literature

How This World Turns Cold

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Literature Text

How this world turns Cold

THe sky was bitterly bright, as if to defy the nature of the emotions that accompanied Caravi as he stood on the bridge that spanned the great Avarkeeni Gap.  It was silent, as one might expect at this hour of the morning, on this particular planet.  Down, miles below at the bottom of the Avarkeeni Gap, a river flowed, and he knew there was a great city that flourished on it's banks. Or, at least, there had been.

Caravi gingerly held his hands in front him, one writst barely resting on the other, the fingers of each gently splayed, slightly curled, but as relaxed as possible. They caused him the least amount of pain that way.  The pain served as a poignant reminder of what he had done.

The city below, and all of it's inhabitants had been successfully relocated before the great bridge collapsed a mere two weeks in the future. It had been at the expense of two common farmers who were anything but what they seemed to be. In their last minutes, they knew him only as a vicious murderer.  

In return,  their curse had left its mark, quite literally. His normally pale blood pulsed black in his veins, making it appear as though ink had been traced over them.  It burned now, too, which was where the pain originated, slowly spreading to the rest of his body as the minutes passed.     

Caravi could only hope that the memories would fade with the passing of time. The curse, however would not. That was for certain.

It was time to leave this planet behind.
A writing prompt from: ~Lookin4therightart
For: 1/17/2011
#27 How This World Turns Cold
Influences: 1-11 scrap (etc, etc)
© 2011 - 2024 openmeadow
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snurtz's avatar
whoaaaaaaa is that what the mark is on his hand that i read in that scrap that one time??