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Tifflepot

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Land of Dragons
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It is birthing day and many await the arrival of the new born babies :)

Submitted: May 17, 2017

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Content

Submitted: May 17, 2017

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Tomorrow was the day; in the early morning they would wake from their pods in the Tifflepot plantation. It towered in the midst of a of the Bronze ocean that encompassed the entirety of an unknown distance. The crowd of watchers looked to the plantation, perched on their trees born of iron and spires that reached high into the scarlet stained sky. The sky thick with a strong black smog, swarming with electric serge’s, swimming through the sea of darkness before striking down into the Bronze ocean. The filth and the mush thickening the ocean made it more like a giant brown expanse of slush and sewage upon which the fire would dance and reach above even the spires as lightening hit with a crack.

The spire people waited outside of the Tifflepot Plantation, silently they sat anticipating that moment when the sun would first signal the coming morning. Their spires surging with a golden energy up and down, circling around, bouncing back and forth from its partner at its side., like Tesla towers creating Jacobs ladders. Only the sound of the crackle of pulsating energy and flickering sparks made a secondary presence in this fading night. The Tifflepot plantation, a smoke spewing fortress of machinery and flames, spitting forth the very pollution that gifted the Bronze oceans it epithet and color, giving it the very combustible quality for which allowed the fires to waltz across its body.

A massive construct upon built upon a stone island, the shelter for a goldmine of which this civilization anticipated to gain access to for months on end. Staring at the large walls surging with sparks and spits of electricity chaining from one outstretched rod, littering  the wall to another, circling the entire gargantuan structure before dying out and flickering to life once again second later. Then, finally the very symbol of these peoples siren, the voice of the promised payout for their patience sounded. As the Crimson sky brightened from its thick bloody complexion to a dull pink hue. A roar of thunder rumbled the very depths of the Bronze oceans floor within which the watchers very spires were embedded and the plantations island was built.

Flames burst, exploding from the body of the of the plantation with a vicious sonic bass. A thick fog of sable pollution erupted forth like a geyser of the manifestation the devil’s own malicious soul shooting skyward from the gates of Hell. And then it lingered, blotting out the plantation itself. The smoke overtaking the entirety of the area. The watchers were ready, they took their stance and; every one of them eager to make the first move and then it happened.

The gargantuan doors of the Tifflepot plantation opened with a screech that ripped across the land, piercing the ears of all that could hear, a blood inducing screech that was simply another burden that the watchers must endure. The subtle sound of the coming stampede could be heard from behind the still burning walls of the plantation and as the fires faded the watchers knew that the race was on.

The watchers stood up tall atop their spires, howling out their calls of joy, releasing their pent up frustrations through their display. Their patience had been rewarded, their reward was justly due. They outstretched their arms, long and bony, reaching out far, nearly dragging to the floor when at rest, baring large five fingered hands with gangly skeletal fingers, armed with blackened claws. The wings upon their backs pushing out like fleshy tarps webbed with bleeding veins and vicious spikes, upon the bony third and fourth arms upon which the wings draped down. Their legs, though thicker with muscle than their arms were thin and bony, their knees and ankles clear through their flesh, armed with three toed raptor talons, with a rear facing thumb for grip and brandishing larger thicker claws than on their hands. Their bodies were thin and emaciated, Their stomachs sunken and their flesh did near nothing to hide their bones without the muscle or fat there to add aid. Their spines seen defined from their backs, their chests nearly concave, necks elongated to a point that they seemed to have out grown their arms. Their eyeless heads nearly a perfect oval shape save for the sharply pointed chin. Their mouths housing rows of  razors.

