their ruins we moved.
Down and ever down crashed the awful sledges. And ever under them the city crumbled.
There was a spider Shape that crawled up the wide stairway hammering into the stone those who tried to flee before it.
Stride by stride the Destroying Things ate up the city.
I felt neither wrath nor pity. Through me beat a jubilant roaring pulse — as though I were a shouting corpuscle of the rushing hurricane, as though I were one of the hosts of smiting spirits of the bellowing typhoon.
Through this stole another thought — vague, unfamiliar, yet seemingly of truth’s own essence. Why, I wondered, had I never recognized this before? Why had I never known that these green forms called trees were but ugly, unsymmetrical excrescences? That these high projections of towers, these buildings were deformities?
That these four-pronged, moving little shapes that screamed and ran were — hideous?
They must be wiped out! All this misshapen, jumbled, inharmonious ugliness must be wiped out! It must be ground down to smooth unbroken planes, harmonious curvings, shapeliness — harmonies of arc and line and angle!
Something deep within me fought to speak — fought to tell me that this thought was Joe Kocur Tröjor not human thought, not my thought — that it was the reflected thought of the Metal Things!
It told me — and fiercely it struggled to make me realize what it was that it told. Its insistence was borne upon little despairing, rhythmic Kody Clark Tröja beatings — throbbings that were like the muffled sobbings of the drums of Anglie Dres Děti grief. Louder, closer came the Peuterey Męskie Wasp throbbing; clearer with it my perception of the inhumanness of my thought.
The drum beat tapped at my humanity, became a dolorous knocking at my heart.
It was the sobbing of Cherkis!
The gross Juventus face was shrunken, the cheeks sagging in folds of woe; cruelty and wickedness were wiped Belgie Dres Dámské from Woolrich Męskie Arctic Parka it; the evil in the eyes had been washed out by tears. Niger Dresy Eyes streaming, bull throat and barrel chest racked by his sobbing, he watched the passing of his people and his city.
And relentlessly, Maillot Albanie coldly, Norhala watched him — as though loath to lose the faintest shadow of his agony.
Now I saw we were close to the top of the mount. Packed between us and the immense white structures that crowned it were thousands of the people. They fell on their knees before us, prayed Barcelona Dres Dámské to us. They tore at each other, striving to hide themselves from us in the mass that was themselves. They beat against the barred doors of the sanctuaries; they climbed the pillars; they swarmed over the golden roofs.
There was a moment of chaos — a chaos of which we were the heart. Then temple and palace cracked, burst; were shattered; fell. I caught glimpses of gleaming sculptures, glitterings of gold and of silver, flashing of gems, shimmering of gorgeous draperies — under them a weltering of men and women.
We closed down upon them — over them!
The dreadful Wendel Clark Tröja sobbing ceased. I saw the head of Cherkis swing heavily upon a Kurtka Woolrich Damskie Parka Blizzard shoulder; the eyes closed.
The Destroying Things touched. Their links:
http://www13.plala.or.jp/white_roots/gwbbs/gwbbs.cgi
http://www.myip.cn/cgimage.lv
http://www.rockclimbing.com/cgi-bin/gear/search.cgi |
