The building wasn't standing up so much as it was too stubborn to collapse.
Still everyone flocked to it when the bells thundered out across the valley.
Five villages in total, everyone who could walk would walk to there.
The slithered along the ground, dragging useless limbs and deformed Others along.
The building was their haven, their time was coming up and there was nothing left.
Morning was coming, something they'd only seen drawing of in the old archives.
They had been told that it would mean their end, the older ones said so.
Well said is a generous word, they are by far the most decayed.
The older ones said that morning would break them as the old songs foretold.
Buildings like the one they fled to had been built during the Dark Days to protect them.
The rot that had plagued them since before they had woken up was another matter entirely.
Not everyone would make it to the building, that much was certain.
Those that had so far were busy digging away the already mouldy floorboards and cutting
down trees to replace them, fresh and thick to block the Morning's coming rays.
Newcomers were told to deposit the unworking and join the tree harvest for safety.
The unworking were then tasked with reciting scripture for good luck and well-being.
Those with some movement left in them were set to work repairing the building's roof.
With all hope none would be left outside the flooring save those who had elected to seal
the last few boards and embrace the harsh Morning's light to spare their kin.
They had already volunteered and were resting to save their strength for the Sealing.
As a rich burgundy red began to etch its way across the soft deep blue sky, panic set in.
Those who work in fear work fastest, as the old saying went.
With the Morning coming upon them like a half starved beast they gathered all the ready
wood to begin the Sealing in advance, to get the unworking covered and safe and soon.
By the time peach and violets had leached their way into navy the floor was almost covered.
They remained a foot of boards short and despite the smell of cooking meat they laboured on
still to fill those last remaining spaces and hide themselves away until the Morning ended.
It could not last, the scriptures said the Dark Days would rise again.
With the Sealer's help the final wood cutters were able to finish their task and hide below.
Despite the thick damp rags covering every inch of their skin, the Sealer was burning still.
They toiled and toiled under the ever glowing sky and Morning prowled through the air until
the final board was sealed and their kin were safe and hidden away.
No amount of rituals or drenching in mud and blood was stopping the Morning's burn.
Their skin was blistering, bubbling in places as pustules swelled and burst coating the floor
around them in sickly shades of red tinged yellowish fluid that boiled as it landed.
Faint trails of smoke rose from their flesh as it liquefied and fell with wet thuds.
They faintly heard their kin wailing, singing them off to their death.
Or perhaps just covering the sounds of their shrieks of agony as Morning's light scorched them.
Their cries were the first sounds to greet the Morning and their death the first in the new dawn.
Soon after came the first birdsong.
Still everyone flocked to it when the bells thundered out across the valley.
Five villages in total, everyone who could walk would walk to there.
The slithered along the ground, dragging useless limbs and deformed Others along.
The building was their haven, their time was coming up and there was nothing left.
Morning was coming, something they'd only seen drawing of in the old archives.
They had been told that it would mean their end, the older ones said so.
Well said is a generous word, they are by far the most decayed.
The older ones said that morning would break them as the old songs foretold.
Buildings like the one they fled to had been built during the Dark Days to protect them.
The rot that had plagued them since before they had woken up was another matter entirely.
Not everyone would make it to the building, that much was certain.
Those that had so far were busy digging away the already mouldy floorboards and cutting
down trees to replace them, fresh and thick to block the Morning's coming rays.
Newcomers were told to deposit the unworking and join the tree harvest for safety.
The unworking were then tasked with reciting scripture for good luck and well-being.
Those with some movement left in them were set to work repairing the building's roof.
With all hope none would be left outside the flooring save those who had elected to seal
the last few boards and embrace the harsh Morning's light to spare their kin.
They had already volunteered and were resting to save their strength for the Sealing.
As a rich burgundy red began to etch its way across the soft deep blue sky, panic set in.
Those who work in fear work fastest, as the old saying went.
With the Morning coming upon them like a half starved beast they gathered all the ready
wood to begin the Sealing in advance, to get the unworking covered and safe and soon.
By the time peach and violets had leached their way into navy the floor was almost covered.
They remained a foot of boards short and despite the smell of cooking meat they laboured on
still to fill those last remaining spaces and hide themselves away until the Morning ended.
It could not last, the scriptures said the Dark Days would rise again.
With the Sealer's help the final wood cutters were able to finish their task and hide below.
Despite the thick damp rags covering every inch of their skin, the Sealer was burning still.
They toiled and toiled under the ever glowing sky and Morning prowled through the air until
the final board was sealed and their kin were safe and hidden away.
No amount of rituals or drenching in mud and blood was stopping the Morning's burn.
Their skin was blistering, bubbling in places as pustules swelled and burst coating the floor
around them in sickly shades of red tinged yellowish fluid that boiled as it landed.
Faint trails of smoke rose from their flesh as it liquefied and fell with wet thuds.
They faintly heard their kin wailing, singing them off to their death.
Or perhaps just covering the sounds of their shrieks of agony as Morning's light scorched them.
Their cries were the first sounds to greet the Morning and their death the first in the new dawn.
Soon after came the first birdsong.
No comments:
Post a Comment