Fruit for the crows
Mar 10, 2015 12:35:31 GMT -5
Post by »Vexation on Mar 10, 2015 12:35:31 GMT -5
All the strength in the flesh
And my bitter caressIn the morning it rained, pavement darkening with moisture and depressions in the concrete filling with pools. It sunk into his fur and weighed him down though he did not find it uncomfortable, and thus did not seek shelter. He strolled down the middle of the street as the clouds began to break up, the sun peeking out and striking rainbows in the air through the falling water. When the downfall first wavered and then ceased he cast a frown at the heavens, but looked away when the sun began to burn his eyes.
His coat began to dry, a light mist rolling from the warming street and the buildings flashing like diamonds as the sun hit their water encrusted exteriors. The day of shrouds was suddenly a picturesque spring morning, with all the promise of new life. Too bright, too alive. He veered toward a house at random, similar to its neighbors if only by the shambled condition it was in. He did not hesitate as he moved through the doorway and into the dimmer room beyond. Dingy windows gave access to the sun and in the shafts of light dust motes stirred where his feet touched the filthy carpet.
Stepping through alternating patches of light and shadow he pushed toward the kitchen where he paused, nose twitching. An odor reached metallic tendrils through the air and caressed his scent receptors, and he followed it to its source. A pool of blood, dyed brown with age and staining what had once been a white tile floor. He moved almost cautiously toward it, as if would rise to bite him. Reaching it he halted, slowly lowering his head, and released his tongue to run it over the patch of blood.And the taste of blood on my lips
falcon