~ All standard disclaimers apply
~ Warning: My writing is currently under the influence of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Beware the long sentences!
Hunting Duo
Hellfire
The night forest is silent now, not even the dry rustle of leaves in the breeze to disturb the peace. It is dark here among the quiet foliage, the moon half-hidden behind a mask of cloud and the treetops far above blocking what light escapes the confinement of the mists. Yet the clearing ahead is not swathed in shadow, as one might expect. It is bright as if the moon shone freely upon it, details standing out in sharp relief. A lone structure constructed largely of glass stands in the middle, cut off from the surrounding forest by a strip of bare grass encircling the building.
It is elegant in this loneliness, picturesque. Straight, smooth glass, interrupted by the dark, winding vines of iron at once set it apart from the nature surrounding it and make it at one with the scene, an inseparable part of the whole. The moon breaks free from its guard of clouds to dance on the glass, marveling in the reflections of itself. These panes of silver, sent back out into the night, shimmer on dew-wet grass and would dazzle the eyes of nocturnal creatures, had there been any to witness this scene.
Inside the glass room, shielded from prying eyes by the light of the moon, Duo Maxwell stands beside a bed, denying his destiny. His eyes, shadowed for the moment by too-long bangs, are focused on what lies amid the tangled sheets of washed-out silk. For there, laid out with care atop the disheveled bedding, rests clothing of blood red and black trim, his costume for the night.
He sighs, begins to loosen the tie of his robe. The pale silk falls to the floor and Duo leaves it there, attention focused wholly on the garments set before him. He picks up the shirt first, slowly pulling the cold material over his head. A quick inhale is heard as the chill fabric makes contact with the young man's warm skin. Long, loose sleeves slide down sinewy arms to hide the strength that lies just beneath the surface. Cord ties, similar to the ones hanging loose about the neck hole, dangle from the unfastened cuffs, forgotten for now. Duo turns his attention to his hair, freeing the braid from the confines of the shirt and taking much needed comfort, what little there is to be had, from the familiar feeling of his hair heavy against his back.
With cold fingers he plucks the pants from their resting place, and bends over to step into them. His braid slips over one shoulder to dangle, nearly touching the floor, as he slides the material up to his waist. Now Duo pauses, uncertain. A sound from outside, perhaps imagined, perhaps real, startles him, and he quickly tucks in his shirt. Moving with equal speed he deftly ties the cuffs of the shirt, breathing shallowly, air gusting between his lips at an uneven pace. Shivers dance along Duo's arms, perchance caused by the cold of his garments, possibly caused by the fear of something waiting in the forest.
And indeed, there is something waiting out there amid the trees, a predator who patiently bides its time until its chosen prey should emerge. It trembles, much as its prey now does, but for very different reasons. One shivers with barely concealed anticipation, the other with an uneasy trepidation. One is crouched, ready to pounce, while the other is tensed, ready to bolt. Both know their roles in tonight's play, and both intend to fulfill those parts.
However strong the intention, though, the will and courage to execute that purpose must be there to back it up. For Duo, the will and courage are somewhere out in the forest, or possibly they are tucked away in a pocket of his discarded robe. The young man glances to the crumpled garment as if to search for his lost attributes, then shakes his head and searches instead for his shoes. He will need them tonight.
Finding them beneath the bed, he pulls the boots out from under a fold of the comforter. The smell of worn leather tickles his nose, accompanied by the faint scents of grass and rain and fear. He hastily shoves them on his feet and stands, anxious to be away from the ghost stink of his own terror and the memories that stench evokes within his heart. The soles of his shoes softly squeak on the cold marble floor as Duo strides to a small table in the corner. A brush, strands of long chestnut hair caught in its bristles, waits patiently on the table for Duo's use. The young man slides off the band securing his braid, letting the heavy waves of his hair fall freely past his hips. He then takes up the brush, working it through the mass at a leisurely pace in an attempt to calm his breathing and prolong his period of sanctuary. But the tangles fall from his hair easily, and the grooming is over. He must now face his destiny, and his fear.
