Deafnotdumb

The Tyrant I am climbing up the mountain. The cliff-face is sheer and stretches on forever, though the rocky crevasses are easy to trespass. My hands grip the sharp rock that bites into me, drawing bloody beads from my palms and smearing the smooth granite with bright red strands. Some days ahead, I may reach the top. Or I may fall. It is a question of luck and duty. -=-=-=-=-= My name is Drake, and I am a freedom fighter and a terrorist. Both titles are true. I fight for freedom, yes, and I use methods of terror – I terrorize – in order to do it. You cannot have one without the other or so I say. Honesty is a humble virtue an

On some far and distant plain There lie two loyal and brave. No company but the falling rain Theirs 'tis a sad and lonely grave. One rough but kind, One vain but true Ah, the finest friends you never knew! Who knows? Perhaps they are sleeping there still.

I sprint like a rogue virus through the city of ash-grey streets and neon-lit slums, the buildings looming out of the landscape like silicon blocks on a motherboard while roads dart and entwine between them, little channels of information and bursting light in this world of concrete and metal. My transport was destroyed three blocks back so my feet rush across the road among swerving programs and protocols that yell at me with a chorus of horns as they tilt dangerously near to the pavement. But my mission's more important than these people: it's a poorer district and nobody in those is truly useful to the functioning of the city – repla

 The eyes stay with me. I have seen the rise of empires and the death of millions; I have seen the earthly home formed and the shifting of the continents; I have seen the destruction of civilizations and the wonders of ages; I have seen the lands of the Orient, the recesses of darkest Africa, the desolation of the lands of ice, the strange leathery creatures from the birth of this planet and the stranger, furred, ones that came later. I have seen all there is to conceive of, from the heavens above to the dark below. Though I have lived a thousand thousand years and will live thousands more, the eyes of the dead reach across the eons. When

The Coyote "I do not talk to figments of my imagination." The thing that is not a coyote laughs at this, brashly, with an undulating sound that manages to trigger the same reaction as fingernails on a blackboard. He is certain the coyote is not a coyote because you don't get them in cities and they usually look like they have skeletons. The thing is too big to be a coyote- despite being the same size as a large dog, it carries the continent inside it. It moves through the city and is the city and the metal of the city and the ground of the city and the people of the city and lopes through the main street as if owning it would be beneath him