Prologue

The skies churn like butter, dusting milk. There’s an itch extending from my smell to my gut, a craving; a drug. A whisper from a past life flicks at my brain, “You’ve got to quit smoking;” A vague wondering of why nicotine had lain ineffective. I see his papery face as if
behind a soaked sheet. I had counted on addiction, but my cravings recall nothing.

 
The desert floor beneath me looks to be a grainy shadow, with no cactus, no breaths, no ants -- not even the living ones. Unaware of what I’m hunting, my throat leaks in the
presence of a lone feather, one that’s I'm certain isn't mine. I have no tongue. I don’t feel as if I own the sky, I feel a throbbing nostalgia of a distant home, one smelling of meat and death. My stomach screams, but not in hunger, not in neglect -- in indifference.

 

There’s a foot print puddle just below me, but I’m not thirsty. I had never been taught the art of thirst. I flutter down through desperate ease, and land with my claws onto the crumbling, rocking soil. I stare into the water, as stained as a newly born baby, and behold myself. I see a familiar mirror of how I must of known I’d looked, but knocks begin to echo in the hill-less, wall-less elsewhere.

 
Moments before knotting feathers feel foreign, I take in the wrinkled and sneering eyes for what they are. I am a vulture.

 
I awake, coughing in a sea of red.

 

Reviews

[Ama May Cooper]

I am really fond of this, very strange but very real imagery.. making all seem rather sharp and rancid but sticking a lovely flowing beauty between the words.
Its a differnt take of description very abstract and i love it x