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The Death Dealing Night
The world often has a glamour beneath the pale hues painted during our existence within the mortal tapestry. What is depression, what we call disappointment, helplessness, tragedy, fear, all lose their dominance over one when that one passes from the life they led. Is it still a wonder so many seek death by their own hand? However, if one were to return after these die off within... If one could pluck, from the mortal tapestry, their own thread and weave their own fate...
What was her thread among the countless others flowing in a vivid pattern? Nothing, save another drop of water in a shower of rain, or a wave in the sea of people. It was as a gust of wind on a day that was a hurricane. She had no individuality nor rise of significance. All the threads that joined with hers made the single color of hers meaningless. Would the pattern of the artwork fade if hers was removed? Is their truly a meaning in existence that can be derived when your existence is uneventful? Unamazing? Unrealized to it's fullest potential?
Kollotta...
The darkness grasped the everglade and established it's dominance, calling itself night. It looked down upon those that girded themselves with their last hope at fighting this grip, hopes that they called laterns and torches. Inevitably keeping at bay what was hidden and unknown under the shroud of the night. Staying their fears long enough until the daylight was able to beat back it's foe and restore the splendor of the world upon those that inhabited it. Kollotta was one of these that drew the breath of life under the darkness.
Kollotta was not extraordinary. She was a meager peasant. Kollotta was not married, nor did she have children. She kept to herself busying her days with endless tasks such as cleaning, mending, and various other chores. A life filled with utter normality. She had neighbors who had no complaints of her. They would smile and wave at her, and she would greet them in return, and that would be the end of their meeting. It had the intrigue of another pile of dust on the street. Did Kollotta complain? No. In fact, this was how she enjoyed things... plain... average... normal.
The night often passed over as many slept, but Kollotta did not sleep. Kollotta did not rest. Kollotta was out gathering wood for the flames that kept her warm. Her schedule of tasks nearing it's end, but not quite complete. She would see them to their fulfillment before bedding down as well. Out here in her yard is where her fate would become manifest.
It was the rustling that drew her attention. It's strange the sounds you hear in the stillness of the dark. They often startle you, which should be enough to awaken your senses to rational action, but often curiosity overtakes the mind. Curiosity, as it is said, has been the end of many. For Kollotta it would be her beginning.
Her eyes shifted in their sockets, attempting the pierce the veil Lord Night placed over the world, but to no avail. The unhindered black only protected that which watched her easily in return. Easily it could give spectacular detail to her, but unnoticed in return. What was it that this shadow wished? Sustenance, such a primal urge but so very important to fulfill. It was then that the unnamed visitor proclaimed it's existence, but in a manner unlike those that Kollotta had met before. It was the cold hand that pulled back her hair that caused her to gasp. The hand lacking any warmth as it touched her skin.
Her first inclination was to scream, but some form of fear gripped her, caution some might call it. If she were to alert those around her, her death may have been assured. The shadow's hand guided itself over her mouth before it squeezed tight about it. The shadow took to dragging her nearer to it with a force of strength that was beyond her own. Kollotta whimpered as she was drug farther from her home to the longer grass on the hill. Kollotta could hear it muttering as it pulled her. Hunger? Her home, her sanctuary, still in view, but so far away from her. Such an unfulfilled life to end so suddenly.
Many stories portray the dark embrace as a closeness, a bond of passion and lust. They explain it as a carnal pleasure for the feeder and it's prey. A burst of ecstacy flowing over someone, reaching a climax!... ... ... until the rush is subsided by the loss of blood then quietly, death. This was far from the experience of Kollotta.
Kollotta was thrust against the trunk of a tree with the hand still forcefully upon her mouth, tightly stopping all sounds she could emit. She was helpless as the beast bit into her neck voraciously, filling her with unending pain agony as that of a knife plunged deep into exposed flesh. Her precious life sustaining liquids were drained from the torn flesh, filling the intruder with what would give it strength another day. Her muffled screams too pitiful to escape the grasp of the monster let none hear of this tragedy. This here, would be her end. That is, it would have been, had an unlikely individual not taken notice.
Kollotta's eyes had stilled in their sockets, and her strength to fight back had subsided. Perhaps her demise had come, but the dog barked loudly just the same. Alerting others to the presence of the beast. Voices followed from the distance now aware that the intruder had been discovered. The intruder, dropping it's meal, fled, with the dog close behind. The others, passing by without taking note of what the night held unseen beneath it, Kollotta's limp frame. Soon the sounds died down, and their passing leaving no trace. Only the cruel and watchful eye of the night beheld Kollotta as her life-giving liquids halted their exit from her body.
Time had passed, as the moon, the largest symbol of the Lord Night's kingdom, filled the countryside with a tease, a glimmer, of what would be the splendor of the morning. Taunting all those beneath with sight once again. Time had passed, and Kollotta's eyes turned ahead once again. She would draw breath if she had felt the need. She would call for aid, had she the will to. Her hand immediately moving to the wound on her neck as she gathered herself weakly, mustering enough to stand.
Her sight, blurred, but determined. It fed to her a sight of her home, her sanctuary, so near, yet so very far for her weakened legs to carry her. However, determined as she was, they carried her just the same. They carried her to the rear of her home and through the doorway. She looked out over the yard under the night one last time the carefully she closed her door behind her, almost as if the whole eve had not occurred.
