The Primary Visitor Safari And Campground Of Jurassic Park: Arizona. Now Featuring An Open Air Display

The primary visitor safari and campground of Jurassic Park: Arizona. Now featuring an open air display of the vicious Velociraptor!

Hey, so I have a website now!

Lots of craziness there. Check me out at https://thesovereignarchive.blogspot.com/?m=1!!!!!

It’s a huge space, a room in somewhere so vast that the horizon is just endless black wall and endless black space.

There’s an ocean with dark waves you can sense and hear, but can’t see.

And an island at the center of it, with a city. Look around you and see the ships. They are behemoths, huge and angular and organic, arching skeletal profiles silhouetted. They are waiting.

Everything is smooth as stone and ebony like a night without stars, cut through with fine lines of amber, gold, ivory. Soft, organic light pulses in those countless lines. Ancient, undeniable heartbeats.

It’s freezing. Your breath comes out in billowing fog. Thin, dark ice frosts across structures as if it were a fine artisanal coating.

The doorways are too tall for anyone human, and they flower open, or the seams vanish making the entrance into a wall. Nothing has blemishes, nothing here has been built. It’s grown. Manifested. Every surface is eerily warm against the biting cold, ridged with intricate carvings so small you have to feel them to know they are there.

Everything is too big for normal people, avenues are so wide and broad, buildings like skyscrapers that simply vanish up into shadow. It goes on and on. A labyrinth for titans.

Everything meets at the center, at a statue ringed by black water in circular canals, but it’s so massive that you can’t see it up in the gloom, just two claws on the mount, and giant legs bent backward at the joints. Is it a God for the vanished builders? A triumphant warrior? You feel an awful foreboding, an ominous realization that somewhere far above you— the statue is looking back.

They know you are here.

The Moon blesses me, rising into the sky in all its pale and hallowed glory, a howling face at my back against darkness.

Bones split, break. Pitiful human things to be discarded. My blood is an inferno and it burns against my veins, hot, flooding through the gaps in torn skin, turns snow crimson-black. Steaming.

I scream, and in turn my jaws shatter, buckling into a terrible snout. Teeth crack like sickening musical notes, flattering to the sidewalk as I lose them. Eyes bulge, midnight colored tears clouding my vision, until my sight glows with ethereal shadow unseen by any other eyes on the planet.

Spine broken before subsuming into something broader. Armored. Wings fuse outward, and then catch the wind, unfurling. Fingers mangled, lost, regrown anew in devastating talons.

My new jaws work, once, twice. Strong. Strong enough to bend iron, cleave flesh. Claws grasp in eager need, slashing at the cool air—

A howl in the distance. Familiar, and terrifying. Beautiful. My new face does not smile or grin, but even yet, I feel hungry joy.

With a flap like thunder, I sail into the night, searching for an old friend.

You dig. You’ve been digging a long time. A featureless blue sky sprawls, staring down at you. It scorns you white-hot sunlight, painful and scorching. Judgmental as long vanished gods.

You’re dirty. Dust on clothes that in another world, another time, were expensive, implication of status. Now they’re just a shell. A hollow you live inside of.

Digging. Digging. Digging. A shadow crosses the sky on huge wings, plunges you into darkness for just a heartbeat. There’s blood under your fingernails. You swore you scrubbed and scrubbed, you were careless this time, so careless—

It’s done. Another doll in the dirt.

Dusk comes and chases the Sun over the horizon to usher in perpetual, desert midnight. Cold, unblinking stars manifest in silence. You numbly climb into your car beneath them. Driving away from this, from the thing you broke.

She’s there by the side of the road. Bloodied. Gazing at you.

Every mile is accompanied by that face.

No other cars. No gas station light, no haven town.

Just a cracked, porcelain face and bottomless, black eyes.

This rifle was the Devil’s favorite. He slew legions of angels with it in the War of Heaven, hungry golden bullets that could crack universes and turn concepts into meaningless bundled words. It is beautiful. Metal so black it’s almost blue, refined onyx overlaid with silver, ivory.

You pulled it from dead hands. Victorious.

It feels perfect— familiar. Like an old friend. The sinking Sun descends and throws warm red light over everything, drowns this world in blood.

Somewhere deep down inside, you can’t help but feel that this weapon, this rifle— has been waiting for you.