Happy Canada day! I like the idea of colours in the sky as a way of describing fireworks, it's very fitting.
Colours in the sky "Colours in the sky, fam," said Famine. Pestilence looked up, and squinted into the sun. "Mostly white," he said. "Hang on a sec." There was a moment of formication, the sensation of ants running over your skin, and then the whole world seemed to shift: colours faded to grays and blacks and the brightness of everything turned down. Ordinary objects gained a halo like they'd been outlined in pencil by a careless artist. The sun became much easier to look at, but seemed to fall away like a long tunnel in the sky to somewhere else. And, gradually, there was a feeling of something eternal and deathless watching. Pestilence stopped squinting and surveyed the sky. In this light he was a tall, pale-skinned man with mottled patches on his skin and a swirl of something dark and sooty around him as though he were weeping mould spores. "Nothing, Fam," he said. "Those aren't natural colours." Famine, a scarecrow-like shape that towered over Pestilence and the landscape, easily eighteen metres tall and -- possibly -- growing visibly, turned like a windvane being pushed by the wind. "I detect royalty, fam," he said. His voice echoed like he was shouting into a stone tomb. "Which one though, Fam? There's a lot of Kings these days. If I were a Poker player I'd be cursing." "Feels like the King in Crimson," said Famine. "I get... indirect energy, a feeling that I'm queued up behind you." "Hah," said Pestilence. "You elbow when you're queueing. And you've got pointy elbows." "I sharpen them, fam," said Famine. He giggled, a long, drawn-out high-pitched kettle whistle of noise that didn't seem to contain any sanity. "Sand them down when they get knobbly, then grind in points like sharpening a knife." Pestilence smiled and black sooty particles swirled around him as though the wind were getting up. "Savage pestilence and vicious famine," he said. "Isn't that one of the predictions?" "Time of Kings, fam," said Famine. "Time of Kings. Turn the lights back on, will you? I'm starting to feel like his nibs is paying me too much attention." The light went back to normal and Pestilence and Famine seemed to shrink back to their 'normal' human forms: skinny, grubby and easy to overlook. "That's not the boss watching us in there," said Pestilence thoughtfully. "Have we ever asked him who it is?" Famine shivered. "Not the boss and not Royalty," he said. "Do we really want to know?" "Do you think it's the one that came before?" "You know the boss won't talk about that." "True, Fam. True."
2 comments:
Happy Canada day! I like the idea of colours in the sky as a way of describing fireworks, it's very fitting.
Colours in the sky
"Colours in the sky, fam," said Famine. Pestilence looked up, and squinted into the sun.
"Mostly white," he said. "Hang on a sec." There was a moment of formication, the sensation of ants running over your skin, and then the whole world seemed to shift: colours faded to grays and blacks and the brightness of everything turned down. Ordinary objects gained a halo like they'd been outlined in pencil by a careless artist. The sun became much easier to look at, but seemed to fall away like a long tunnel in the sky to somewhere else. And, gradually, there was a feeling of something eternal and deathless watching.
Pestilence stopped squinting and surveyed the sky. In this light he was a tall, pale-skinned man with mottled patches on his skin and a swirl of something dark and sooty around him as though he were weeping mould spores.
"Nothing, Fam," he said. "Those aren't natural colours."
Famine, a scarecrow-like shape that towered over Pestilence and the landscape, easily eighteen metres tall and -- possibly -- growing visibly, turned like a windvane being pushed by the wind. "I detect royalty, fam," he said. His voice echoed like he was shouting into a stone tomb.
"Which one though, Fam? There's a lot of Kings these days. If I were a Poker player I'd be cursing."
"Feels like the King in Crimson," said Famine. "I get... indirect energy, a feeling that I'm queued up behind you."
"Hah," said Pestilence. "You elbow when you're queueing. And you've got pointy elbows."
"I sharpen them, fam," said Famine. He giggled, a long, drawn-out high-pitched kettle whistle of noise that didn't seem to contain any sanity. "Sand them down when they get knobbly, then grind in points like sharpening a knife."
Pestilence smiled and black sooty particles swirled around him as though the wind were getting up. "Savage pestilence and vicious famine," he said. "Isn't that one of the predictions?"
"Time of Kings, fam," said Famine. "Time of Kings. Turn the lights back on, will you? I'm starting to feel like his nibs is paying me too much attention."
The light went back to normal and Pestilence and Famine seemed to shrink back to their 'normal' human forms: skinny, grubby and easy to overlook.
"That's not the boss watching us in there," said Pestilence thoughtfully. "Have we ever asked him who it is?"
Famine shivered. "Not the boss and not Royalty," he said. "Do we really want to know?"
"Do you think it's the one that came before?"
"You know the boss won't talk about that."
"True, Fam. True."
Greg - thanks :)
Hmm. This is intriguing. I'm not at all sure what's going on here, but I would be pleased to learn.
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