Cry Baby Cry
“Make your mama sigh,” I mutter to myself, steering my jet-pack across the city.
Deep in the dusty subways of the city, the last of the royal family is slithering, laying eggs the size of human-head that hatch into scaly flesh-eating monstrosities with hides as dark as black magic, and hearts as ugly as sin.
My aim is sure and my blade is sharp and my jet-pack is very fast. I am scared, but this fear drives me, drives me on, drives me on into darkness.
The Queen’s got claws that can carve through cement like it was soft butter. The Queen’s hungry for human hearts and the fingers of babies. The Queen breathes cruelty and soft curses, muting the air around her and depriving it of oxygen. Yeah, it’s hard to breathe around her. Her great, bulbous eyes can see through time and space and city walls.
She knows I’m coming.
But my aim is sure, and my blade is sharp, and my jet-pack is very fast.
I meet her in the darkness, of the abandoned city’s abandoned subway system. She screamed for vengeance in a language spoken only by the great extinct lizard who used to rule this land. She screamed for my life. She screamed that she wanted to tear me into shreds. Her eggs trembled with anticipation, still-sleeping lizard-monster-babies dreaming of destruction.
She wants to kill me. She wants to devour me. She wants to destroy me.
But my aim is sure, and my blade is sharp. And my jet-pack is very fast.