Wednesday, 16 May 2012

History by Antosh W

History doesn’t repeat itself here. I am just as I was sat In my high chair with my lap dog drooling at my feet, a deformed star emblem on his shoulder.

I am successful. They all died as I intended. No escapees, no refugees finding solace in other countries. All of them wiped out.

Purity rose from their ashes. It shone like the flames that surround this place, this eternal furnace of my own creation.

History changes. It can be shaped in fire however you want it. Here it is permanently stoked and no one can put it out. No one can ever stop me. Anyone who wanted couldn’t even try. They’re all locked upstairs.

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