Today on Drabble Wednesday, we journey past reality into the world of myth…
I weave with thread as brittle as the worst spurned heart, across the pale puffed clouds and shimmering stars. I craft names and heartbreak, death and carefree laughter.
I contrast spring among the bleakest nights, when voices murmur with unspeakable refrain, and hope burns to ash and smoke. I entwine the heavens, scattering radiant pinpricks that make the black skies dance, though their light be old and lost.
I cast the glow into their eyes, lace their blood with fire, their minds with thought. I walk the shadows and through the mists, past time and construct.
I weave the world.
Fear the Skies
On the longest winter night, when the chill wind slithers through the cracks and past your bones, I will warm you. On the beating heartbeat of outstretched wings, from the snow locked mountains, I come. I will fire the skies and burn the night. I will rain spark and fury, flame and ash.
I will be a ghost, a dreaded whisper, a story to frighten your children. A warning you will not heed. They never heed. But you will scream. Scream and flee, a game of chase with ferocity, and my blazing destruction.
And you will shout my name.
Grey light and wafting mist settled over moor and peat, across verdant grass and gnarled trees. Sunshine traced its farewell to the dappled blue firmament, and melted into the tangerine cerise embrace of the gloaming.
In a breath of moulded air, shrouded in tattered, forgotten scent born of inevitable end, a presence stirs. An entity, a purpose birthed from mortality and tied to name and heritage. The ether quivered, the moon hid its eyes, and the earth itself held still.
She lifted her head, and silver eyes beheld the world once more. She inhaled… and then the banshee screamed.
© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved