The Death of Light

Night fell over the forest in a heavy layer of pitch.  Dusk had been disregarded and denied its monumental glory.  The green of the trees were cloaked by the blackness of the air that dwindled through their leaves.

Animals were motionless in their homes among the frondescence.  No night birds sang.  The center of the forest pulsed with a wickedness.

Soon, after an ambiguous amount of time, the blackness lessened at an undefined point on the horizon.  A sickly shade of copper wormed across the sky, the trees starkly contrasted.  Mother bears stood over their babies in fearful stillness as they watched the change.

Through the trees, past the well-used hunting paths of men, beyond the farthest home of the smallest creature, a drumming began.  A groaning, shrieking wailing grew from the center of the drumming in the firelight.

The shadows flickered and flailed against the trees circling the raging fire.  The figures were wild and ravenous, jolting about with long, skeletal limbs thrusting into the air in all directions.  Faces shifted with stretched jaws and beady, burning eyes.  Their skin was coal, dry and flaking as they cavorted in their barbaric dance.

The drumming grew in volume and intensity, the pulse in each creature exploding in every chest.  The shrieking had reached a deafening high.  Every pair of eyes betrayed the rest of each body with their still focus on the centrum of their depravity.

In the dirt, black in the night atmosphere, laid a bound beast.  It had a perfect white coat, shimmering in the light.  It had hooves, silver in color and shining in quality.  It cried out in fear and in pain, ropes cutting into its flesh; crimson had begun to tarnish its ivory hair.  Against the loose earth beneath it, it snuffled with its large muzzle.  Its large ears turned outward in fear.

Between those large ears stood one distinct feature: A long, protruding horn.  It twisted about itself, twirling in a glittering column towards the bubbling tar above itself and all things.  Its eyes reflected the evil around it in liquid realism.

The circle of dancing, jumping, swinging fiends closed in on the pearly thing tied up, waiting for what came next.  What was next was one of the creatures with gaunt features, taut, black features, and naked bodies.  This one was small and hunched, wrinkled and twisted.

In its left hand, it held a craggy knife that gleamed with a glassy quality.  It limped over, out of rhythm with the thundering drums.  The ivory animal struggled against its binds, painfully but vigorously.

The swarthy creature lifted the obsidian blade above its head.  The drums hammered still, joined by the banshee-like screams of the rest of the cluster.

With a sudden jerk of its unsteady hands, it brought the knife down.  The thin sliver of glass slipped between the bones of the magnificent creature with a bloodcurdling scream, muddled with pain, shattering the panes between worlds.

The plunge, the spurt of blood, the concussions of the scream lead to a blast.  The blast broke the bodies of the creatures, the dancing and the drumming ended in an instant.  The fire was snuffed out and the circle of trees were flattened.  The animals in the forest were taken by the blast, as they watched the fire against the clouds and the shifting shadows between the trees.  The death of light in the darkness left a hole, taking life with it, and leaving a crater in its place.


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