The world often has a glamour beneath the pale hues painted during our existence within the mortal tapestry. What is depression, what we call disappointment, helplessness, tragedy, fear, all lose their dominance over one when that one passes from the life they led. Is it still a wonder so many seek death by their own hand? However, if one were to return after these die off within... If one could pluck, from the mortal tapestry, their own thread and weave their own fate...
What was her thread among the countless others flowing in a vivid pattern? Nothing, save another drop of water in a shower of rain, or a wave in the sea of people. It was as a gust of wind on a day that was a hurricane. She had no individuality nor rise of significance. All the threads that joined with hers made the single color of hers meaningless. Would the pattern of the artwork fade if hers was removed? Is their truly a meaning in existence that can be derived when your existence is uneventful? Unamazing? Unrealized to it's fullest potential?
Kollotta...
The darkness grasped the everglade and established it's dominance, calling itself night. It looked down upon those that girded themselves with their last hope at fighting this grip, hopes that they called laterns and torches. Inevitably keeping at bay what was hidden and unknown under the shroud of the night. Staying their fears long enough until the daylight was able to beat back it's foe and restore the splendor of the world upon those that inhabited it. Kollotta was one of these that drew the breath of life under the darkness.
Kollotta was not extraordinary. She was a meager peasant. Kollotta was not married, nor did she have children. She kept to herself busying her days with endless tasks such as cleaning, mending, and various other chores. A life filled with utter normality. She had neighbors who had no complaints of her. They would smile and wave at her, and she would greet them in return, and that would be the end of their meeting. It had the intrigue of another pile of dust on the street. Did Kollotta complain? No. In fact, this was how she enjoyed things... plain... average... normal.
The night often passed over as many slept, but Kollotta did not sleep. Kollotta did not rest. Kollotta was out gathering wood for the flames that kept her warm. Her schedule of tasks nearing it's end, but not quite complete. She would see them to their fulfillment before bedding down as well. Out here in her yard is where her fate would become manifest.
It was the rustling that drew her attention. It's strange the sounds you hear in the stillness of the dark. They often startle you, which should be enough to awaken your senses to rational action, but often curiosity overtakes the mind. Curiosity, as it is said, has been the end of many. For Kollotta it would be her beginning.
Her eyes shifted in their sockets, attempting the pierce the veil Lord Night placed over the world, but to no avail. The unhindered black only protected that which watched her easily in return. Easily it could give spectacular detail to her, but unnoticed in return. What was it that this shadow wished? Sustenance, such a primal urge but so very important to fulfill. It was then that the unnamed visitor proclaimed it's existence, but in a manner unlike those that Kollotta had met before. It was the cold hand that pulled back her hair that caused her to gasp. The hand lacking any warmth as it touched her skin.
Her first inclination was to scream, but some form of fear gripped her, caution some might call it. If she were to alert those around her, her death may have been assured. The shadow's hand guided itself over her mouth before it squeezed tight about it. The shadow took to dragging her nearer to it with a force of strength that was beyond her own. Kollotta whimpered as she was drug farther from her home to the longer grass on the hill. Kollotta could hear it muttering as it pulled her. Hunger? Her home, her sanctuary, still in view, but so far away from her. Such an unfulfilled life to end so suddenly.
Many stories portray the dark embrace as a closeness, a bond of passion and lust. They explain it as a carnal pleasure for the feeder and it's prey. A burst of ecstacy flowing over someone, reaching a climax!... ... ... until the rush is subsided by the loss of blood then quietly, death. This was far from the experience of Kollotta.
Kollotta was thrust against the trunk of a tree with the hand still forcefully upon her mouth, tightly stopping all sounds she could emit. She was helpless as the beast bit into her neck voraciously, filling her with unending pain agony as that of a knife plunged deep into exposed flesh. Her precious life sustaining liquids were drained from the torn flesh, filling the intruder with what would give it strength another day. Her muffled screams too pitiful to escape the grasp of the monster let none hear of this tragedy. This here, would be her end. That is, it would have been, had an unlikely individual not taken notice.
Kollotta's eyes had stilled in their sockets, and her strength to fight back had subsided. Perhaps her demise had come, but the dog barked loudly just the same. Alerting others to the presence of the beast. Voices followed from the distance now aware that the intruder had been discovered. The intruder, dropping it's meal, fled, with the dog close behind. The others, passing by without taking note of what the night held unseen beneath it, Kollotta's limp frame. Soon the sounds died down, and their passing leaving no trace. Only the cruel and watchful eye of the night beheld Kollotta as her life-giving liquids halted their exit from her body.
Time had passed, as the moon, the largest symbol of the Lord Night's kingdom, filled the countryside with a tease, a glimmer, of what would be the splendor of the morning. Taunting all those beneath with sight once again. Time had passed, and Kollotta's eyes turned ahead once again. She would draw breath if she had felt the need. She would call for aid, had she the will to. Her hand immediately moving to the wound on her neck as she gathered herself weakly, mustering enough to stand.
Her sight, blurred, but determined. It fed to her a sight of her home, her sanctuary, so near, yet so very far for her weakened legs to carry her. However, determined as she was, they carried her just the same. They carried her to the rear of her home and through the doorway. She looked out over the yard under the night one last time the carefully she closed her door behind her, almost as if the whole eve had not occurred.