Their cries were grotesque throat shredding shrieks to the heavens, echoing throughout their home lands, inciting the frantic rush of the stampede from the open walls of the plantation. Upon their bellies and hands the newly birthed creatures sprout forth from their embryotic sacks. Green orbs of thinly layered flesh, coated with thick rubbery jelly. Brown fluids burst forth, splashing as the newly born incubated inside forced themselves to freedom and their new life. The inner walls of the plantation chiming with a mechanical whir as the gears began to spin, opening the doors to the outside world. The cries of the watchers flooding into the plantation full force, invoking the very first sensation of sound and surprise within the newly birthed. The second emotion being invoked by the watchers themselves flooding into the plantation becoming the newborns second sights of new life as they freed themselves from their sacks, their very first sights having been their own kin, these stubby little lumps of pale white flesh, little webbed hands on flat, fleshy flippers  for arms. Their legs nearly human if not for the lack of knees and the scales that lined their flesh, leading to their webbed feet. Their heads, little gelatinous masses of flesh and bone that was so soft the simple movement of it causes their heads to gyrate and jiggle on their stubby little neckless shoulders. Their bodies were fat and plump, all flesh and flab and no bone. Their eyes pitched black and wide so that they might see the billions upon billions of their brothers and sisters begin their rush to the waters.

A sudden and loud squeak was the second sound that they heard and the third was the ripping and moist tear of flesh as torso was torn from leg and their second true emotion was that of panic. Organs and flesh fell from the skies as the hundreds of their billions of brothers and sisters were snatched into the talons of spire native watchers. Swarming and circling within the walls of the plantation swooping and snatching the newly birthed as they continued to emerge from their sacks and hurried to the waters outside. The plantation echoed with the predatory screech of the spire fiends and the cries of those being ripped, swallowed and masticated into a gory mush to be devoured by the insatiable gluttony of their attackers. The spire fiends bathing the very home where these newborns were hatched with their own blood, organs and gore. Intestines fell upon the heads of a young life fresh from his sack as his sister gutted corpses flesh draped over his brother.

The body of a spire fiend crashed down upon from the sky of the plantation crushing a dozen of the newly birthed with the force of its weight. Another ravenous fiend coming down and slamming into its body full speed, crushing its bones with its talons. It ripped into its unconscious brothers engorged guts with its talons, tearing out his innards and stomach, stealing out its bile, intestines and the newly born child that had been swallowed whole, squeaking out its agonized cry as it was torn to shreds, to once again be devoured. Other soaring fiends flocking to the scene, like vultures; feeding on the remains and the mess of the their dead kin and the multiple mashed newly born squashed below.

From far in the back, in the darkest corner of the behemoth of a plantation one young newborn forced her head from the depths of her sack. A late born child, falling into the mess of one if not dozens of her brethren’s blights bile. The sight immediately inciting within her a naturally ingrained panic as she looked out to see those born before her snatched and torn and devoured, becoming not but shit and vomit to be spilled out from above by spire fiends before they return to gorge themselves on second helpings. She flopped her way through the chaos, awkwardly pushing her flabby, fleshy body through the mess of exploded sacks and the remains of corpses.

There were almost none left of her family now. Billions had been given life and within minutes only thousands remained. However, she would survive, many had already made it to the water beyond the doors. If she could make it there she would be safe; the flames would keep the friends from swooping in, or at least it was surely a higher probability they would not. So, she rushed forward as fast as her tiny body would allow, pushing herself along on her newly developed flippers and fat stomach. The fiends seemed to be distracted by those who had made it outside and those already at the door ahead of her leaving her pathway clear. So she trudged, she pushed and she forced her way through the muck, crawling over hatched eggs and the corpses of her brothers and sisters. Then she finally made it to the door and then she finally made it outside.

She tried to go faster, tried to slide herself with more force, giving her loudest little peep as a strained grunt as she pushed herself toward the water. The sight of the Bronze ocean, the salvation of the dancing fires enticing her, causing her little heart to beat so powerfully with excitement and impatience. Would she make? Would she be safe from the overcast of a dozen flying predators zipping about overhead? Many retreating from the flames mid-swoop as hundreds of her brethren just barely escaped into the water, diving deep for added protection. Can she make it? She pushed onward with all of her might. Can she make it? Can she be with her last surviving kin? Will she make it? Will she also be one to escape the Tifflepot plantations birthing day?


© Copyright 2017 Kossettes Novellettes (Gone). All rights reserved.

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