The Gathering Continues

An under cast of wind blows through the sleepy meadows of heaven. The light blue sky shines brilliant and visibly over the vast and rich land thus announcing her coming with the backdrop of serenity. At first, she was a form that emerged from the horizon -- spinning and twirling under the inaudible sound of music. Her approach brings gaiety and hope as she pirouettes and flutters her arms with the embrace of the wind. She stops, if only for a second, to smell the random, wild flowers of the nameless plains that expand before his ominous presence. She is young and beautiful, demur and frail as her innocence bends over to gather another flower, to add to her existing decor of arrangements that stem the hues of the spectrum. The small flowers rest timidly in her left hand as they appear wanting, happy to have been chosen. Suddenly, she stops at the recognition of his presence and smiles as she looks up, upon the monolithic apparition. Her smile is comforting and alluring, as it seems to cast a spell of familiarity and acceptance. Then reaches out her left hand, offering the flowers that she delicately selected and arranged for no other reason than to collect. Puzzled, he continues to look upon her -- first at the flowers then toward her smile as it grips him with confusion and remembrance. His heavy head lists toward his right shoulder as he silently questions her motives and contemplates his actions. She looks so pretty in her small, summer dress; a deeper blue than the sky’s, strewn with multiple tiny white dots that form random patterns of chaos and order. Her hair, long and golden under the absent sun, curls at the ends where thick braids fall along her shoulders and down to just below the crest of her upper arms. These - laced with baby blue and white ribbons intertwining the weaves as they collect both ends in securing knots. He returns her smile as he reaches down for the flowers. Suddenly, the sky falls under rapture as light blue melds into gray and thick blood clouds' form where nothingness rests before. A thunderous clap shatters the earth under quaking fear as the wind picks up and begins to tear though the plains, ripping up dead blades of grass from the roots. He grabs her arm and raises her with it, so that he can better see her fear. Her arm riles under the assault as he reaches out his other hand and grabs the opening of her dress, just under the throat. With her free hand, she attempts to batten his grip but finds not enough strength to overcome his demon. With a firm grip of her blouse, he tears, shredding the fabric with his nails. The wind carries off the freed ends as her feet kick at the void that expands between them. Her young nipples contract under the bitterness of the rushing currents bringing her prepubescent breasts to a point. He licks his lips in anticipation and drops her hard to the ground. Her head smashes off an unseen rock, rippling echoes through her now deafened ears. He steps out from the shroud of nothingness and appears above her, naked and waiting. His penis bobs between his legs like a pressurized fire hose waiting to be released upon the fire that she casts with her innocence. He drops upon her, contorting her body to greet his as she stumbles to gain consciousness. This made real as he enters her, savagely and violently. Her screams, silenced from the drowning gale as he repeats his thrust, deep and complete. Relentless is his appetite as the gray changes to black and the cold air turns wet as copious droplets of rainfalls to blanket his back. Gradually, the rain pools under her back, transforming the solid earth to mud. Within the puddles, Blood Rivers form to taint the reflection of his dominant cast over hers. Her braids unravel allowing the loose strands of gold to seep within the brown clumps of wet sand. He continues to pulse as her fingers attempt to dig at the ground, finding escape from his weight and burning torch that grinds within her unformed womb. Weakness corrupts her head as her body succumbs to the numbness of the cold. Her eyes strain to see his shadowed form as the blue lightning flashes glimpses of him above her, black flesh and scarred surfaces. Her eyes roll upward as he continues to thrust. She exhales with deep, shallow breaths as her vision fades with each penetration and they begin to close. Her fingers eventually release the dirt. For their futile attempts meet the next wave of solidity, announcing the replenished resources’ continuity. There is no escape, only pain.

The storm rages on as he raises her legs over her shoulders and glances toward her white stained socks and smiles at the purity of the frills. Her black, dress shoes are cute and small. They are just large enough to fit his thumbs like minute hand puppets of brilliant black, now stained with mud and blood. He reaches in deeper, wanting to feel surrounded as her warm body blankets his like a human puppet -- wet and young. Lost within the completeness, he loses himself within the act, within the rage, forgetting that this was a different offer of flowers. Lost, forgotten he continues to pulse as the black rain gradually fades with the birth of light. The horizon blazes with the orange of the new day as the wind dies down to a timid roar. He first feels the weight, and then the swell, as the ache grows deeper within him. Suddenly the release, as the escape feels as though life itself is being sucked from him. The surge takes with it his hole, his identity, his moment.

He quakes uncontrollably over her still body, she cold and lifeless as his weight empties and fills her. He eventually rises above her and stands looking down. His spent penis still bobs between his legs dripping semen and blood onto her... dead and gone.

...And yet the wind blows away the fear, as his aspirations die...
Tree limbs bob with the rush of sinuous currents of warm, lucidity -- drawing deep circles in the morning sky as clouds push by from the thrusts of invisible hands. The last of the stars fade as a planet creeps behind the succor of arched cumulus and the early sun begins to show its rays. Glacial mists ring deep sadden glitter from off piercing mountain edges as the new day brings unknown to the waking. Sam composes himself, bewildered and disoriented for the morning breeze carries on it an alien sent, unfamiliar and distant. This is not where he fell asleep last night, he remembers. But, it is the carnage that greets him, as the aftermath of a battle where a unified army lies dead, scattered across the plains under giant oaks that brings a sullen smile over his lips. Battle wounds resound incisively upon him as his body carries the burden of red stain disorder and penetrating rawness. His scars will heal and go away, but not the taste of betrayal that echoes bile at the back of his throat. If only he could remember the details.

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The Gathering

Chapter Fifty-Five