Before he descended into the dark mists of the jungle a riot of violent reds and oranges framed Simon's dark head and that of the pilot's against the falling sun. As he delved further into the island's murky interior the sky behind him subdued into a bruised purple and a mild dark blue.
Simon's legs wobbled unsteadily as he pushed forward through the underbrush. As he staggered along his foot caught a root and he fell hard. Determined, he straightened his wobbly knees and oh so slowly raised his back out of the hunch to resume his march.
As he hobbled through the green undergrowth, a canopy of darkness covered the sky overhead. The interlacing branches snaked around each other, their leaves sewn together as a black blanket over the forest below.
While laboriously forcing his way along, each step was an individual effort. His feet were heavy as lead bars and to lift them and propel them forward was only possible with the downward assistance of the tree-strewn slope.
As his heart pounded with each step, his mind wandered into mists as dark and murky as those where his feet ventured. He had discovered the beast, hadn't he? He could show them now. They would listen. Keep thinking that. You must keep thinking that.
His knees gave out again and he lay with his hands and face in the mud. It was on him, in him. He raised his hand and felt the dark, wet dirt that now covered and hid his face. Behind the mask he felt a surge of feeling. He looked up through the haze and saw the Lord before him. He met its eyes and the feeling rose to new heights. It was wild. It was raw. He wanted to get up and run and whoop, but his body would not obey. He did not know for how long he lay there gazing. His mind was a whirlpool, a riot of rainbows and flashes swirling down, blinding his psyche in its fury.
Then he felt a little sting on his nose, a tickling really. His eyes left the Fly Lord's image and rested in the fly perched on his nose. He slapped it and as it was brushed of him his mind cleared. He sat up and removed the mud from his face. The feeling, the rush, had left him. The Lord was gone. Its essence and power did not, could not have a hold on him. He did not belong. Now on his knees he pushed himself to his feet. He must tell them, share his discovery.
He was nearing the beach now. The violent red of the fire was piercing the calm dark of the trees. The quiet murmurs of the woods were drowned in the shouts and beating of the dance.
Before he fully emerged he heard them approach. He began to tell them the news, but they could not listen. Their shouts, their screams, their energy; it all engulfed him in a wild tempest of savagery. He looked into their cutting eyes and saw what all of them had been searching for. For the third time his knees gave out and he fell onto the cold sand. Then they were upon him.
Simon's legs wobbled unsteadily as he pushed forward through the underbrush. As he staggered along his foot caught a root and he fell hard. Determined, he straightened his wobbly knees and oh so slowly raised his back out of the hunch to resume his march.
As he hobbled through the green undergrowth, a canopy of darkness covered the sky overhead. The interlacing branches snaked around each other, their leaves sewn together as a black blanket over the forest below.
While laboriously forcing his way along, each step was an individual effort. His feet were heavy as lead bars and to lift them and propel them forward was only possible with the downward assistance of the tree-strewn slope.
As his heart pounded with each step, his mind wandered into mists as dark and murky as those where his feet ventured. He had discovered the beast, hadn't he? He could show them now. They would listen. Keep thinking that. You must keep thinking that.
His knees gave out again and he lay with his hands and face in the mud. It was on him, in him. He raised his hand and felt the dark, wet dirt that now covered and hid his face. Behind the mask he felt a surge of feeling. He looked up through the haze and saw the Lord before him. He met its eyes and the feeling rose to new heights. It was wild. It was raw. He wanted to get up and run and whoop, but his body would not obey. He did not know for how long he lay there gazing. His mind was a whirlpool, a riot of rainbows and flashes swirling down, blinding his psyche in its fury.
Then he felt a little sting on his nose, a tickling really. His eyes left the Fly Lord's image and rested in the fly perched on his nose. He slapped it and as it was brushed of him his mind cleared. He sat up and removed the mud from his face. The feeling, the rush, had left him. The Lord was gone. Its essence and power did not, could not have a hold on him. He did not belong. Now on his knees he pushed himself to his feet. He must tell them, share his discovery.
He was nearing the beach now. The violent red of the fire was piercing the calm dark of the trees. The quiet murmurs of the woods were drowned in the shouts and beating of the dance.
Before he fully emerged he heard them approach. He began to tell them the news, but they could not listen. Their shouts, their screams, their energy; it all engulfed him in a wild tempest of savagery. He looked into their cutting eyes and saw what all of them had been searching for. For the third time his knees gave out and he fell onto the cold sand. Then they were upon him.