Filled to its core with horrors and delights
Monsters, angels, all these are unseen
Save through emotions they inspire within
Things that hail from the impossible realms of imagination
But the universe has a fundament problem with 'impossible'
It likes to prove them wrong
Or right
And always... always... It knows where
To begin[/center]
The hooves pounded the dirt below. Its rider clung tight to the reins but held himself bowed forward. The air whistled about the figure which turned from a ragged shadow to man when he road through a brief break in the thick forest allowing the moon to shine on him for a precious few seconds.
A formerly fanciful cape of purple velvet billowed out behind him. Its dark hues served well to meld him with the shadows giving him no definite shape on the horse. Glints of metal shone from a gloved hand that hung limp as the steel of a broken saber reflected thin strands of the silver light that filtered through the leafy canopy above the dirt path.
His mount's breath came as labored as his. Thin wispy clouds of breath stream from the nose and fell down along the sides of the face in the biting chill of the night. The man, having left all caution and care behind him in the dust, spurred the horse to greater speeds. Unfailing was its training and it's loyalty the steed ignored its pain and stretched its neck trying to obey its master's command.
He was not satisfied with the effort, far from it, but he could not help feeling hatred in his mount's failing strength. Though it moved faster causing the lace on his white tattered silk shirt to flap and slap him in the face and the long sleeves to slap as the breeze past him, he could feel the over all exhaustion it held.
He chanced a glance behind him once more. Shadowed eyes scanned the path behind him that jumped and swayed as his mount carried him away. He did not see it. A hope flared in his hard pounding heart and he nearly let loose a whoop of glee. It died instantly. There in the middle of the path was the shifting air. It still followed him.
He let loose a bitter moan, feeling the hope flee from his heart as he fled that thing behind him. Once more he became away of the weight in his hand. Tight lipped he looked down at the broke weapon. He fought back the hour old memories of the battle he lost. The teeth, the claws! By god how did he think he could finally face It after years of running?
He laid the last of the saber's edge on surface of the leather breeches that covered his left leg. Defeat was inevitable now he knew. All those years... running, hiding... useless. He let loose a howl of frustrated despair when the horse gave one last wheeze of air and lost its footing. It gave a shrill scream as it collapsed, dead before it hit the ground for its heart had finally burst from the strain, and its rider and former master flung off its back and carried a good distance forward with the moment.
The initial impact was fleeting but hard enough to knock the air out of him as he slammed into the ground but skipped like a stone forward. A sickening crack in his left arm and an intense pain that felt like fires and hell ripped through his brain as he hit he ground once more and rolled. A tree's outstretched roots barred his path from going any further as he slammed into it left shoulder first.
The man lay there, where one would think him dazed by the agony and jarring impacts, he held crystal clearness. He had suffered many falls before, none as worse as this, and he knew he shouldn't be able to think clearly. The terror, the terror of knowing what is coming, what will happen, he knew that for the reason for his lack of notice to the pain that wracked his physical body.
Miraculously he still held the broken saber in his hand and used a clenched fist to roll himself onto his back. A faint impulse to look at his left arm disappeared as he focused down the path over the body of horse's corpse. It was coming. It was close when he was riding but it must have slowed down to a walk when it saw him fall.
He felt slick moisture run down his cheeks but could not remember the name of them. They left trails in the dirt that masked his face and scruffy mustache and beard that turned his hair from a dull red to a dirty brown. He watched as the ripple in the air approached. It could be no more than seventy paces from him and now there was definition about it.
A stench preceded it. The stench of decay and worse surrounded him like a cloak of inevitability. It made him gag and choke. The thing stopped by the corpse of the horse and there was a loud snuffle as the shimmering air knelt by it. There was a low snarling grunt then a large chunk flesh on the horse's neck tore away and disappeared. The blood steamed in the night air.
The man's instincts kicked in and he. He turned and took three staggering steps down the path the fleeting notion that he could still escape so enticing and seducing that it was all he cared for. A low snarling growl caused him to stand rigid. He turned finding the shimmering thing only five paces away. Blood dropped off a mouth or muzzle of whatever it was as it approached. He saw the air crouch. He saw dark shadows of colors flood into the shimmering air like paint flowing down the sides of a glass. The saber dropped from his hand. And he screamed.
It took a few hours for the forest to resume its nightly activities. Noise filtered through the area in layers. First the insects of small note flew here and there, their wings buzzing or whining. Following those came the larger insects that sang nightly rhythms in their calls.
A flurry of wings, a snap of a twig, the rustle of leafy underbrush, like an orchestra, the noise came back as if a conductor waved his wand. The birds, then the small rodents, up to finally the tentative fox that lived in a den under the wild thorny blueberry bushes. It sniffed the air and crept forward. The scent was gone and it knew the area was safe, of that danger anyways.
