99 words on the 300, a film not for the feint hearted but wonderful in its artistic excess.

The three hundred rage, raining down brutality that is their lives, seen in a sepia monochrome madness, magnificent musculatures swoop and shake as bodies bleed in boundless decapitation. Twisted madness falls to blades and arrows where rivers of gore flow down tall cliffs to the seas.

The 300 Spartans fall few but return to their homes and women in rampant reunions, children training in brutality that sees them step to their fathers pace as maleficence sweeps the known world and blood lust feeds the souls of the lost.

Who would guess the foundations of our society feeds on such.

The three hundred rage


Another writing exercise from picking a random word from a hat and getting creative with it, enjoy.

Long, sleek, tubular dealer of destruction
held easily up on your shoulder, a perfectly engineered killing construction

Slide in the conical charge
you’re calm, slowly breathing, the scope makes the far off target loom large

See your chance tense the finger
wrapped into the trigger, but you see something now that makes you linger

It’s a face, someone who’s real
you can do this you say but the sightless eyes looking back somehow alters the deal

They can’t see you so does it matter
their blind gaze answers no, but then you’ve lost the will to turn then into just a blooded splatter

You pull back, release tense grips
and despite years of training, the slightest quiver ripples across your fast drying lips

The cold weapon slips down to the ground
you know this is where your career hit the skids and you’ll soon be homeward bound

Court Marshall taken and rank dishonourably removed
with conscience intact and no blood on your hands the bazooka still blackened the faces only,
no bodys left to entomb