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The Calling

The chilled musty air torments the aging Saxon stone, reverberating sounds run through the colonnade whistling from aisle to aisle. The moonlight drifts in through the stained window, reflecting shadows dance, alleys of the mind pulsate tempestuously. His blood began to freeze, he who dared to venture with in this place, every hair upon his head prominent, the clouds stole the moonlight, murky darkness became impregnated with odour and sound, immediately a dim haze slowly expands chancel, alter become vibrant and whole. An insidious wailing began to circulate the nave, Shadowy appearance transforming into a stage of apparition. Vapourized environment giving way to an old monochrome snapshot of sepia subjects, frozen in a timeless layer of unenthusiastic entombment. Animated the motionless figures began to stir,                          labourious breathing accompanied each macabre         movement. With it a sickly vileness began to fill the holy place as if in defiance of the almighty himself, defiling his very name, his very existence. An eerie monotonous sound began to gather substance, full bodied harmonious metre giving one hypnotic instability. Yet a lucid awareness of the grotesque scene was even more apparent, when at the organ keyboard a faceless incoherent figure played. The wailing sonic abated, yet more illuminate the spectacle became, whilst the macabre cloaked figure silently turned, cynical fingers unveiled the hooded cowl. Exposing (a recognizable face?) decaying distortion that oozed from deep lackluster eyes, eyes that commenced to penetrate the lone onlooker. Motionless lips began to pierce his mind, there where his body laid it held him captive, grotesque rotting forms began to draw closer. Each one in a various state of decay, yet recognizable from a bygone age “Welcome my son to the nether world,” His brain echoed. “Mother!” He cried out in stark desperation, rivers of perspiration flooding down his back, as the realization unfolding becomes apparent. “Mother!” He cries once more, she moves slowly from the organ towards him, festering carrion falling to the ground, soon to become deaths decaying fodder. She stooped over him, her long naked fingers clawed at his face gently, cold scabrous lips searched verily for his. Warm lips them that still pulsated with channels of life, temptation indeed for this mother of impending life with in death.   The wailing turned to sweet music odorous filth became as fragrant wine, decaying flesh smooth and pliable where there was fear, now only love, family, friends, all gathered in this place patiently waiting for new blood. “His blood!”
Fan-Made Movie - Dragon Ball Z: Light of Hope - Pilot
[HOT VIDEO] Fan-Made Movie - Dragon Ball Z: Light of Hope - Pilot

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Upload Date: 31/12/1969

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