The Silent One
08-02-2006, 01:05 PM
A cage, constructed entirely of the bones of the members of a likely extinct species. It hangs by a chain of such ivory from the ceiling of a menagerie. But wait. This variety of animalia has not yet ceased to be. A young one lies, curled, sleeping in the cage. It is the last. Its keeper has insured it. It, as it grows, shall be fed on the meat of its kin and sheltered by the bodies of its ancestors.
And so, upon what allowed it to be, it shall thrive.
. . . . . . . . .
Now, a dying man. A dying woman? It is uncertain, first of all by the moonlight filtering through the heavy branches of the impendent pines. Moreso, they are too horribly wounded: To tell, or to matter. Blood and gobbets are strewn about the forest floor, shimmering like pools of still water. In the distance, the sound of music. Or perhaps the whim of a darkening mind.
And now, none too soon, come the wolves. They, having hunted for days, have found little but small animals. Their hunger is great, but finally it shall be sated. Serendipity is theirs. But if not wolves, then what?
On a boulder, standing little over a hundred yards away, a figure. It is cloaked, so as to shelter it from prying eyes and ill weather. It lifts a viola and bow and resumes playing. At its side, a hunting knife, shimmering with gore.
And so, upon what allowed it to be, it shall thrive.
. . . . . . . . .
Now, a dying man. A dying woman? It is uncertain, first of all by the moonlight filtering through the heavy branches of the impendent pines. Moreso, they are too horribly wounded: To tell, or to matter. Blood and gobbets are strewn about the forest floor, shimmering like pools of still water. In the distance, the sound of music. Or perhaps the whim of a darkening mind.
And now, none too soon, come the wolves. They, having hunted for days, have found little but small animals. Their hunger is great, but finally it shall be sated. Serendipity is theirs. But if not wolves, then what?
On a boulder, standing little over a hundred yards away, a figure. It is cloaked, so as to shelter it from prying eyes and ill weather. It lifts a viola and bow and resumes playing. At its side, a hunting knife, shimmering with gore.