Imagine Tales

Fire exploded into the world,
Caged and put to work.
Air ignited in splendor,
A sacrifice for Metal’s accord.

Push and pull, push and pull,
Metal shunted into Fire’s rhythm.
Injections of fluid,
Made of long dead souls.

Metal moved with speed,
Greased by blackened souls.
Beat after beat after beat,
A dance macabre unfolds.

Metal roared with magnificence,
Fire burned like the Sun.
The long dead souls exploded,
Reaching the pinnacle of their dance.

Metal slowed its rage,
The feast of dead souls done.
Fire instantly vanished,
Air could breathe once more.

Metal stopped in an instance,
A final roar and it was gone.
A monolith it had become,
With a cooling creak, Metals journey done.

The wind blew across the moors, ancient, unrelenting and brutal. It battered against the rocks, a thousand voices screaming for escape. Her hair embraced these screams, the strands rising and sinking in pitch. It whipped across her face, hiding her eyes from the world, a world that had burned her too many times. The final time just passed, something that was hers and hers alone had turned, leaving scars that no surgeon or healer could hide.

She had tried many paths, they all ended in disappointment, revealing shallow depths and deceptive masks. One by one fragile supports gave way until nothing mattered anymore. It was only her internal desire for survival that kept her with a roof over her head and food on her plate. Many she knew would be grateful for those things, but deep down for her there was a dark void and she wanted it filled.

Every night, that one sensation plagued her whilst she slept and more so when she could not. Often she would try to fill that void with partners, some good, some bad, but most indifferent. Whilst it made the night more bearable and often fulfilling, it only made her days more complex and false. That was until she met her, she had met the witch, she had met Lilith.

When she first met her the name ‘witch’ sounded absurd. But curiosity grabbed her, slowly turning to desire for Lilith. As she fell deeper into Liliths world, the word ‘witch’ seemed less absurd. It grew with power, seduction and offered dark promises of a purpose. She offered her soul to Lilith and with it learned to harness her own power. A power that in the years past sat dormant, whispering words that once unsettled her. Now she knew that they were words of comfort, something inside  more than life could ever offer.

She had not known the price it would cost her and how the word ‘witch’ was as damned as it was powerful. Fear had burned Lilith, hate and anger of those she once called friends had lit the bonfire. Tied to a stake, Lilith had burned and fell as ash in front of her. As her tears fell, she ran. She had kept running and now she was here, at the rocks of the western moors. Lightning flared overhead, thunder shook the ground beneath her bare feet. The voices in the wind screamed louder, words of revenge, words of reckoning. They would soon find out how wicked she could be.

He looked up at the tower that loomed up far above him; the colours had drained from the world around him. He knew he was dreaming now, the light no longer behaving as the laws of physics dictated. Shadows lurked where light fell and light fell where shadows lurked. The tower was old and no longer held the means to reach the higher floors without scaling the now dangerously rugged and brittle walls.

His eyes scaled the tower reading the wall, making sense of the outcrops and holes finding where he could grip and support himself. As his mind deciphered the complex puzzle of ascension his mind questioned what was forcing him to climb the dangerous tower; risking the fall and even the experience of death. Fear crept in, disrupting the flow as his eyes leapt from hold to hold working his path to the room at the top where ‘It’ was. This thought only increased his fear, he lost his path up and his eyes fell upon the single entrance at the top. His mind drifted to his covets to enter through the doorway and face his ‘It’.

His ‘It’ has plagued him for more years than he can remember, always lurking in dark corners, venturing out when his waking world became too much for him. His mind traversed to the memory of when he fell, losing everything that made him who he was. His purpose and faith destroyed, losing God. The void was filled by his ‘It’ and it was one of his fallen brothers who manipulated his ‘It’, unleashing his anger and inflicting torment on those he once cherished.

The memories filled his mind with rage, but not the rage that his ‘It’ fed upon, it was a rage to destroy his ‘It’ and find the light again. As his right hand reached for the first hold in the wall and then his left leg found a grip at the base of the wall, he pushed. His mind casually thought as he reached for the next hold, how easy this would have been if he had not ripped his wings off in defiance of the Devil.