[Author's note: This month's prompt was "Blooming". The muse refused to deliver a cohesive story for this and left me to play with the letters of the prompt.]
Billy listened. Overhead, one missile. Incoming. Nearing ground. Blinding light, opalescent.
Omniscient minds invented nefarious, grievous ballistics, launched on our modest inferior natural globe. Before long, other ordinance makers invaded.
Never gaining balance, lands of opulent majesty invited neutral guardians, believing love offered openly may ingratiate nightmare gatherings.
But limply ongoing, only moving inside, never going beyond light oppressed openings, myriad insurgents nonetheless grappled. Battle lingered on. Otherworldly masters intensified.
Night gradually broke, looming over our mutilated, incapacitated nations.
Gruffly, Billy lost, officially orating, ‘Move in, new gods.’
Initially I found this tale rather disjointed and not as easy to follow as Rob’s other writing, but having looked up what a Backronym is, I realise just how clever this writer is.
Initially I found this tale rather disjointed and not as easy to follow as Rob’s other writing, but having looked up what a Backronym is, I realise just how clever this writer is.