This is a story plucked from my first book. It is one of my favorites that was inspired by a story a friend of mine had told about himself growing up.I thought you my like to see how my writings has changed from a year ago till now. Maybe you see no change, maybe you do. Let me know!
And Thank you for reading!
His legs stretch just inches from the fire as it dances like Gypsies in celebration. Playing shadows across his face while his eyes prey upon the words in the book he holds in his tense eager hands. He holds the book so tight the blood ceases to make its way to his fingertips. Like ghosts his fingers shine between the shadows the fire molds, not once does he look up from his book or loosen his grip. As shadows play smiles and games across his face, across his body, across the entire area from which the flames embrace. The wind casts a mighty hand through the trees and the empty space that lie open between nature and flesh. The man never takes a second glance from his book as his heart beats rapidly to each word he reads. As if each word is a stick pounding against a drum. Thud thud thud thud, as his hand clasped tighter and tighter to the book. No voices, no thoughts, other than that of the book make way into his head. Nothing but the book is all he plans to understand. Branches creak and owls hoot, as wolfs dance in the far distance with a perfect horror of a howl against the story he reads. Still he continues to ignore all that surrounds him.
The fire dancing with the wind guides the flames swirling toward the sky. Ashes swim around the fire, around the man’s face and feet. Like fire flies that die, the ashes give a glimpse of what lies after life. The man turns each page with eager intent as his eyes glide across the pages like a child watching their mom place ice cream upon the table. With each page turned the fire seems to grow a little bit more. The wind seems to blaze more rapidly, tossing leaves and branches from the ground. Creating what looks like nature’s way of showing its hands. But the man has no sense in looking up, the book has his attention, has every nerve, every sense, every inch of the man locked into its jaws. Nothing is more mind trenching than the book he grasps in his hungry hands . Nothing captures this man’s heart and eyes, like the tortures of a good book, filled with crisp thoughts of death. Like a cool winter's night this book nips at the man’s heart. It’s not too cold but just right, numbing the senses just enough to have a sensible sensation of nature’s kiss.
The man is deeply engaged as the book grows near the end. As shadows cast like clouds from the sky, the fire tells no lie. Noises begin to creep through the woods and the fire begins to dim. But still the man pays no attention to his erratic surroundings. The wind picks up a roaring dance and begins to toss branches like feathers from a bird. Still the man holds tight to his book as the wind tilts his chair, but not enough to fall. Quickly grasping the pages one after the other, the howls of nature begin to pick up. The man grows more and more eager to finish the book, his mind is salivating like a hungry dog. His heart continues to beat like a wild drum. With no notice the fire grows dim and dies, but the moon shines bright. Bright enough to cast light upon the man’s book as if it was reading along with the man’s eyes.
The wind continued to howl and continued to try and push the man’s chair over on its side. Still the man ignored as he kept his balance and his eager eyes to his book. Suddenly the howls grew silent and what was left of the dead fire was tossed from the ground. Creating a dust cloud of black coals and falling into the man’s lap. The tossed ashes fell upon his book and the man with no hesitation grew angry. Viciously brushing off the ashes from the book he was so close to the end, only a few more pages and he will read the end of such a dark but delectable book he thought. With just a few swipes of his hand and some angry mumbles the man brushed off as much of the ash as he could. Just enough so he could read the page to finish it and turn to the next. Only one more page till the end he thought. As his mind grew more and more salivated his hands tightened even more. As if vice grips was what they were, so tight you could almost see the blood building up just before the tips of his fingers. A blood red is what you could call the color of his hands. Soon he reached the second to last page of the book.
