17 October 2011

Lily's Hunger

A billowing draft rustles and lifts the curtains, granting me a fleeting glimpse of the world that lays beyond this darkened room that is my prison: a lush green sward stretching in rolling folds, an azure sky wide and unbroken in a vast curving expanse, and far in the distance, perched upon the horizon line is an oak tree spreading its branches like reaching, trembling-leafed fingers, each broad leaf burnished to luminescence by the great, glowing, blinding sun. 

All this in a fragment of a moment, then gone.  The curtains fall closed again and the room is bathed in darkness, affording me only dim outlines of the sparse furniture: a small cot, a table and chair, a candle for which I have no matches.  I feel eyes watching me; the door silently opening behind me had caused the draft that lifted the curtain.

She smiles slowly at me, a sinister curling of her cold red lips like a serpent coiling to strike, showing a pair of fangs that gleam in the gloom as sharp white omens of death.  I shrink against the wall, knowing what is coming.  I edge for the window.  "Go ahead," she says, gesturing at the window.  She laughs, a vicious, tinkling chuckle like breaking glass.  I lunge to throw open the sash, knowing it is in vain.  Her fangs pierce my throat, and darkness, hungry and breathing, washes over me.

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