Serenity

Smoke rises slowly, blanketing the sky and ground lazily in soft gray. It curls, swirling gently in the slight breeze, drifting over and caressing the field of carnage below. The wind seems to sigh in relief, each faint gust reminiscent of panicked gasps soothed by a comforting embrace. It ripples across the scarlet puddles on the ground, distorting the reflection of the smoke-filled sky.

He stands amidst the corpses, hands crying liquid crimson, eyes dripping ichorous agony. He breathes slowly, deeply, calmly. The horrors laid out before him like a banquet of death do not agitate him; he welcomes the silence and tranquility like a long-lost brother.

A silver blade has long fallen from nerveless fingers, staining the red field with its metallic sheen. He casts his gaze down, frowning at the blemish that pollutes the tranquil scarlet. For so long, metal has destroyed his world, staining it with irreplaceable crimson. Now, it is the last slaughterer to fall. He is the last murderer to fall.

He laughs redly to himself, rejoicing as it echoes back and enfolds him in a shroud of solitude. The world has returned to how it once was, how it should always be. He smiles, silver glinting in the fading light. He falls down, into the equanimous, eternal, ebony embrace.

Serenity is returned. 

Reviews

[AliciaB]

This story is super cool! I happen to be sitting right next to you while I'm writing this, so you've heard it all before, but... oh well! The strong diction used here goes very well with the intensity of the scene. I love the death imagery - I mean, the whole thing is death imagery - but words like "shroud" and "ebony embrace" just make it that much more apparent. The seemingly out-of-place references to comfort are also intriguing. Nice job, sistah! :)