Image Credit: Nereid by Claire Elizabeth Flickr CC 2.0 (via Luminous Creatures)
Raven Girl
Death comes to everything, eventually. The whispers tickle Branwen’s
ears, burgeoning within; butterfly bodies beating within her stomach, as they
tell her so. “Shut up,” she says. “Give over now.” The teenager clasps a hand
to her stomach, rubbing it, over and over. “Not yet,” she says. “Not now.”
The raven haired girl scans the sky for a small silhouette as the light
fades. “Come, Corvie,” Bran bids, swallowing saliva. Her eyes dart upwards,
shifting, here and there. “Quickly,” she adds, word clipped.
A dot on the horizon plummets towards the slim figure, who stretches out
a hand. “Four score, seven times seven,” Bran whispers, voice trembling. A tear
forms at the corner of her eye. Her fingers curl into a trembling fist,
knuckles whitening. The girl’s brow is sweaty as the black bird descends. She
watches it; avid.
Moments later, Branwen opens her lips wide – hasty – all pink tongue and
black backed throat; the image of the parted beak from which an indistinct grey
blur drops from above. Within moments the girl has swallowed it whole, throat
working quickly to pass it through her oesophagus and onwards into her system.
“Hallie,” Bran says. “Hello and welcome.” She sighs once, eyes closing,
fingers caressing a slightly distended abdomen. “We travel a little together –
until you disembark.”
“I’ll take another, tonight,” Bran commands quickly, addressing her jet
winged companion, whose feet grasp her right shoulder. Beady eyes shine before
feathers fly skywards, up and away.
“Perhaps still another,” the girl murmurs, frowning. “I hunger – today.”
She clears her throat; guttural. “So it begins, in the end.” The girl nods,
eyes clouded; unfocused. “I will take you – all – when I go. We are one with
another.” Silence surrounds her as her chin levels.
“Though you must direct me,” the girl says, voice lifting as she
finishes speaking. “What is, is unavoidable. We are what we must be, in the
end,” she adds hastily.
Time lengthens. “Come, Corvie. Quick,” Bran says, voice thin.
Death comes to everything, eventually – but Bran must fill herself from
them before she numbers amongst them.
The phrase to include this week was "Death comes to everything".
No comments:
Post a Comment