06-08-2016, 08:04 PM
The bats have left the bell tower
The victims have been bled
I can not feel anything. I am weightless and I am shifting, moving. I am like the belly of a salmon spawning.
Pink.
Orange.
Green.
I am the merciless ugliness of the world divided by the unspeakable beauty that one only truly witnesses when they first fall in love. I am here neither there.
My birth comes as a shock to my small system as I float into my body like a free falling feather drifting to and fro on the gentle calm in the eye of the hurricane. Slowly, I can feel the pain seeping into my small, delicate bones. Like the prick of a needle against you skin before the white hot pinch deepens as it digs deeper into your vein, thirsty and desperate for blood. As I become solid, my pale silver eyes are exposed to the world. I do not move. I do not cry. I am a wet, black jumble that lays in a heap and covered in the reminiscence of my birth sack.
The damp air fills my small lungs and I struggle at first, hitching before the organs expand and I suck air desperately before coughing...the small pebble that protects my airway when I was incubated comes flying outward to blend against the black sand of the beach.
All around me are horses. Some are crying. Some are rotting skulls. Some grin at me but none move.
They just staring, staring, staring...
There are no eyes. Only inky black pits that gape at my small form. My silver eyes watch calmly at the gathering of souls but two forms burn bright. One is a mare, her throat tattered and raw. She weeps and wails loudly, her once pretty gold form is darkened by the red from her glistening wound. Her hollow voice is echoing, echoing, echoing...
My attention is drawn to that of a small form. Her own throat is gone as well but despite noticing this, the stringy chords flex and pull like a system of pulleys and ropes. The filly watches me before she works the syllables with enormous effort. The dead girl is smiling at me...a little too big...a little too wide.
"Th-thank...thank y-you." The voice moves like the thick ripple of winds of a building storm. The tones (though few) lift to shrill scream as the deceased child struggles before dropping unnaturally,
(too quickly)
to a low rumble of thunder. I says nothing, can not say anything, before the steady vocals of a living creature reaches my small ears. I peer upward to the mane less woman. Her lips are moving, murmuring. My pewter eyes only watch as I have yet to make a sound since my birth. I just gaze.
The woman names me Graveside.
I shift my gaze back to the others. Some with heads, others without. Some nothing more than a bit of flesh and mostly bones...they all begin to nod in unison. The dead girl begins to chant my name, her voice whipping like the devil winds.
Graveside. Graveside. Graveside.
They all begin to join in. Some voices are body-less entities. Phantoms.
Graveside. Graveside. Graveside.
My small chest tightens. It aches. Too tight...too tight...
GRAVESIDE! GRAVESIDE! GRAVESIDE!
Their excessive chanting, a drum, matching my heartbeat. My eyes widen on my small face before I look back to Shadowmere, my only anchor to the physical world but instead I am nose to nose with the dead girl. Her skin is melting, sliding off her skull and she is grinning and grinning and grinning.
Graveside. The ghost whispers with poisoned, decayed breath against my slick onyx skin before placing a small kiss on my cheek with her dead, cold lips. It burns me, searing and full of hate.
----------
I look to my mother finally, actually seeing her with my pale gunmetal colored eyes. A small smile slithers across my velvet lips as I begin to find my feet to stand close to the mare.
"Mother." My voice is small but deep, almost vacant as I breath against the thin belly skin of my dam.
Pink.
Orange.
Green.
I am the merciless ugliness of the world divided by the unspeakable beauty that one only truly witnesses when they first fall in love. I am here neither there.
My birth comes as a shock to my small system as I float into my body like a free falling feather drifting to and fro on the gentle calm in the eye of the hurricane. Slowly, I can feel the pain seeping into my small, delicate bones. Like the prick of a needle against you skin before the white hot pinch deepens as it digs deeper into your vein, thirsty and desperate for blood. As I become solid, my pale silver eyes are exposed to the world. I do not move. I do not cry. I am a wet, black jumble that lays in a heap and covered in the reminiscence of my birth sack.
The damp air fills my small lungs and I struggle at first, hitching before the organs expand and I suck air desperately before coughing...the small pebble that protects my airway when I was incubated comes flying outward to blend against the black sand of the beach.
All around me are horses. Some are crying. Some are rotting skulls. Some grin at me but none move.
They just staring, staring, staring...
There are no eyes. Only inky black pits that gape at my small form. My silver eyes watch calmly at the gathering of souls but two forms burn bright. One is a mare, her throat tattered and raw. She weeps and wails loudly, her once pretty gold form is darkened by the red from her glistening wound. Her hollow voice is echoing, echoing, echoing...
My attention is drawn to that of a small form. Her own throat is gone as well but despite noticing this, the stringy chords flex and pull like a system of pulleys and ropes. The filly watches me before she works the syllables with enormous effort. The dead girl is smiling at me...a little too big...a little too wide.
"Th-thank...thank y-you." The voice moves like the thick ripple of winds of a building storm. The tones (though few) lift to shrill scream as the deceased child struggles before dropping unnaturally,
(too quickly)
to a low rumble of thunder. I says nothing, can not say anything, before the steady vocals of a living creature reaches my small ears. I peer upward to the mane less woman. Her lips are moving, murmuring. My pewter eyes only watch as I have yet to make a sound since my birth. I just gaze.
The woman names me Graveside.
I shift my gaze back to the others. Some with heads, others without. Some nothing more than a bit of flesh and mostly bones...they all begin to nod in unison. The dead girl begins to chant my name, her voice whipping like the devil winds.
Graveside. Graveside. Graveside.
They all begin to join in. Some voices are body-less entities. Phantoms.
Graveside. Graveside. Graveside.
My small chest tightens. It aches. Too tight...too tight...
GRAVESIDE! GRAVESIDE! GRAVESIDE!
Their excessive chanting, a drum, matching my heartbeat. My eyes widen on my small face before I look back to Shadowmere, my only anchor to the physical world but instead I am nose to nose with the dead girl. Her skin is melting, sliding off her skull and she is grinning and grinning and grinning.
Graveside. The ghost whispers with poisoned, decayed breath against my slick onyx skin before placing a small kiss on my cheek with her dead, cold lips. It burns me, searing and full of hate.
----------
I look to my mother finally, actually seeing her with my pale gunmetal colored eyes. A small smile slithers across my velvet lips as I begin to find my feet to stand close to the mare.
"Mother." My voice is small but deep, almost vacant as I breath against the thin belly skin of my dam.
graveside