A last gasp

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Trees twisted, leaves lunged, silk slithered, dew dung, insect licked and mammals mauled; all was usual, but the sun wasn't there...

Something had stolen it, for sure, as if it was replaced with something, quite unpregnable. As the Sunless Day loomed nearer, the watchers, the reading audience became entwined, in an ever- frantic prose, where their thoughts came to life, as one who breathes fire into ice holds, big and small...

Submitted: September 25, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 25, 2016



As the Sun staggered its last breaths of light, sighs of an old world, a better world, maybe, barely piercing through the wall of evils of modern life; the only pure thing found nowadays; something to savour maybe, a call was heard... different than before...

"Spwawk!" and again "sqwawk!" in answer, almost, as if they were visions of heaven, rearing it's fire-cast head. But lo; they weren't indeed, for as clear as the sun on a blue-blanket sky, their standing on the Hill, was a hen.

Just a simple hen, she thought. Staggering up to it, she noticed it's unmoving facets, intervwoven feathers, time, encapsulated into it's very being. As if, with this hen, she could climb through time, on those thin strand fibres of feathers. So she thought..

Stepping nearer, a few feet away, the smell, farm, on her hungry lips, the hen crispened, hard, with the red furnace, descending the sky like wood on fire, she thought.

"Sqwawk!" it went again, but this time, darkness veiled them, together, alone, hugging eachother on the Hill, amidst the sea of memories, the only comfort they gathered. White-cloven, grey under the lit sky, waves, rolled upwards, lapping the shore, foam tides in the darkness, as if they were a piece of flesh, ready to be eaten by tides of piranhas, on a blood-ridden ocean.

Coldness set it. Growing with the tide, up, up, up...

Choking with it, they were just above the surface, drowning in air.

"Sqwawk!" No brightness welcomed them, just the bitter choke of salt.

"Sqwawk!" The last hear. The last touch. The last smell. Silence.

The last gasp fed on light...




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