The Widow
by Cyren, A. Wong.
Her little heart thumped as she scurried on the dessert-like terrain. Craters, some the size of tennis courts, others the size of small footholds dotted the land in front of her. Faster and faster she went as if the hounds of Hell themselves were set out to get her, and indeed for all one knows they were. All around her there was nothing but chaos. Months and months of hard work falling to ruin and crumbling before her eyes. She blinked, once then twice, momentarily stunned by the carnage around her. Architecture, once tall and seemingly infallible seemed to evaporate upwards in about no time at all. She watched everything, from the tallest white spire to the humblest of comodes dissappeared without a trace. It was efficient, no doubt and extremely merciless.
Still, even as she mourned the loss of her once beautiful world did she realise that her life was still in danger and that she had little or no time for such fancies. Even as her children were destroyed had she been forced to flee her home. There was no time for looking back now. She would mourn their deaths, along with the loss of her beloved home later; once she found suitable subterfuge. But what was that? There, in front of her, a small dark crack in the terrain. Insignifcant to most, but for her, the perfect hiding spot. She made a beeline to the crack and without any encouragement slipped into the shadows like a fish into water the moment a kindly fisherman took out his cruel hook - that is to say, sharpish!!!
The widow crouched in the shadow, her slender limbs balled around her body so as to remain inconspicuous. From her hiding spot she could no longer see the carnage but the sounds of her city, rending itself to shreds, and the cries of the unfortunate managed to fill her entire frame but soon enough, even those sounds began to fade away slowly. Indeed, so gradually that it took her a moment before she realised that it had been quite awhile that all was silent around her, and that she was truly alone. She felt the sinking feeling of isolation, though but for an instance, for she remembered that hers had always been a life frought with loneliness and so didn't bother her unduly.
She waited a moment longer, biding her time. Indeed, there have been many amongst her people who managed to escape the initial onslought, only to be killed not moments later when they emerged from their hiding spots too soon. "Fools," she thought of them. And indeed fools rarely survived on the barren, dessert-like terrain she had come to call home. To outsmart the enemy, one often had to think like her, and she for one believed that she had survived for so long mainly for that. "Patience," she silently agreed, "was the key." She curled in further upon herself and waited, eyes never once removed from the tiny sliver of light that was the entrance to her hideout.
It was night when she finally decided to emerge...or perhaps not. At any rate it was dark. Much darker than it had once been. She uncurled her body slowly, gracefully but with the dedicated purpose of an assassin. She thought about all that she had lost, and for a moment her heart was filled with sorrow, and perhaps regret. Still, such emotions are perhaps best reserved for the weak. It was not sorrow, or regret that had kept her alive for so long. It was her drive, and her purpose. And so, she allowed herself but two tears; one for her lost home, the other, her children, and without further ado, emerged from her hiding spot. On eight steady legs she scuttled, warily, yet purposefully, to the nearest most secluded looking corner of her terrain and strand by strand began to build her life, and her city anew.
PEACE OUT
by Cyren, A. Wong.
Her little heart thumped as she scurried on the dessert-like terrain. Craters, some the size of tennis courts, others the size of small footholds dotted the land in front of her. Faster and faster she went as if the hounds of Hell themselves were set out to get her, and indeed for all one knows they were. All around her there was nothing but chaos. Months and months of hard work falling to ruin and crumbling before her eyes. She blinked, once then twice, momentarily stunned by the carnage around her. Architecture, once tall and seemingly infallible seemed to evaporate upwards in about no time at all. She watched everything, from the tallest white spire to the humblest of comodes dissappeared without a trace. It was efficient, no doubt and extremely merciless.
Still, even as she mourned the loss of her once beautiful world did she realise that her life was still in danger and that she had little or no time for such fancies. Even as her children were destroyed had she been forced to flee her home. There was no time for looking back now. She would mourn their deaths, along with the loss of her beloved home later; once she found suitable subterfuge. But what was that? There, in front of her, a small dark crack in the terrain. Insignifcant to most, but for her, the perfect hiding spot. She made a beeline to the crack and without any encouragement slipped into the shadows like a fish into water the moment a kindly fisherman took out his cruel hook - that is to say, sharpish!!!
The widow crouched in the shadow, her slender limbs balled around her body so as to remain inconspicuous. From her hiding spot she could no longer see the carnage but the sounds of her city, rending itself to shreds, and the cries of the unfortunate managed to fill her entire frame but soon enough, even those sounds began to fade away slowly. Indeed, so gradually that it took her a moment before she realised that it had been quite awhile that all was silent around her, and that she was truly alone. She felt the sinking feeling of isolation, though but for an instance, for she remembered that hers had always been a life frought with loneliness and so didn't bother her unduly.
She waited a moment longer, biding her time. Indeed, there have been many amongst her people who managed to escape the initial onslought, only to be killed not moments later when they emerged from their hiding spots too soon. "Fools," she thought of them. And indeed fools rarely survived on the barren, dessert-like terrain she had come to call home. To outsmart the enemy, one often had to think like her, and she for one believed that she had survived for so long mainly for that. "Patience," she silently agreed, "was the key." She curled in further upon herself and waited, eyes never once removed from the tiny sliver of light that was the entrance to her hideout.
It was night when she finally decided to emerge...or perhaps not. At any rate it was dark. Much darker than it had once been. She uncurled her body slowly, gracefully but with the dedicated purpose of an assassin. She thought about all that she had lost, and for a moment her heart was filled with sorrow, and perhaps regret. Still, such emotions are perhaps best reserved for the weak. It was not sorrow, or regret that had kept her alive for so long. It was her drive, and her purpose. And so, she allowed herself but two tears; one for her lost home, the other, her children, and without further ado, emerged from her hiding spot. On eight steady legs she scuttled, warily, yet purposefully, to the nearest most secluded looking corner of her terrain and strand by strand began to build her life, and her city anew.
PEACE OUT
