(no subject)
Pear #27. Now and Forever
with Butterscotch, Whipped Cream, Cookie Crumbs, Malt, and a Cherry
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : G
Timeframe : 900's
Word Count : 531
Malt Prompt : (summer challenge) 'Dream, one.' 'What about?' 'The end of the world.' 'Ah, a good dream, then.'
Cookie Crumbs for Rhyme or Reason
Cherry because style-wise this is just not my norm.
Come with me, boy.
He can feel her hand closing around his. She barely touches him; it’s like her fingers are made of a thousand spider’s webs. But she holds him tight and she holds him fast, and he can’t really tell if his feet are churning against the ground or the sky or if everything around him has dissolved into nothing at all. His heart is racing and his ears are pounding and he’s not quite sure if he’s breathing anymore.
round the chamber you and me
through the arch and 'cross the stream
At some point the world has gone from consisting of nothing at all to being encased in stone and mortar. The ground beneath him is real again as well. But all he has to do to make it go away is turn his head. No, don’t look that way. Is that fear in her voice?
There are stones above, a short squat dome peaking overhead, stones below, laced with lines woven in circles and careful arcs, guiding his feet into an ancient dance. And as long as he turns his body, there are stones all around him.
But a simple twist of his neck and it’s all shifting, blurring. Stones are falling, dust is flying. Don’t, she says. Not that way.
bring your paints and bring your light
turning circles through the night
There are faces around him. The Six and the One. Carved in pure white stone, yet they burn with every hue of the rainbow. Red and Blue, Green and Gold. Their limbs lay still, yet they dance along with him. Their lips, chiseled and stiff, stay shut, yet they sing. They sing songs without words, without meaning, with voices that pierce.
And there are hands in his again. Real flesh and blood hands. Those of a boy his own size. He is singing with the gods as they hold hands and prance their circles together like children half their age. His hair is dark and wild, his eyes like sapphires. Where did he come from, this boy?
Not that way.
It’s all falling again.
past the gate where voices flow
with your hand you bring them home
The walls are falling. The voices are fading. There’s a man, hair peppered with grey, scars on his body. He’s tearing at the walls with his bare hands, and the walls are tearing at him.
The man is winning. The song is dying. The black is growing.
Like he’s hanging on for life, the boy’s hands tighten their grip on his. If I let go, he finds himself thinking, will it all fall down?
There’s a pull on his head. Stay. Stay, she calls. When he turns away, the man is gone. When he turns back again, he's there, flinging the rubble this way and that like he’s trying to uncover something buried beneath, tears rolling down his cheeks, frantic. And more than anything, he wants to see what the man is digging for.
Stay.
He lets go. And this time he is sure there is nothing. The man, the boy, the gods, the voice…Gone. He takes a step into the black. And he doesn’t fall.
with Butterscotch, Whipped Cream, Cookie Crumbs, Malt, and a Cherry
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : G
Timeframe : 900's
Word Count : 531
Malt Prompt : (summer challenge) 'Dream, one.' 'What about?' 'The end of the world.' 'Ah, a good dream, then.'
Cookie Crumbs for Rhyme or Reason
Cherry because style-wise this is just not my norm.
Come with me, boy.
He can feel her hand closing around his. She barely touches him; it’s like her fingers are made of a thousand spider’s webs. But she holds him tight and she holds him fast, and he can’t really tell if his feet are churning against the ground or the sky or if everything around him has dissolved into nothing at all. His heart is racing and his ears are pounding and he’s not quite sure if he’s breathing anymore.
round the chamber you and me
through the arch and 'cross the stream
At some point the world has gone from consisting of nothing at all to being encased in stone and mortar. The ground beneath him is real again as well. But all he has to do to make it go away is turn his head. No, don’t look that way. Is that fear in her voice?
There are stones above, a short squat dome peaking overhead, stones below, laced with lines woven in circles and careful arcs, guiding his feet into an ancient dance. And as long as he turns his body, there are stones all around him.
But a simple twist of his neck and it’s all shifting, blurring. Stones are falling, dust is flying. Don’t, she says. Not that way.
bring your paints and bring your light
turning circles through the night
There are faces around him. The Six and the One. Carved in pure white stone, yet they burn with every hue of the rainbow. Red and Blue, Green and Gold. Their limbs lay still, yet they dance along with him. Their lips, chiseled and stiff, stay shut, yet they sing. They sing songs without words, without meaning, with voices that pierce.
And there are hands in his again. Real flesh and blood hands. Those of a boy his own size. He is singing with the gods as they hold hands and prance their circles together like children half their age. His hair is dark and wild, his eyes like sapphires. Where did he come from, this boy?
Not that way.
It’s all falling again.
past the gate where voices flow
with your hand you bring them home
The walls are falling. The voices are fading. There’s a man, hair peppered with grey, scars on his body. He’s tearing at the walls with his bare hands, and the walls are tearing at him.
The man is winning. The song is dying. The black is growing.
Like he’s hanging on for life, the boy’s hands tighten their grip on his. If I let go, he finds himself thinking, will it all fall down?
There’s a pull on his head. Stay. Stay, she calls. When he turns away, the man is gone. When he turns back again, he's there, flinging the rubble this way and that like he’s trying to uncover something buried beneath, tears rolling down his cheeks, frantic. And more than anything, he wants to see what the man is digging for.
Stay.
He lets go. And this time he is sure there is nothing. The man, the boy, the gods, the voice…Gone. He takes a step into the black. And he doesn’t fall.