------------------I have seen the dark universe yawning ---------------------------------Where the black planets roll without aim, There comes a beast on the wind, with wings large enough to blot out the sun the lower and lower she drifts. The air about her smells of the sea, of brine, of things left to rot in marshland. She smells of death and blood, sharp like rusted iron and star-fire. There is nothing tame about her, nothing that does not suggest that it might be better to run, run, run when those wings colored with a color that has no name but fear paint the tall wheat grasses in black. Salt rains from her as her feathers dry out in the sunlight It drifts down like ash from those massive wings. Let them tilt their heads (she thinks in the silent way that bones might think) to the sky, let them taste the darkest parts of the sea and wonder what thing, what monster, what beast older than they has come. She circles the golden horse, his glitter, his sunlight, the glow of his flesh that suggests fire all cry out in a clarion call to her. He rings like a light-house when the fog comes slinking in, when the air turns thick enough to drown in. She can smell the taint of his ancientness from the sky, the way he smells like 'more', the way he smells as sweet as a honey-suckle that has dared to bloom upon a sand storm. Her mouth waters for the smell of him and her teeth sting where she grinds them together. She feels as if she has never eaten before. It's as if she has never known what god-flesh taste like between her razor teeth. Lower and lower she drifts, hoping that he might be warm enough to burn her, to swallow her up in the sand stone he smells of. Oh how she hopes they might be like the sun and the sea. They could tangle together like the horizon, drop below that part where the horizon fades-- that place no mortal can stand to know of. They could go back to places that bore monsters like her, places where gods unfold from nothing into flesh and bone and magic. She's already walking as she lands. The barely there moment between flight and landing whispers that she is something else, something older perhaps that this golden stallion that smells like old stone. Those giant wings are too heavy to fold and they force all the golden grasses to bow and snap below the weight of her salted feathers. A smile bends back her narrow, bone-gray lips. Suddenly she looks like a shark upon the land for how strange and full of horror that smile makes her seem. She says nothing as she approaches, her eyes heavy with a need and she lets them linger on his hooves, waiting for the smallest of movement to tell those wings to take flight again. She waits to tell her body that the time has come to hunt, hunt, hunt and see if there is a way to bring all that power back into her bones. He smells as if he might be old (she can taste him on the air when she's so close) but this body of hers, tainted and turned by the sea and blood (so much blood) has seen all the things that came before time and men and mortals. They have started to creak and age and feel less like steel and iron than they have before. All her bones are aging but they still remember. Her teeth and her need remember too. Even her voice when she starts to speak sound older and more rusted than every thing that has ever been, stranger still from the way her body is not as gnarled with age as that voice of her. “Who are you.” It's not a question, not really. Not with the way she says it as if the answer already belongs to her-- has always belonged to her. monster of the sea |
@Random Events
