06-16-2017, 09:04 PM
life is like an hourglass; glued to the table
The sun is bleak, falling beneath the distant haze of the horizon, as evenfall slowly drapes its way over the clear, yet vividly colored sky. A speckling of starlight emerges, framing the bright, gleaming moon – a celestial beacon of light, drawing her out of the shadow in which she had so carefully tucked herself away. The intensity of her wide, glowing eyes peer out from the darkness as the moonlight bathes her dark russet skin in its glow, interlacing with her naturally wavy tresses, which frame her youthful features. Her curiosity is piqued, and quietly, her long, languid limbs carry her away from the round and dense thicket from whence she came, though her legs are uncomfortably stiff from a long afternoon spent coiled up in such a tightly confined space.
Her chin, slender and pointed towards the sky above, follow the glimmering lights, which seemingly hover in thin air with nothing to tether them to the ground the way that gravity does to her. Her pace quickens to a long, spirited stride, a single glowing orb (pale, but mesmerizingly bright) wavering before her, swiftly weaving through the old, winding branches of a too-old woodland.
With her blood pumping vigorously through the length of her petite, breathless body, and her mind racing, her gangly limbs gear up to a gallop while her breathing comes out in soft puffs – determined, her dark, indigo lips reach with teeth bared, nearly but never touching the sphere, try as she might.
”Please, wait – what are you?” she manages, desperation in her voice, while the adrenaline pulses. ”Wait!”
But it does not wait, and her curiosity begets reckless abandon, and her pace quickens – faster, faster, until –
the glowing globe of light flits away into a dense overgrowth of vegetation, but she is too determined, too close to stop now – and with a great leap, with her front and hind limbs outstretched, she plunges through the dry, bristling foliage after it, tumbling through into a clearing.
The long, spindly horns that lay on top of her head catch onto a string of carefully strung lights, coiling around the tip of one and draping down the length of the other, yanking the meticulously hung orbs of light down around her – and soon, the branches that acted as their perch came down with it, collapsing onto an array of flattened logs (tables, though she knew not what a table was), sending a beautifully, albeit tacky cake (cake? What is cake?) into the air.
Simultaneously and with a yelping cry, she is stumbling onto the ground, a mass of awkward, too-long limbs. She is peering up anxiously at the seemingly dozens of eyes looking at her, appalled, incredulous – some even stifling laughter – when the vibrantly colored, painstakingly layered product of flour and sugar falls from the sky with a great, loud “thud” – perched perfectly onto her two winding horns, splattering pastry and buttercream all around her.
”Um .. oops?”
Prevail
Word Count: 500