Today, on Drabble Wednesday, I’m revisiting the darkness
inside the spectacular and the beautiful…
Bring the Storm
Far above our tiny village the barrage of thunder boomed,
and the dark mauve sky flared with sporadic bursts of lightning. The air
snapped crisp and burnt, and shook with the ferocity of the storm.
Most villagers huddled in their homes, praying for the swift
end to the squall. Some brave souls, however, gazed to the sky, seeking a
figure riding the fire and roar. The maker of the tempest, in all his screaming
agony. Our God, whose body both created and endured the lightning. We prayed
for him, God of Storms, and his torment, his sacrifice for his people.
~*~
Rift
I never realized annihilation would be beautiful.
It’s golden and sapphire, shining and shadows, a mosaic pattern
of fissures, a jagged pulsing web across the glassy sky. And its growing. Amber
tendrils twisting, cerulean coils sprouting. Bigger, larger, wider, patterns
into patterns, into fractals, mandalas,
always growing, glowing into more exquisite forms.
The forming of the rift held me hypnotised, spellbound in
awe. It was the most dazzling phenomenon I had ever witnessed. I would have
stayed there forever basking in its wonder, in its beauty.
Such a shame it would eventually tear apart the world, and
then the universe.
~*~
Wings
Dusk emerged from a bronze and copper sunset, and etched its
ebony on the contours of the muted forest. Something shifted within the
surrounding trees and flanking shadows. It emerged and settled on the nearby,
deserted road. A small thing, compared to the forest or the sky, but large
enough to cast a presence.
It twitched its sable hide—shoulders, limbs, back—flexing
muscles and sinew. Bone and cartilage extended, left, then right, and great
stygian wings unfolded, flailing, flapping, breaking the quiet with their
noise. To the air the creature rose, majestic, noble, sovereign of
the night.
The Gargoyle.
© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved
