Entropy
A picture says a
thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a
metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about
this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your
block!
“SING!” she screamed at the tribal
Elders.
“Why?” one asked.
“He’s dying,” said another.
“He’s not dying,” she insisted. “Trust me.”
She looked between their hesitant
faces, latching onto the eldest. “Grandmother, please? What is there to be
lost?”
The old woman didn’t answer her,
but she did start chanting; a low, rhythmic song that the other voices joined.
They sang together in perfect harmony from years of practise. A song without
words.
She breathed a sigh of relief. The
life force that she could see draining from his body was halted. He was dying, unless they sang. It pooled
under his head and shoulders.
She had to touch him. She often
played the drum for them and today, without one, she used his body. She slapped
the rhythm on his skin as if she could push the life back into him. Force his
heart to beat.
Her grandmother gave her an odd
look.
And now, she added her voice to
the song. It lifted and danced; singing around and over the others. She led the
song and her grandmother became another follower. She didn’t notice. Her whole
attention was on the song and the man they sang to.
Where her hands touched him, she
could see his skin glow. Golden light echoed her touch. Still singing, she
reached down and scooped up the essence in her hands. She poured it back onto
his body and it was absorbed into his flesh. While they sang it did not drain
away. It ran together like mercury until she had reclaimed every last drop from
the earth.
His head tilted back and he gasped
in a breath. His body jolted.
His hands lifted to press, palms
together, in front of his chest.
Tendrils of darker energy grew
upwards from his mouth; they twisted and grew into a tree. His body lifted up
and floated in the air. The hands of the singers all touched him; drawn
magnetically into contact. The tree grew thicker. Leaves sprouted from its reaching
branches.
The song intensified; all the
singers could feel the urgency. The tone lifted and the volume. Higher and
higher and louder and louder they sang until with a final shout, the tree that
grew from his mouth touched the setting sun and there was a flash of light.
The panting singers collapsed on
the ground. His body lowered slowly down, his hands still together but now his
eyes were open. Golden light poured from his face where his eyes should have
been.
She watched, squinting in the
glare. When his body touched the dirt, his eyes closed and the light and the
visions faded.
She knew the balance had changed.
She led the song now, and he? What was he?
They would find out what he was
when he opened his eyes.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment