, ____, ( 17/11/01 anada472 , / \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \ / \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \ / / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /| \ / "The Winged Thing \ `-" \'\ / | \ / Across the City of Eyes" `. , \ \ / | Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y | / by Aura Noir ( ; mEoW!@/| ' i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | / | | | ( * | / |____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/ `--' `--' As he shouts his curses to the sky the moon drips blood sorrow and spite. The moon curls its crescent pocked form into a black noisy static; it is no more when the Heavens part and respond with jagged icy nails that smell of sulfur and burn his curses away, running black with the vengeance of a thousand eyes, paired and cold. A boiling apocalypse comes and goes and nothing is forever more remembered except the curse, the hearse, and the anger that doomed the elements and the alchemy and the spirit. The angels’ pooled tears raped the grain and reaped the sickle cyclical moon. Their voices: a chorus blaring and blazing tirades of pity and forgiveness. But no longer did he care. The cold lost man wandered for twelve times seven years in a land unknown to him, and all around the paired eyes stared. In wait they lay for the reckoning time…an eternity would suffice if it must. Forever and a day and longer they would have waited, but the years passed and soon the man arrived. A city! It was made of eyes. Eyes for bricks and humor, aqueous and vitreous, for mortar. This place was never the same, for the eyes (all types -- man and demon eyes, and haunted angel gazes, and even the humor of a nightmare or two) were always looking, this way and that. The creations were recreations as quickly and silently as the man could grasp. The man walked the streets, paved in scabs and ulcers, and looked upon the shadow that rose before him and was everything behind him. Soon the eyed edifices fell away like the grey faces of wretched paper toys, and a small circle of trees stood amid a tangent of vitriol dusk. Another trodden thing from beneath a steep grave glanced and danced and was gone. Another and another and then seven times a hundred others followed and smirked and subsided. The man knew little of this place and could not guess as to its name. The City of Eyes behind him, and this new region around, the man sat down. The scurrying things could still be heard but nothing was visible except the oak and the grave. A grave it was indeed though no epitaph adorned its face. Only a crack that split it in two and a solitary carving of a crescendo moon. He heard it, the moon’s song, over the noisy invisible things, and it made the man laugh. The crescent crescendo filtered the cool air and burned itself into his memory. Through the pain and ire the eyes appeared once more. Two by two then three by three then seven by seven the eyes returned, each crying it’s own sickled song. No more said the man who said no more, as greasy black wings fell into sight and blinded those eyes. This creature spoke and spoke and never ceased to speak but never did its wings beat truth. Asking whys and why nots, the man saw through the travesty of his travails. Bright light poured in and the moon became all again, washing away the soaring thing in a pool of blood-red tears. The angels awoke, blind once more. The demons returned to their demon home. The dark and lying wings lay broken and forgotten with a pick and spear in the bone. It twitched for ages, a multitude of years alone and dying, but the man had long since left the place with the oak and the grave and the eyes. Tomorrow, said the man, tomorrow will dawn and morning will come. And mourning will come, but it matters not anymore. /\___/\ ____________________________________________________________ /\___/\ \ -.- / \ -.- / `-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by Aura Noir `-.^.-' /"\ ________________________________________________________________ /"\