Author's note: This story came from the idea of mixing a more realistic 'without powers' story with a RRB/PPG friendship and the return of Moko Jono, all while the girls are still six years old, and all brought together with this question: "What if Gnomey had been true to his word?" I hope you enjoy it :). I am trying a new writing exercise by establishing each pov of the story in a single page each.
Inherit The Wind
I.
The walls were a tight blackness fashioned into an airtight coffin.
Somehow...somehow there was breathing, kept alive with the heavy scent of wet earth.
Air came from a pin drop of a hole, worn white with delicate claw marks criss-crossed in a silent record of a month's worth of tireless diligence.
An unspoken power fed upon itself in white hot rage, hanging thick in colorless waves like the heat off a sidewalk on a summer's day.
Waiting. Planning. Cursing.
Within a small pot, a mud brown concoction bubbled, a dim red flame to its side flickering to the pulse of a deep heartbeat.
A single claw, twice as thick as a grown man's arm ,slipped from it's dark blanket, opening with a slow, unshaken certainly.
"My boooys..."
The mixture of slime, hair, and blood, still warm from life, made its slow, oozing descent.
"...wake up now..."
Blood atop the liquid pooled like oil, growing bubbles that roared into a full boil, filling half of the enclosure with a eerie green light.
"....Daddy has a present for you...."
The boiling erupted up into a miniature geyser from the pot in a flash of light, casting the silhouette of a tiny figure wearing a sparkling pointed hat into sharp, looming relief against a far wall of the tiny tomb.
" And just what would that be, my old friend?" A deep voice asked.
Him gashed his gleaming white fangs toward the blackness in reply, glowing yellow eyes lengthening to bitter slits...