Rights of Grief
By Tami
I saw him, the two-legged beast with the extra sharp arms that glittered in the glare of the sun. He skittered around among the yellow-green summer growth, occasionally slowing down his pace to squeeze between two rocks or crouch down low near the side of the cliff, preparing himself to ambush defenseless babies. There was a wild look of a murderer in those large, cruel eyes. He smiled the entire time, from contemplating a way to strike to actually slamming down the single and final blow and having the resulting spray of crimson speckle his face with red freckles. When he descended down upon them like a hawk on a rabbit, they were still and silent, their expressions reflecting the insane fascination for their near end. Hypnotized by the instinctive knowledge that they were about to have their hearts impaled while it was still in their soft, warm chests, they probably didn't even feel the burning agony of death. If God had any mercy in that heart that decided to snatch away all three of my darlings, he would have at least granted them a quick, easy way out of their mortally wounded bodies.
Each time, a shrill cry sounded, as one of my children begged for aid, as futile as doing so would prove to be. The beach bums be weak, but they be brave, and each courageous blue-gray hero was sacrificed for a lost cause when they answered the cries for help. They rushed hastily out of their warm sea home, and delivered blows to the serial killer, who wasn't affected the least by their assault. He barely gave them laughing glance as he darted in and out of his pitiful opponents, thrusting his weapon in their tender bellies and not even bothering to watch as they died with silent grace. Then he would corner his prize that cast him pleading looks that he didn't even seem to notice. He crammed the steel blades neatly into their upper torsos, causing destruction to the skin that glittered like multi-colored diamonds constantly, whether they be diving and frolicking in the waters, happily splashing siblings, or slumbering peacefully by my own brilliant, yet dull from age, sides.
My youngest saw me watching. She was a female, frail and the first to go. She had always been the runt of litter; delicate and unable to make speedy escapes form normal predators like her bothers. She was slow and clumsy but the most beautiful of us all, and was dear to our hearts. When she saw him she gave a shriek of fright, and desperately ran herself into circles, trying to elude certain death. Amusing himself with a game of cat and mouse, he chased her round and round until he became weary of playing with her apparent terror. Bodyguards jumped down from the trees they lived in and in vain they tried to protect her. Their slumped forms are now lying in the dust of a hot day, flies buzzing round their corpses and laying eggs that will soon be squirming white maggots feasting on their stiff, bloated flesh. Her little feet were jerked out from under her when he gave a great leap like a triumphant cat's and managed to spear her through her back. She went limp and sprawled over the ground baked warm by sunshine, her mouth slack. She spotted me taking in the events with my own two eyes, too far away to help. The last fleeting, scared look she gave me while the light faded from her starry eyes will forever be branded in my mind.
I had been numb with disbelief, paralyzed into hesitation. While I stood there like a rigid sentinel, he bent over and plucked the rare and single most jeweled scale perched on top of her small forehead. The absence of the tiny flake left a blot of scarlet, bare meat dark and like a third eye staring at the world on her brow. He left the rest to rot, and ran away. I hurried over far to late, and tried to let the grief frantically beating against the restraints of my mind settle as I kept a brief vigil over her body. There was barely enough time for me to feel the first pangs of anger when I heard the second scream.
My middle child was strong and sturdy. He was always hungry, and spent most of his time rooting out fish rather than basking in the sun or swimming. He never became fat, for he kept himself lean with his exercising. Gentle and good-hearted with the best of the intentions in mind, he was his little sister's favorite. He never was clever, though, and in panic he scurried into the sly human's trap. His wail bought others who threw themselves before his attacker, even though they had nothing to do with this slaughter and were soon butchered themselves. It was their reward for caring about a premature Komodo dragon. I found his body in the cave annexed to his favorite spot, where the cool of the palm tree's leaves would take away the torture of a summer noon. He was not on the floor, but lying back on the shiny inside of an upright shell. It appeared as if he had been backing up when the murderer lunged. He gaped soundlessly at me, his eyes open and glassy with the shine of death, a perfect oval bloody spot where his most lovely scale used to be. It matched the pool around his slender legs, created by the thick river of liquid bubbling out of a deep wound in his chest and slipping down the curves of his bright emerald tummy. The shadows in the cavern mostly hid his agonized face, and for this I am glad, for I feared that I would lose my mind and sanity at the sight.
