thefuneralof

So I've been thinking about writing again...well actually I've been dabbling in writing again...
this is a really, really rough draft...
I usually get a bit done and get total writers block...

So here I go...

Prologue.

The cadaverous intent of autumn is hanging thick in the late summer air as clouds start to converge upon burnt skies. Twisted black fingers of a decaying oak stretching out to the heavens are homes to the murder watching the carrion below. Their talons dancing upon the twine grasping the branches, waiting for the air to become stagnant, for their victims to settle.

The calm before the storm. Things are changing, it was more subtle at first, but now its all too obvious. Weve found its better not to dwell too long, to keep our minds consistently busy. Theyre fast, they seem to understand our thoughts even long before weve had time to process them ourselves. The cloud formations have now taken over and the sky is starting to bleed through, grays mixing with deep reds casting a surreal tint over us all. It was never like this before, the open skies were a blessing, a blessing that was too long taken for granted. Theyve taken our skies, flooded them with their machines of destruction, carefully disguised as those creatures in which we were so accustomed to gracing our air. I've started naming them.

They sit above me now. Waiting. Watching. With my heel on the shovel, it's these times when my faith runs the thinnest. Gabriel stares, his left eye shinning white even against the red sky, his only scar from the great war. My movements have to be precise, without hesistation. There are no second chances and I have no defense, but it is out of respect that I must carry on. The blade strikes cold earth again, moving fragments of sediment and foundation. The murder are anxious, their oily limbs clattering against their hardened bodies, their heads lowering in anticipation for the meal. This shallow hole will serve as the fallens' final resting place, the only thing left is to distract Gabriel and his sevants long enough to free them from the ropes that they viewed as their only sign of salvation, their last light of hope.

Placing the shovel against the ground, I reach out to the stained bag. Clarity of thought...of action, I must remain clear. Slowly, focusing on the deepening burst of amber along the horizon I unclasp the bag. Reaching my left hand into the soiled satchel I pull out the remains of our savior. The hand is cold despite the warmth it used to project, three fingers still grasping the halo of razorwire and locusts. Immediatley, Gabriel takes notice and the murder are fully awakened, their voices raised, their wings spread. I place my lips against hollow of the hand one last time. 'It must be done', I keep whispering to myself as my thoughts start take over as I can no longer block them out. The hand moves through the air as if it had taken flight, with one last glance Gabriel leaves the branch, followed by his two henchmen. I move quickly grasping the first body as well as I can with one arm, the other extending to release him from the noose, as the knot slips the body slumps down into the shallow grave below me. The last two bodies follow suit and take their rightful place within the soil. There isn't much time to cover them as Gabriel will return and with him the rest of the machines...