Duo walks to the only exit in the glass room, a brilliantly worked door of iron vines and glass panes that absorbs and reflects the moonlight, allowing him to look out into the shadowed forest and be seen from without as nothing more than a red and black shadow. Taking a deep breath, the young man places his hand upon the chill glass. It sends a shiver down his body, warning him of the cold night air beyond the sanctuary of his glass cage. He doesn't want to leave this prison-like haven, yet knows he must. So he draws in another breath, and finds that a measure of courage has entered him along with the stagnant air. Bracing himself, he pushes. The door swings open on well-oiled hinges, ushering in the sharp night air and with it all the scents of the forest. Duo steps out into this cold world, onto the grass barrier that crosses between the realm he can never return to and the one he must enter and find safety in.
The predator smiles as he sees his prey emerge and stand on the moonlit barrier between the two worlds. His quarry glances in his direction, meets his eyes, and freezes. They remain like this, the hunter and the hunted, for an indeterminable amount of time. Then, a tiny, anticipatory smile curves the hunter's lips as he nods, breaking the spell. The prey suddenly comes to life, taking off in the opposite direction, feet barely seeming to touch the grass. It enters the forest, dodging between trees and underbrush until he is out of sight. The hunter merely watches, outwardly appearing to be calm, even casual about watching his prey escape, yet in truth straining all his senses for any sign of his quarry's location and direction.
This is a game they play, like a cat toying with a mouse. The hunter will wait a full minute, allow his prey a head start, then begin the chase. Because in the end, he knows who will be victorious. He would not catch his intended victim if that victim truly did not want to be caught. But they have played this game many times before, and each knows the other as intimately as he knows himself.
The allotted time passes, and the hunt is on. Moonlight strikes the hunter as he races off in the direction his quarry took, glinting brightly off bits of silver and melting seamlessly into black cloth. He darts around trees, leaps over low branches, ever sure of the footing amid the roots and rotting leaves. It is no visible trail he follows; instead the predator traces a path carved by his quarry's scent and the warmth of the air in its wake. The hunter breathes deeply of the intoxicating mixture of fear and anxiety waiting on the air for him. It flavors the night, riding over the scents of wet grass and old leaves that the forest is always filled with. The special smell, the prey-scent, is what speeds his heart, gives his feet the ability to fly.
A flash of red, a glimpse of chestnut. The predator is getting ahead of himself. He wants this chase to last, wants to enjoy the feeling of pursuing his fleeing prey, following its scent trail and anticipating the end. Oh, what a marvelous feeling swells up in his breast when he thinks of the end. It tightens his chest, sends shivers down the length of his spine, and only makes the final moments sweeter. How he longs for the end and that painfully sweet release, and yet dreads its coming and the cessation of the chase! For those reasons he slows his pace, taking control of his body and allowing the blood red of his prey to vanish once again into the trees.
Hunter and hunted play this game well, granting the other occasional glimpses in irregular spots of moonlight, then disappearing into the forest and the shadow of the trees. The only sounds to disturb the still night are those of branches being shoved aside, the soft thuds of feet on decaying leaves, and breathing growing heavier and more labored as the game continues. Each wonders how much longer the other will last before caving into the desire to end the chase, neither one wanting to be the first to fall.
But sooner or later the game must end and the hunted must be caught.
As if by mutual consent, although no signal, save one sent along invisible ties, could have been sent between the two, they begin to bring their play to a close. Duo's steps falter, slow, stop, as his pursuer grows swifter, more impatient for the end. Their paths cross, and the hunter falls upon his quarry.
No screams shatter the still night, no hatred interferes with the final act. There is only the sound of labored breathing, only the joy of a successful hunt. Two hearts beat in the darkness of separate chests, their rhythms twining about each other in a macabre melody, faster and faster, reaching their climax, then slowly, slowly calming, until only one cadence can be heard.
The former hunter rises, no longer a predator now that the hunt is over, but just a young man, staring down at another young man whose blood red clothes are ripped and stained, and whose chestnut hair is in wild disarray as he lies on the forest floor. Moonlight seeps through a veil of cloud to cloak the two figures in a soft, muted glow. It glimmers off a slowly spreading pool of blood around the prone form of Duo Maxwell, and shimmers on the bloodstained hands of his hunter. The hunter walks off, leaving the remains of his prey until the next night, when Duo will rise again and the two will repeat their dance, just as they have done, and will continue to do, for all eternity.
