Fly Me To The Moon
I in no way, shape, or form, pursue payment in exchange of putting this work on the web. This is for educational purposes only. I do not own Rise of the Guardians, Fly Me To The Moon, Frank Sinatra, a bird, a twig, a specific method nor melody for whistling, Jupiter, Mars, a cloak, any snowflakes, this is getting unnecessarily long you guys get the idea yadda yadda ON TO THE STORY–
Whistling.
Someone was whistling.
And the tune was too slow to be cheery.
It was eerie, listening to the whistling. Everything was dark in this forest. Despite how much the Moon seemed to be forcing it's light into it, the trees still remained too shadowed, the snow not glittering, the animals skittish and frightened into silence as the tune floated it's way past.
A twig snapped, a bird squawked, and the tune continued. It was confusing, not following the usual melody of the song. The ups were down and the downs were up, the notes held too short and the pauses held too long. Then it would suddenly switch back to the normal melody, everything correct on its order, before sinking back into its eerie, melancholic melody.
A crunch in the snow, a rustle of wind in the leaves, and the tune settles around a frozen lake. It echoes against the glassy ice, bouncing back to the trees and carrying itself on tiny streams of wind before circling back to the center of the lake. The Moon seemed most brilliant here, almost blindingly white, as if screaming and rushing to get as much light down to the clearing as possible. But it couldn't reach the lake's surface. Maybe it was the large, ominous storm clouds beginning to gather in the sky, or maybe the long, thin, and numerous bare trees in the forest, or maybe it was the dark, whispering, looming shadows that crawled at the edges of the clearing. Whatever it was, it prevented the Moon from reaching the lake, and so its frozen surface was dimmed, muted and frail looking.
The tune abruptly stopped. And suddenly, there was singing.
"Fly me…to…the moon…"
Its–His–voice was masculine, deep and low in pitch, but rough. Clipped with hatred were the words of the song sung. Years, decades, centuries of loneliness, of anger, of fear of death of revenge were heard in the slight shifts of tone. The man was nowhere to be seen, his voice apparently carrying itself through the air and around the lake, noticeable only by ear.
"Let…me play…amongst…the stars…"
Snow swirled around the edges of the clearing, the shadows hissing and scooting away from it. Wind picked up speed and started to rattle the branches of the trees. The air grew colder, and frost began creeping up trunks and rocks. Ice grew over the untouched parts of snow in the shape of footprints, heading towards the lake. The steps were nearly non-existent, and uneven in pattern, as if the stepper was stumbling. A foot print would appear, then two more would follow to the side, then three steps straight forward, before five steps in a circle, so on.
"Let me see what…spring…is…like…on Jupiter and…Mars…"
The voice was getting lower in volume, concentrating itself on one specific area. And it was starting to growl. The steps began to straighten themselves out as they crept their way onto the lake. The ice creaked and groaned as if a body walked on it, becoming louder and disturbing the eerie moments of silence between lyrics of song.
Suddenly, the snow that had been swirling around the edges of the clearing zoomed around once before soaring up into the sky. There, it converged into one dark, twisting ball, before slamming with the force of twenty thunderbolts right onto the surface of the lake. The ice cracked and shattered, a hole crumbling into existence right in the middle. From the frigid water rose a glowing blue staff, looking more like a hand-shaped crook carved from a mutated tree branch then a proper magical conductor.
The wind began to howl, and with it the voice returned, its volume too loud and its tone laced with malice.
"In other words-"
It was abruptly cut off by sudden laughter. It seemed to be the voice itself laughing, though this laugh wasn't really a laugh anymore. It was more like quick intakes of breath in between high-pitched cackles, gasps of noise of revenge revenge revenge and sharp squeals of- revengerevengerevengerevengeREVENGE-
Frost formed in the shape of fingertips on the staff's left side. It continued to travel all along the object, sharp and jagged and shaped like drops of blood when it wasn't pointed. The laughter, for lack of better word for it, slowed down to a stop. Snowflakes appeared as if from nowhere, swirling round and round and round until they formed the shape of a person, arm held out and gripping the floating object.
Little by little, the snowflakes stopped swirling and fell down, leaving behind a man. This man had windblown, white hair that would've gleamed silver if the moonlight could reach it. His skin was deathly pale, eyebrows dark brown, nose a tad too sharp; lips tinted purple as if about to freeze. His jaw was a bit sharper then your average youth, and his eyes… His eyes were surprisingly normal. They were blue: no special color, no tiny twinkle, just a normal blue. He wore what used to be a hooded sweater; its sleeves were now shredded up to his elbows, the hem chipped and ripped, pockets torn in half and one of them completely missing. There was a dark, black cloak sewn onto the shoulders of the cloth, below the hood, and it reached all the way down to brush against the snow. His colonial trousers were almost above his knees now, ripped and falling apart, held together by some twine tied around the end. His feet were bare and toes tipped with frostbite.
The man breathed in a long breath, looked up, and stared straight at the moon. A moment of silence passed, in which the remaining snowflakes fell down and the hole in the middle of the lake froze itself back together.
Then he smirked. It stretched too far up his cheeks on one side; his teeth sharp and something that looked a lot like fangs poking out. His eyes narrowed, pupils shrinking to slits. The Moon dimmed instantly, as if cowering back from his mocking glare.
"Hello, Man in the Moon. Now that I'm back, I think it's time we have some fun."
So, what do you all think? Reviews are welcomed, all kinds!