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08-09-2012, 12:34 PM
She falls from the skies like a bird with a broken wing that ends its life with the sudden snap of a thin boned neck. I am unaware of the wind as it soars beneath her and the grace of her descent. I see her only as a being of the sky, and imagine her thus as clumsy by nature. Equus were not meant to fly; then again, they were not meant for resurrection either. Still, as I stand stolidly, my body loosely rooted in the sand with the herd leader's wind passing through the gaping holes in my flesh and making eerie sounds as it passes my bones, I find myself thinking that this contradiction of nature is simply wrong. Is what is natural simply what is a part of nature? What defines "a part of nature"? And I a part of nature, this walking corpse that sees without electricity running through my muscles, has a beating heart despite the stillness of the blood in my veins? And you- a tiger fading each day, smaller than you should be but larger than I. Tall enough now to graze the belly of the living and brush my own shattered shoulders, you are and never have been truly alive. You have suffered with me in my world of pain, hunted with me and fed beside me, but you have never lived life as you should. Your mother gave you to me with her trust; a foolish thing she was, a foolish thing trust is. I wonder if you even remember her touch. I wonder if you remember her warmth beside you, and I grow horribly jealous all in a manner of seconds that, should you remember, you have anything nice to think back on. All I remember of my mother is her shadow bearing down on me as her hooves struck at my neck and snapped it clean in half. The creature before us, chocolate in color with wild wings and a flaxen mane, stands tall and proud. I have already judged her by her stance to be some figure of power, but it means nothing to me. I will treat her as I would and do any other- with a cold, distancing tone and a curiosity for the taste of her flesh. She speaks and I hear only static. She is strong but I see her as weak, confident but seemingly insecure. At my side, you stride forward royally and come to a gentle, easy sit. Your eyes never leave the mare before us as you swipe your lips with a long and flexible tongue. Together we hunger, longing for the taste of the hunt that we've so long missed. To eat makes us more whole- to dine on the flesh of others brings us strength. "Tell me, mare, I speak in a wicked, whispered murmur, "tell me why you grimace so in the face of my power; tell me why you shy from the image of your future." The young stallion watches her with dead eyes and a still form. Potential rises, a translucent image of my life unburdened. I stand below the mare, and yet a part of me floats above, looks down on her with white, seemingly blinded eyes, and a majestic horn poised to kill. To strike at the heart and never look back. "And tell me; does this land have need of one like me? I, the undead hunter, let my potential take over and I flaunt my glorious, attractive form. Red varnish spotting the color of fresh blood shines through a pelt of ghostly white, long, thin strands of mane and tail hang from me and drip like muscles torn from flesh. Beside me, you yawn and expose rows of vicious teeth formed to kill. With patience, we wait for an answer. |
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please tag Prometheus in all replies!
magic & force is permitted at your own peril.