~ Owari
~ Warning: My writing is currently under the influence of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Beware the long sentences!
Hunting Duo
Hellfire
The night forest is silent now, not even the dry rustle of leaves in the breeze to disturb the peace. It is dark here among the quiet foliage, the moon half-hidden behind a mask of cloud and the treetops far above blocking what light escapes the confinement of the mists. Yet the clearing ahead is not swathed in shadow, as one might expect. It is bright as if the moon shone freely upon it, details standing out in sharp relief. A lone structure constructed largely of glass stands in the middle, cut off from the surrounding forest by a strip of bare grass encircling the building.
It is elegant in this loneliness, picturesque. Straight, smooth glass, interrupted by the dark, winding vines of iron at once set it apart from the nature surrounding it and make it at one with the scene, an inseparable part of the whole. The moon breaks free from its guard of clouds to dance on the glass, marveling in the reflections of itself. These panes of silver, sent back out into the night, shimmer on dew-wet grass and would dazzle the eyes of nocturnal creatures, had there been any to witness this scene.
Inside the glass room, shielded from prying eyes by the light of the moon, Duo Maxwell stands beside a bed, denying his destiny. His eyes, shadowed for the moment by too-long bangs, are focused on what lies amid the tangled sheets of washed-out silk. For there, laid out with care atop the disheveled bedding, rests clothing of blood red and black trim, his costume for the night.
He sighs, begins to loosen the tie of his robe. The pale silk falls to the floor and Duo leaves it there, attention focused wholly on the garments set before him. He picks up the shirt first, slowly pulling the cold material over his head. A quick inhale is heard as the chill fabric makes contact with the young man's warm skin. Long, loose sleeves slide down sinewy arms to hide the strength that lies just beneath the surface. Cord ties, similar to the ones hanging loose about the neck hole, dangle from the unfastened cuffs, forgotten for now. Duo turns his attention to his hair, freeing the braid from the confines of the shirt and taking much needed comfort, what little there is to be had, from the familiar feeling of his hair heavy against his back.
With cold fingers he plucks the pants from their resting place, and bends over to step into them. His braid slips over one shoulder to dangle, nearly touching the floor, as he slides the material up to his waist. Now Duo pauses, uncertain. A sound from outside, perhaps imagined, perhaps real, startles him, and he quickly tucks in his shirt. Moving with equal speed he deftly ties the cuffs of the shirt, breathing shallowly, air gusting between his lips at an uneven pace. Shivers dance along Duo's arms, perchance caused by the cold of his garments, possibly caused by the fear of something waiting in the forest.
And indeed, there is something waiting out there amid the trees, a predator who patiently bides its time until its chosen prey should emerge. It trembles, much as its prey now does, but for very different reasons. One shivers with barely concealed anticipation, the other with an uneasy trepidation. One is crouched, ready to pounce, while the other is tensed, ready to bolt. Both know their roles in tonight's play, and both intend to fulfill those parts.
However strong the intention, though, the will and courage to execute that purpose must be there to back it up. For Duo, the will and courage are somewhere out in the forest, or possibly they are tucked away in a pocket of his discarded robe. The young man glances to the crumpled garment as if to search for his lost attributes, then shakes his head and searches instead for his shoes. He will need them tonight.
Finding them beneath the bed, he pulls the boots out from under a fold of the comforter. The smell of worn leather tickles his nose, accompanied by the faint scents of grass and rain and fear. He hastily shoves them on his feet and stands, anxious to be away from the ghost stink of his own terror and the memories that stench evokes within his heart. The soles of his shoes softly squeak on the cold marble floor as Duo strides to a small table in the corner. A brush, strands of long chestnut hair caught in its bristles, waits patiently on the table for Duo's use. The young man slides off the band securing his braid, letting the heavy waves of his hair fall freely past his hips. He then takes up the brush, working it through the mass at a leisurely pace in an attempt to calm his breathing and prolong his period of sanctuary. But the tangles fall from his hair easily, and the grooming is over. He must now face his destiny, and his fear.
