I pause, entranced by something so astonishingly complex in its simplicity. My eyes trace the veins of emerald hands and marvel at their workings—at the life force held in such a frail plane. As the wind ripples across the great expanse of trackless land, it affects not this strange miracle. My eyes follow the curve of its fluid body from its base to its face and become hypnotized by its glorious imperfections.
I gaze on the destruction left by a passing changeling. I finger the wounds and wish them healed. The colors, so bright and gorgeous, capture my willing gaze. Form its holy, golden center flows a careful spark of magenta into the deep red of the Sirens’ passions. Yet, ‘ere I breathe whispered word of its tranquil ordinariness—the life is snuffed out!
The shine of sanguine grease and dust upon the murderous boot has my gut crowding my throat. My vision blurs in a crimson haze of the unjust death, but my voice—so frozen in anguish—issues forth no such sign. The criminally oblivious foot moves on, and I am left to bear witness to the horrors of slaughtered defenseless dreamlings.
((If you have any clue as to what I should name it, suggestions are more than welcome!!!))
This is one of my most recent writing exercises.