A/N: Written for the Drabble Prompts Challenge on the AMF, prompt #001 – shadow. The context is the final episodes of the second season, where the real world is covered in VenomMyotismon's blanket of darkness. I was experimenting with a different style of poetic prose here – and I think it'll take me a while to get the hang of it. :D But it was a fun try nonetheless; strange to take away all the capitals from a block of text, I must say.
Enjoy, and let me know what you think.
bleeding shadows
shadows bleed. and they don't know how to stop bleeding.
shadows cannot run dry; they are not like light which can fade into a greedy black hole.
they are not like paradise, with its predetermined bounds. they are hell, fires which
can burn forever without pause.
hell doesn't care what it devours. it just devours – devours whatever its thin tendril fingers
can rake towards. it devours pretty little flowers crushed under a heelboot/turned into ash.
it devours sparkly little lights that flash in the sky like an ornamental tree – and it devours
the trees as well, so that the forests are nothing but barren land, barren ash.
and the shadows bleed through it all; bleed because there is nothing that can stop it bleeding
for eternity. the fires of destruction have devoured all the trees that held the light, and those
pretty little lamps have crumbled. those little devices that hold what's left of the light are there,
but the shadows have touched that too.
the shadows don't know how to stop bleeding, and the light doesn't know how to stop it.