( Fire crackles, consumes. When the paper burns to crisp and nothing, and the energies of the rooftop settle in wake of fresh sorcery, the world falls silent.
It seems, fleetingly, as if the skies might weep again. The wind faintly whistles, then builds to a howl. The child is nine, ten, one and ten. A nebulous age, shielded by an ancient fox mask, its lower jaw rattling whenever the child speaks.
The previously immutable umbrella rests in his hand now, too large for his stature, dripping down its blood that never stains the ground. He appears — delicate, unhurried, serene. Bare feet exiting a long, white burlap robe, caked with mud, leaves and branches.
His presence paralyses, stills the air. All movement slows to treacle. When he holds his umbrella over the head of his fresh companion, any sign of their sickness wanes. )
THE CHILD
( Fire crackles, consumes. When the paper burns to crisp and nothing, and the energies of the rooftop settle in wake of fresh sorcery, the world falls silent.
It seems, fleetingly, as if the skies might weep again. The wind faintly whistles, then builds to a howl. The child is nine, ten, one and ten. A nebulous age, shielded by an ancient fox mask, its lower jaw rattling whenever the child speaks.
The previously immutable umbrella rests in his hand now, too large for his stature, dripping down its blood that never stains the ground. He appears — delicate, unhurried, serene. Bare feet exiting a long, white burlap robe, caked with mud, leaves and branches.
His presence paralyses, stills the air. All movement slows to treacle. When he holds his umbrella over the head of his fresh companion, any sign of their sickness wanes. )
You won't like what you see.