I..I can hear them..

This horrible symphony of screams, backed by the choir of fear..pain, and despair. The sound is sharp in this desperate world and it cuts through my ears like knives..yet I try not to listen. Feign ignorance..

I, I can feel them..

between my fingers. They wither around in this pitiful last dance of life. Hoping..praying to break free from the grasp of the reaper himself. Sometimes they do manage the feat but like the wings of a swift swallow their life is always claimed shortly after. I try to withdraw..but this urge keeps me firmly in place.

I can taste them too..

When we open our maw wide to devour even though the need for nourishment is none at all. Dull and cracked canines glinting in the setting sun like mirrors that they are forced to see themselves in. Our mouths water at the metallic..warm liquid pulsing just beneath the limbs held in our palms. Tongue lashing out like a hummingbird to lick up the nector of a to delicate flower. Each time the outcome is the same..crunching bone, ripping sinew, gritty metal mechanics that scratch on the way down. I imagine drinking something outdated and bitter instead.

It reeks of nothing but humans..

The scent is strong and lingers even here within this bulbous body. Ash, burning hair or skin. Coppery coins that remind you of what you've just swallowed. Makes it obvious that they are living human beings. Fear hangs the thickest. A sour and bitter smell but right now you think of how enticing it is. I try my best to stop breathing at all..but it hurts..

The worst perhaps of all...is seeing..

We watch them from our towering height. Like bees buzzing around on swift wings, doe dodging on light feet. Sometimes it's dizzying, the way they zip along on some sort of invisible course. But that I can find to..and once I do then the cord is snapped and they are reduced to mere toys on strings. Mothers reach for their babies, fathers curse your existence, people cry...children stare, unable to comprehend. Its like watching the pictures of some twisted story burst to life with every new page. The images..even when closing your eyes seem to burn into your conscious mind..but I can't sleep..I can't turn them off..

I can only wait untill the end. It's the only way for this madness to cease. You pray that one day one of the little beings clothed in green or orange will become clever enough to kill you. Cut into the nap of your neck and snap this off switch of hell.

You also pray for their survival, their success, glory, love, spirit, souls as each cadet throws everything into their fight..

this fight that I have to watch..

this Attack..On Titan..


This is by far the most morbid thing I've ever wrote..

Congratulations to five hours of watching Attack on Titan! Glob my butt hurts from sitting so long. Anyways, I just wanted to try this little idea out. It's been used, mentioned, or dreamed about in a few genres. That beasts aren't empty shells and blah..

In "The Forest of Hands and Teeth" i believe one of the characters even "turns" themselves, stating that she wishes to live with her deceased and no longer human husband. In Attack on Titan Eren still has a conscious while in Titan Form, so why not all the others eh? Ha that aside, I have my craving of weird writing done..soooo moving on ~