Inspired by Myself

I know how dorky that sounds, but at least let me explain. I ran past a few of the posts in my blog from a year ago, and was amazed by some of the "Creative" writing. Simply put, it's insane! An unhindered flow of anything and everything to be thought of! It's just so utterly loose! I have trouble remembering a lot of it, as if it was written by someone else! I just have to try and get back into that groove.

Here we go again

He stood in a great hall, brilliant cold sunlight, the shade of the blue sky, spilling in. Under his leather boots was an expanse of polished marble floor, with the guild's emblem created within it. The emblem was simple, merely a black and white representation, but it got across the point. It was so polished that it was like looking into a tinted mirror. He stood in the middle of a great meeting, pleading with them to see his point. It was all coming apart, no-one saw his truth. He was going to have to fight for it. Some people laughed, others payed no attention, but they all knew it was the truth. In the end, he was forced out of the building. He descended down the steps of the great hall, now in disrepair. It resembled somewhat of a postmodern cathedral, or a renewed Parthenon, and was the only new building among a field of half destroyed ones. As he hit the street, he hid himself behind a cloak. This cloak was to be his home for years to come. Only hours later, this man had arranged it. The group. The one to repair the past, to redirect the future. The streets could not be left like this, the buildings could not be left to crumble. He had arranged a great taskforce, of the four most talented agents in the whole of the world. Each complementing the others strengths, all trained professionals, the others stood no chance, knew not what was going to hit them. It began with the destruction of a few warehouses. No one thought it a big deal, for the waterfront warehouses had only contained simple records. What they didn't know, however, was that those waterfront warehouses were actually a closely guarded secret. They kept his plans. The ones they had stolen from him. The only things keeping him in power. And now that they were ash, they had no more true power, only a dwindling empire to fall back upon. He would return this city to its prior pride, even if it killed him, and he meant every word of it. The taskforce was a work of genius. They were never anything more than something in the corner of your eye, leaving no trace, no trail. All the Guards heard were rantings of ghosts, people who disappeared into shadows, who fell into the street at mere sight. To some, they were thought of as heroes, avengers, but to the rest, they were the monsters under the bed, a fear greater than all others, a force of change.

Hell, I like it =) A post-parvum-apocalyptic world controlled by a monarchy of technocrats who stole their idea off of a man with pride still left within him.
Would make a good story, eh? =P

Good night, let your dreams be true and plentiful! =P