Where the AntiChrist Lives

They say there's a place. A place with no sin. A place with love and families. A place where the world was more than just desert and hate. A world with order and justice. A world where the sky is a brilliant blue, painted with shades of red as day blends into a song filled night. A world where sparkling ice, falls gently, glinting in the light as it drifts; so soft, so pure, so clean and innocent.

Not clean of innocence. Not like this world, full of anger and lies. This world where the sky is and endless crimson red, and the nights are black filled terror. Here there is no sun. No moon. No stars. No light. Here we know not happiness or kindness. Here we can only dream of such a place, such beauty, such joy. Here blood poured down like rain, and the dessert floor drank greedily. Here sin rules, and darkness reigns. Here is where the AntiChrist lives.



The Earth is just one giant desert covered in blood red sand dunes. The lands surface speckled with giant cities crammed with people. Cheats, liars, murders. Only the best lived there, taking for themselves. On the streets sat thousands of poor. Skeleton thin. Stealing what they can to get by. The skies could not be seen through the acid green clouds that hung low over these cities. The sun burned hot, relentlessly during the day, and the night knew no moon, nor stars.

Outside these cities, animals roamed freely, all of them beasts. Their mouths watered for flesh. Their ribs protruded through their matted fur and mangy skin. The skies were dominated by buzzards, circling above, their cold eyes watching for anything that stops moving, eating before they are even dead. Trees are scarce. Their thin trunks stretching to the sky, extending their branches, as if they were reaching to the sun. As if they too wanted to steal.

Humans no only cruelty and action. Not thought. They take what they want. Do what they want regardless of how many people they hurt in the process. Few children can survive this world, though many are born. And of the few, very rarely is there one still pure of mind, and those few. Those rare, special few. Are outcasts, unwanted. Cast away to be eaten alive. They spend there days wandering the blistering heat for a world of legends. A place of truth in a world of lies. They live and die fruitless lives, no closer to a mythical haven, but their belief unwavering. Somewhere out there, there is forgiveness. Somewhere out there, there is love. Somewhere. Somewhere they do not know. Somewhere they can never find. They know nothing of heaven, for heaven is not real. They know nothing of hell, for hell is where they live. And in that hell, God tries to find them, to save them, but the devil holds his grasp.