Duo walks to the only exit in the glass room, a brilliantly worked door of iron vines and glass panes that absorbs and reflects the moonlight, allowing him to look out into the shadowed forest and be seen from without as nothing more than a red and black shadow. Taking a deep breath, the young man places his hand upon the chill glass. It sends a shiver down his body, warning him of the cold night air beyond the sanctuary of his glass cage. He doesn't want to leave this prison-like haven, yet knows he must. So he draws in another breath, and finds that a measure of courage has entered him along with the stagnant air. Bracing himself, he pushes. The door swings open on well-oiled hinges, ushering in the sharp night air and with it all the scents of the forest. Duo steps out into this cold world, onto the grass barrier that crosses between the realm he can never return to and the one he must enter and find safety in.
The predator smiles as he sees his prey emerge and stand on the moonlit barrier between the two worlds. His quarry glances in his direction, meets his eyes, and freezes. They remain like this, the hunter and the hunted, for an indeterminable amount of time. Then, a tiny, anticipatory smile curves the hunter's lips as he nods, breaking the spell. The prey suddenly comes to life, taking off in the opposite direction, feet barely seeming to touch the grass. It enters the forest, dodging between trees and underbrush until he is out of sight. The hunter merely watches, outwardly appearing to be calm, even casual about watching his prey escape, yet in truth straining all his senses for any sign of his quarry's location and direction.
This is a game they play, like a cat toying with a mouse. The hunter will wait a full minute, allow his prey a head start, then begin the chase. Because in the end, he knows who will be victorious. He would not catch his intended victim if that victim truly did not want to be caught. But they have played this game many times before, and each knows the other as intimately as he knows himself.
The allotted time passes, and the hunt is on. Moonlight strikes the hunter as he races off in the direction his quarry took, glinting brightly off bits of silver and melting seamlessly into black cloth. He darts around trees, leaps over low branches, ever sure of the footing amid the roots and rotting leaves. It is no visible trail he follows; instead the predator traces a path carved by his quarry's scent and the warmth of the air in its wake. The hunter breathes deeply of the intoxicating mixture of fear and anxiety waiting on the air for him. It flavors the night, riding over the scents of wet grass and old leaves that the forest is always filled with. The special smell, the prey-scent, is what speeds his heart, gives his feet the ability to fly.
A flash of red, a glimpse of chestnut. The predator is getting ahead of himself. He wants this chase to last, wants to enjoy the feeling of pursuing his fleeing prey, following its scent trail and anticipating the end. Oh, what a marvelous feeling swells up in his breast when he thinks of the end. It tightens his chest, sends shivers down the length of his spine, and only makes the final moments sweeter. How he longs for the end and that painfully sweet release, and yet dreads its coming and the cessation of the chase! For those reasons he slows his pace, taking control of his body and allowing the blood red of his prey to vanish once again into the trees.
Hunter and hunted play this game well, granting the other occasional glimpses in irregular spots of moonlight, then disappearing into the forest and the shadow of the trees. The only sounds to disturb the still night are those of branches being shoved aside, the soft thuds of feet on decaying leaves, and breathing growing heavier and more labored as the game continues. Each wonders how much longer the other will last before caving into the desire to end the chase, neither one wanting to be the first to fall.
But sooner or later the game must end and the hunted must be caught.
As if by mutual consent, although no signal, save one sent along invisible ties, could have been sent between the two, they begin to bring their play to a close. Duo's steps falter, slow, stop, as his pursuer grows swifter, more impatient for the end. Their paths cross, and the hunter falls upon his quarry.
No screams shatter the still night, no hatred interferes with the final act. There is only the sound of labored breathing, only the joy of a successful hunt. Two hearts beat in the darkness of separate chests, their rhythms twining about each other in a macabre melody, faster and faster, reaching their climax, then slowly, slowly calming, until only one cadence can be heard.
The former hunter rises, no longer a predator now that the hunt is over, but just a young man, staring down at another young man whose blood red clothes are ripped and stained, and whose chestnut hair is in wild disarray as he lies on the forest floor. Moonlight seeps through a veil of cloud to cloak the two figures in a soft, muted glow. It glimmers off a slowly spreading pool of blood around the prone form of Duo Maxwell, and shimmers on the bloodstained hands of his hunter. The hunter walks off, leaving the remains of his prey until the next night, when Duo will rise again and the two will repeat their dance, just as they have done, and will continue to do, for all eternity.
~ Owari