinching at what stared back. Her eyes now carried the glow of embers, faint but steady, like a coal that refused to die. Her skin, once soft and bronze, had developed scale-like textures along her shoulder blades. It itched where wings longed to sprout.She whispered to her reflection, “Tonight, the tale changes.”Downstairs, a door creaked.She turned sharply.It was Saint. Awake again. Watching her.“Momma,” he said, “someone is here.”The knock came before she could speak. Slow. Measured. Deliberate.Thelma stepped away from Saint and descended the stairs. Her heartbeat no longer raced in moments like these. It slowed. It focused.She opened the door.A woman stood
The moon was full the night Thelma dreamt of blood.It was the kind of night where everything whispered. The air seemed to carry secrets and the trees danced to a wind that had no rhythm. Thelma lay still in bed, Saint curled beside her, his tiny hands tucked beneath his cheek. The cold of Britain did not reach her; her dreams were warmer, yet not comforting. They were too alive. Too loud.She saw flames. Not just fire, but blue fire, licking the skies like it had a mind of its own. And in its heart, a dragon—not just any, but one with scales that shimmered like obsidian and eyes that carried her reflection.She stood barefoot in the sand of a blood-soaked field, her hands covered in ashes and claw marks. Screams echoed around her, but none were from her lips. Her mouth was sealed by some ancient vow she had forgotten, yet her body remembered every syllable.Then it came—the shadow figure.She had seen him once before. In another dream. Or was it in the eyes of Alex, the preacher? Or
The moon was full the night Thelma dreamt of blood.It was the kind of night where everything whispered. The air seemed to carry secrets and the trees danced to a wind that had no rhythm. Thelma lay still in bed, Saint curled beside her, his tiny hands tucked beneath his cheek. The cold of Britain did not reach her; her dreams were warmer, yet not comforting. They were too alive. Too loud.She saw flames. Not just fire, but blue fire, licking the skies like it had a mind of its own. And in its heart, a dragon—not just any, but one with scales that shimmered like obsidian and eyes that carried her reflection.She stood barefoot in the sand of a blood-soaked field, her hands covered in ashes and claw marks. Screams echoed around her, but none were from her lips. Her mouth was sealed by some ancient vow she had forgotten, yet her body remembered every syllable.Then it came—the shadow figure.She had seen him once before. In another dream. Or was it in the eyes of Alex, the preacher? Or
I found myself creeping in the lab room where the general was keeping the rest of the army, these were humans of my kind whom have been captured during the transportation into the new world where they had lied to us was a paradise where they lived and where our greater God lived. I had all had these things they said about paradise in our head and that all we could think of was to be there someday to see with our own eyes before the cold hands of death laid upon us, but from a first hand account I am telling you these people are no good. They had lied to us all along about promising future somewhere over board when we reached our destination, but unknown to us that we were never going to reach our destination any day from now. From a first hand account I could tell you that this people from the over seas were no good kinds, they had taken us to be what we never knew that we would become. Now we were slaves to them and they were masters to my kinds.The lights in the lab room was turned
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