The rose collapsed inwardly, the once vibrant red that flowed from its meticulously shaped petals fading rapidly, replaced with a colour darker than black, a colour clearly representating death, quickly, as the black darkness spread right down to the stem where his fine fingers curled.
The tree trembled and shook, before shuddering to a sudden serenity as the leaves which were green and crenulate just a moment ago now fell to the ground, a tainted breeze gently billowing over the leaves that seemed to hung to the branches for their dear lives or what remained of them. Brown, crumpled and dry. They all fell to the ground. Along with strips of bark that came off, some brushing of his arm, his fingers.
Everything he touched died. Everything. As he raised both his arms in dismay. Everything died. Bringing them, spreading his fingers over his face, his sharp strong nose breathed in the stank of the death as they drew nearer. Everything ceased to live. Preparing himself for the pain he would feel. Everything he touched faced death. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they made contact. His hands. His head. Death.
And he let go a rictus of grimace, which trickled into agonizing screams. No. NO. NOOOO.
Nothing happened.
No comments:
Post a Comment