I didn't even have time for the rage to register. The distress signal from my last child trumpeted through the beach. It was not so much of a scream as a surprised moan cut short. The short bleat echoed faintly, and then the small haven where I had been nurtured from birth and planned to nurture my own youngsters was oddly quiet after witnessing the killing of so many of it's inhabitants. I scrambled as quickly as I could towards where I had heard him call, hoping to redeem myself for not being able to stop the murders of my other two. I found my best beloved at his feet, draped like an elegant rug of some sort, wetting the boots that was under him with his body fluids. He had been the best of my litter, smart and physically advantaged. He had been kind and courteous to his little brother and sister, with a trophy embedded in his head so beautiful and large that it sent up a flare of colors into the air every time he moved his head on his long, slim neck. Two beach bums, toppled easily and lying face down in the sand nearby, were still somewhat alive, although not for long. They whimpered sadly, knowing that the demise of the one they had tried to protect had been inevitable from the beginning.
His killer sort of gently kicked the body away from him and bent over to collect the item he wanted badly enough to kill and reek havoc and despair upon my heart. I could bear it no more. I lumbered down the hill with a roar of grief, my soul shattered into a thousand pieces and my bared teeth glowing white in the morning sun. I sank my fangs deep into his arm, thoughts in turmoil and son trampled under my own feet. The last thing I heard was his small useless bones snapping under me like my own broken heart.
**************************************************************************** *** Serge rubbed at the area of his arm where fast disappearing bite marks marred his tanned skin. The large creature's body was a silhouette, a lump of shadow obscuring the sun. He carefully brushed the minor wound with his fingers. He had used the recover all that he had found this morning, which reformed his broken bones and healed the shredded flesh, but it was likely that he would have to see the village medic as soon as he got back, just in case.
He took one last look at the dead beast before him. Then he shrugged and went to meet Leena on the beach, who he was sure would appreciate him a little bit more when he presented her with the Komodo scales he had spent all of his late morning collecting. As he walked the bloody scales clinked in his pocket.
Author's note: Didn't anyone else think it was unfair that the Komodo dragons had to die? How would you feel if some crazy nut went around slaughtering all your children? Anyway, this is a little bit disoriented, but I think it's okay. If anyone's curious, I put off writing shadowed flight a while to write some useless, yet entertaining junk.
I saw him, the two-legged beast with the extra sharp arms that glittered in the glare of the sun. He skittered around among the yellow-green summer growth, occasionally slowing down his pace to squeeze between two rocks or crouch down low near the side of the cliff, preparing himself to ambush defenseless babies. There was a wild look of a murderer in those large, cruel eyes. He smiled the entire time, from contemplating a way to strike to actually slamming down the single and final blow and having the resulting spray of crimson speckle his face with red freckles. When he descended down upon them like a hawk on a rabbit, they were still and silent, their expressions reflecting the insane fascination for their near end. Hypnotized by the instinctive knowledge that they were about to have their hearts impaled while it was still in their soft, warm chests, they probably didn't even feel the burning agony of death. If God had any mercy in that heart that decided to snatch away all three of my darlings, he would have at least granted them a quick, easy way out of their mortally wounded bodies.
Each time, a shrill cry sounded, as one of my children begged for aid, as futile as doing so would prove to be. The beach bums be weak, but they be brave, and each courageous blue-gray hero was sacrificed for a lost cause when they answered the cries for help. They rushed hastily out of their warm sea home, and delivered blows to the serial killer, who wasn't affected the least by their assault. He barely gave them laughing glance as he darted in and out of his pitiful opponents, thrusting his weapon in their tender bellies and not even bothering to watch as they died with silent grace. Then he would corner his prize that cast him pleading looks that he didn't even seem to notice. He crammed the steel blades neatly into their upper torsos, causing destruction to the skin that glittered like multi-colored diamonds constantly, whether they be diving and frolicking in the waters, happily splashing siblings, or slumbering peacefully by my own brilliant, yet dull from age, sides.
My youngest saw me watching. She was a female, frail and the first to go. She had always been the runt of litter; delicate and unable to make speedy escapes form normal predators like her bothers. She was slow and clumsy but the most beautiful of us all, and was dear to our hearts. When she saw him she gave a shriek of fright, and desperately ran herself into circles, trying to elude certain death. Amusing himself with a game of cat and mouse, he chased her round and round until he became weary of playing with her apparent terror. Bodyguards jumped down from the trees they lived in and in vain they tried to protect her. Their slumped forms are now lying in the dust of a hot day, flies buzzing round their corpses and laying eggs that will soon be squirming white maggots feasting on their stiff, bloated flesh. Her little feet were jerked out from under her when he gave a great leap like a triumphant cat's and managed to spear her through her back. She went limp and sprawled over the ground baked warm by sunshine, her mouth slack. She spotted me taking in the events with my own two eyes, too far away to help. The last fleeting, scared look she gave me while the light faded from her starry eyes will forever be branded in my mind.