Finally working up enough courage and driven forward by hunger, it trotted through the underbrush where the smell lingered most. The smell of blood hung heavily in the air mixing with the stench. The fox trotted over to something that lay in a heap. Whatever it had been, it was no more. The fox didn't care really. It was the first one here and winter was coming. It took careful bites as it worked around the metal bits and weird but smooth flowing skin that covered this part of the carcass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[center]The world does not stop here
A single strand
A thread of the blackest hue
To be woven into the story
For witnessed was the stitches
Of unnamed, uncountable terror
But the once balanced scales now demand
Counter weights must be given
For discover delight is to know
To know is something many try to understand
But few know where it all starts
Where it all begins[/center]
He watched completely enrapt in the scene. The bulk of midwife sat before the woman whose black hair plastered the side of her faces with sweat, her face contorted in agony. He too perspired just as much for how could he not? Where pain etched the woman, his wife's, face, concern covered his. He had paced, he had gone out for air in a vain attempt to breath but now he was as tired as the woman on the bed.
His short brain hair was ruffled into a mess from fingers constantly running through them. He chewed on the end of his pipe and ground his teeth when he took it out to tap the ashes out into the fireplace though he missed more oft than not and sprinkled the black powder over the floor.
His wife screamed as another contraction hit and the midwife's instructions flowed out of her mouth in a soothing tone with a hint of command behind it. She repeated these words over and over again to the woman as she helped her through the final stages of the labor. Coaxing words that commended his wife on her strength and how well she was doing while telling her what she needed to do with her body to bring the smaller one within her out into the light.
It took the man a few moments to realize the soft words the midwife spoke were pointed at him and he snapped to attention. She ordered him to his wife's side now, to hold her hand and to talk to her. He jumped at her words and felt his wife's clammy hands in his own. Within a fraction of a second that their hands met, she grabbed his in a vice like grip. Fighting down the pain and squeezed back and wondered what to say.
Anything would be good now, anything to help her along the midwife told him as if reading his mind. So he spoke. He spoke what was first on his mind and then what moved his being. His words washed over his wife and she calmed only for a little but enough. She listened to him and through him the midwife gave her orders.
An eternity of the mind passed for him as his mouth moved. Time took no form now, the clock on the mantle ceased to move, the sun no longer moved through the window. There was only 'Now' with nothing in the fore or behind.
The tiny cry shattered that illusion almost like a mirror shattering. His wife slumped back and her hand relaxed and the stinging pain of a crushed hand made itself known. He was loath to relinquish her grip but the midwife had already drawn his attention away from his wife to the bundle she had worked swiftly in separating it from its mother's womb and cleaning it off.
He stood slowly, his arms coming up automatically as the bundle was handed to him. The tiny face no bigger than the palm of his hand held such an aura about it that no painting, no panoramic view from the top of the mountain could ever master the beauty he stared at now. The tiny nose flared as air was sucked through them. A soft whimper escaped the equally tiny lips and briefly the man wondered what color the eyes were. Did they take after the mother's dark green or his light blue? The midwife stood by his side looking down at the bundle and told him her congratulations into his fatherhood.
A feeling welled in him and he felt tears sting his eyes and a wide grin spread across his lips. His muscles in his legs tensed to dance but he fought it down. Immediately a sense of protectiveness invaded his thoughts and like a hawk he wanted to spread wings around this bundle to prevent everything in the world from harming the child. His child. His baby girl.
A soft moan from his wife brought his attention back to her but the midwife told him to go and show the baby to those that waited in the next room. Intoxicated with a joy beyond any joy he's felt; he walked numbly to the next room. The grandparents from both sides of the family swooped in and engulfed him followed by his siblings and aunts. A note will have to be sent to the other parts of the family a fleeting thought skittered across his mind but seen felt the barricade of happiness.
He held onto his child through the bombardment demands from the grandparents to hold their grandchild. They would see her but they would not hold her, not now. She was his for now and his alone to hold and love. Their moment would come he knew but this was his time. The midwife came out asked him to come back inside. Normally she would have asked him to hand her the baby to give to the mother but she had seen his eyes and he noticed her smile of amusement.
He knelt by his wife and smiled at her. Her face was flushed and she panted softly still but this must of been what they called the new mother's glow. She beckoned for the bundle, her daughter and only to her the man felt he could give it up. Even then he stayed by her side as his wife peeled back the blankets and opened the button up shirt she was given to wear to let the baby nurse.
By the hands of the clock it took the midwife a good five minutes with several seconds after to pry his attention away from his newborn and his wife and get him to leave. He knew she needed to rest but he wanted to be in there while she did. No the midwife answered she must have quiet. He was excited and excitement brought on clumsiness. She then used the ultimate weapon against him and he knew had no defense against it. Did he want to risk harming his daughter through being unable to think straight?
He stood back out in the main room and now only the men of the families clustered around him. A cigar was pressed into one of his hands and his back was constantly clapped and his free hand shaken as he was showered with congratulatory words from them. Pride swelled in him and he grinned broadly. The celebration that ensued took place outside for the rest of the day while the man knew his wife and child rested inside the small house in peace and quiet.
[center]Tasted the bliss of delight
To know feeling joy and happiness
And to finally See its manifestation
Fleeting are these glances oft times
But they balance the spectrum
For witness here was the birth of the start
The life that just begun
And to be woven about until the end.
Seen was an end
By the maw of terror of impossibilities
Seen was a beginning
By a simple love and union
This will be the story
The weaving of a tale
And so now
It truly begins[/center]
(Believe or not, this will be continued!
)