Blessed be this rainy Monday.
Here's a wee taste!
Metallic, rhythmic, the sound echoed off the ice walls.
The creature opened its eyes, blinking against the darkness. It stood, heavy scales grating as it stretched. Hunger writhed like vipers deep within its dark matter soul. Memories tore like claws through its head. Betrayal. Blood. Pain.
They had come at him with weapons of light and with armies of flesh. Flesh. Oh the memory of flesh burned! Shivers of yearning seared with vicious craving. Flesh! Delicious, succulent flesh thrumming with untamed energy, a heady blend of light and dark, impossible to ignore. To rip, suck, devour until the essence flooded its throat with warm, salty bliss.
But then they came with the sound. Death blazed with excruciating sound. The sound of black holes screaming. One piercing long note of discordant horror. Twisting and writhing, caught in a cacophony of agony the creature succumbed. Darkness reigned - until now.
Tap. Tap. Tap. A cylinder of ice plummeted, exploding like a fallen chandelier. The creature froze as the scent of flesh, unmistakable, unbearably enticing, invaded its dark, cold prison. Baring its scimitar fangs it quivered in ravenous anticipation. Its long starvation was over.
Mwahahahahahaha. Maniacal laugh.
It has begun. The resurrection of Carla the Writer has begun.
Sigh. (smiling sigh, not one of those whimsical, forlorny sighs that reek of misbegotten youth and wasted lovely moments).