I had been numb with disbelief, paralyzed into hesitation. While I stood there like a rigid sentinel, he bent over and plucked the rare and single most jeweled scale perched on top of her small forehead. The absence of the tiny flake left a blot of scarlet, bare meat dark and like a third eye staring at the world on her brow. He left the rest to rot, and ran away. I hurried over far to late, and tried to let the grief frantically beating against the restraints of my mind settle as I kept a brief vigil over her body. There was barely enough time for me to feel the first pangs of anger when I heard the second scream.
My middle child was strong and sturdy. He was always hungry, and spent most of his time rooting out fish rather than basking in the sun or swimming. He never became fat, for he kept himself lean with his exercising. Gentle and good-hearted with the best of the intentions in mind, he was his little sister's favorite. He never was clever, though, and in panic he scurried into the sly human's trap. His wail bought others who threw themselves before his attacker, even though they had nothing to do with this slaughter and were soon butchered themselves. It was their reward for caring about a premature Komodo dragon. I found his body in the cave annexed to his favorite spot, where the cool of the palm tree's leaves would take away the torture of a summer noon. He was not on the floor, but lying back on the shiny inside of an upright shell. It appeared as if he had been backing up when the murderer lunged. He gaped soundlessly at me, his eyes open and glassy with the shine of death, a perfect oval bloody spot where his most lovely scale used to be. It matched the pool around his slender legs, created by the thick river of liquid bubbling out of a deep wound in his chest and slipping down the curves of his bright emerald tummy. The shadows in the cavern mostly hid his agonized face, and for this I am glad, for I feared that I would lose my mind and sanity at the sight.
I didn't even have time for the rage to register. The distress signal from my last child trumpeted through the beach. It was not so much of a scream as a surprised moan cut short. The short bleat echoed faintly, and then the small haven where I had been nurtured from birth and planned to nurture my own youngsters was oddly quiet after witnessing the killing of so many of it's inhabitants. I scrambled as quickly as I could towards where I had heard him call, hoping to redeem myself for not being able to stop the murders of my other two. I found my best beloved at his feet, draped like an elegant rug of some sort, wetting the boots that was under him with his body fluids. He had been the best of my litter, smart and physically advantaged. He had been kind and courteous to his little brother and sister, with a trophy embedded in his head so beautiful and large that it sent up a flare of colors into the air every time he moved his head on his long, slim neck. Two beach bums, toppled easily and lying face down in the sand nearby, were still somewhat alive, although not for long. They whimpered sadly, knowing that the demise of the one they had tried to protect had been inevitable from the beginning.
His killer sort of gently kicked the body away from him and bent over to collect the item he wanted badly enough to kill and reek havoc and despair upon my heart. I could bear it no more. I lumbered down the hill with a roar of grief, my soul shattered into a thousand pieces and my bared teeth glowing white in the morning sun. I sank my fangs deep into his arm, thoughts in turmoil and son trampled under my own feet. The last thing I heard was his small useless bones snapping under me like my own broken heart.
**************************************************************************** *** Serge rubbed at the area of his arm where fast disappearing bite marks marred his tanned skin. The large creature's body was a silhouette, a lump of shadow obscuring the sun. He carefully brushed the minor wound with his fingers. He had used the recover all that he had found this morning, which reformed his broken bones and healed the shredded flesh, but it was likely that he would have to see the village medic as soon as he got back, just in case.
He took one last look at the dead beast before him. Then he shrugged and went to meet Leena on the beach, who he was sure would appreciate him a little bit more when he presented her with the Komodo scales he had spent all of his late morning collecting. As he walked the bloody scales clinked in his pocket.
Author's note: Didn't anyone else think it was unfair that the Komodo dragons had to die? How would you feel if some crazy nut went around slaughtering all your children? Anyway, this is a little bit disoriented, but I think it's okay. If anyone's curious, I put off writing shadowed flight a while to write some useless, yet entertaining junk.