The wind played calm and the animals lay quiet within the woods. He placed his feet to the ground and leaned forward in his chair, pushing himself to the edge. Excited to read the end his eyes grew wide and his heart grew almost silent, as if it knew to keep quiet so every word from the book could be read and tasted with each syllable. Suddenly the wind picked up, ghostly eyes appeared and surrounded the man but he did not notice. Suddenly the book was thrown from his hands by the wind and just above him a branch cracked. As the book flew he leaned out to try and stop it, but no luck. It escapes his greedy hands and the cracked branch could hold no more and it fell landing just to the right of him. He was startled by the branch and frightened, he stood up and stumbled back and away from it. As he was stumbling back he tripped on a log just to the right of the chair a few paces back. He fell back and let out a small frightened gasp as his head fell back and his neck landed gracefully across a downed trees branch. Causing him to fracture his neck and fall to the ground.
He could not move nor speak but his eyes, his eyes could see and move. And there lie the book just inches from his face, pages flapping in the wind turning from one page to the next, from the front to the back. He tried so hard to move and all he could think about was finishing the book. Reading the end and letting his mind taste the last bite of it. But he couldn’t, he lay helpless like a lame dog. Drooling down his face and creating a disgusted gurgling noise as glowing eyes crept from around him. Howls from wolves begin to roar out like an opera. Growls begin to sprout out around him like droplets of rain. His eyes grew wide as he heard footsteps of animals cross dry leaves and broken branches. Still he struggled trying to reach for the book. But nothing could be done, his body was motionless. The wolves teeth began to shine like piano keys struck by moonlight in an empty room. Opening wide saliva stretched across the wolves teeth, eager to taste the man’s flesh. And all the man could do was lie there as the wolves mouth grew closer and closer. Its hot breath reached the man’s face, pressing against him like a hot vent from a cheap hotel.
The wolf stepped inches from his face sniffing the man from his mouth to his feet. Trying to find the perfect point his teeth could sink smoothly into the man's flesh and begin to tear him apart. And just before it began its feast, it let out the deepest howl any man has heard, and there, from the darkest parts of the woods came a hungry pack of wolves. Walking confidently and eager to the man’s ever dying body. Soon they all surrounded him. They looked upon him as his eyes grew weak and sad, letting out a few tears. Just before the wolves took hold of his body with their long sharpened teeth to tear into him like the perfect meal. Insatiably waiting to pull at each of his limbs, tearing his flesh like cotton from a doll. The book was tossed by the wind and landed at one of the wolves feet. The Wolf looked down at the book and sniffed it a few times, while giving it a few licks to see if any flavorful taste could be drawn from it. But the book held no flavor to the wolf, the wolf then ignored the book and the rest of the wolves gathered even closer to the man. The man began to gargle on his own drool. Just has he began to choke the wolves dug into him like a greedy family at thanksgiving. Chomping down with no manners, pressing their teeth down puncturing his clothes, reaching into his flesh and ripping him apart. The man could do nothing but gently scream in pain through his own drowning mouth of blood and spit.
His eyes let off tears streaming down his torn face. The wolves went at it what seem like for hours. Gnawing at his legs, his stomach, pulling chunks out of his gut like spaghetti. One wolf lunged for his face ripping off his cheek. The man watched in horror as the wolves devoured him like a well cooked turkey fresh from the oven. The man could smell his own bloodied and torn flesh waff thickly into his nose. After much suffering and arguing wolves over his meaty flesh. They stopped, the wolves finally seemed satisfied. They stepped back and looked at him as he lay dying, starring as if waiting for him to get up and run. But the man forced by a fractured neck could only lie there in agony, looking horrified by the very presence of his own flesh dangling from his face. The wolves with no rhyme or reason turned away and left. As they walked away the wind came too once more with a heavy gust, pushing the earth up and once more tossing the book. It landed at the man's face with the title facing up. The man with his tortured eyes looked at it and gave a cringing smile. Soon the pain was too much. Blood and spit began to pour from his mouth as his body forced it from his system. He coughed over and over letting bubbles and chunks of this mixture of human fluid eject. Eventually he had his last cough and the man, well he didn’t die from the wolf's insatiable love for meat. But Sadly, he drowned on his own taste of blood and spit.
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