Dark Sun Rising

Final Fantasy

Dark Sun Rising

Twilight ...

   Blood-red sun sets as the child watches,

     watches the clouds bleed, reflecting his own wounds;

     each crimsoned cloud mirroring the slowly clotting streams

       of flesh and spirit, of mind and soul...

 The shadows darken as the blood,

   an eerie dance of slowly writhing, thickening, copper-scented streams

       echoing the clotting sky without -

          and the spiraling death within -

       and the night becomes absolute...

   absolute as the black despair of the boy-child sitting silently

       at the window, staring into the Abyss of eternity and death,

       of taunting spectres, desolation, and cold bitter winds

         echoing the supplications of dying, forgotten dreams...

 Apparitions swirl out of the depths,

   tormented nightmares bearing searing pain...

     angry maddened eyes driving iron-hard fists into a child's flesh,

     rending, tearing body and soul as blood and spirit stream

       silently, unheeded, wasted...

   Lust-hardened hands groping, invading, violating a child's body

       and mind, uncaring, cold, merciless satiation as the

         child's soul shrivels and despairs beneath the onslaught...

   Knives flashing cold and brilliant,

       artfully applied, cunningly, efficiently wielded to extract

         maximum pain with little damage to the child's flesh -

           yet direful agony to the soul...

   Ropes binding, suffocating... the child's head held still,

       eyes forced open to see, to watch the sister, the

       brother, pay the price for the child's failure to obey...

         watching the fists pound, hands violate, knives pierce -

         and watching pain-filled haunted hollow eyes looking back,

           crying why, why...

 Dawn comes...

   The boy-child's haunted, lifeless eyes look out the window

   into the morning mists...

       seeing not the birth of another day,

         but only the dawn of another cycle of despair, pain,

         suffering, and death...

   seeing only that final Abyss patiently, quietly waiting,

       waiting inexorably for the child's last tattered remnants of

         hope to flutter away, ashlike,

            in the winds of ultimate despair...

 The sun rises...

   and the child surrenders to the Abyss,

         consumed by the Dark Sun rising...


                           © T. GhostWolf Davidson, February 8th, 2001
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Last updated: Saturday, 03-Jan-2015 18:12:16 PST