WRITING: Turning
(High Charity - Marty O'Donnell)
"I'm...not ready yet," he stammered, backing away slowly. "Few are," the woman replied, advancing on him. Her strides were slow, inexorable, and her movements were without malice.
The field was like one of a thousand different patches of fertile ground found in the area, lush with trees and long, once-green grass. A simple, two-lane road split the area in two, the lone and silent thread of civilization that graced the area.
"It might comfort you to know that you've actually been helping me this whole time," the woman offered calmly, gesturing to the sun-blasted field around them. "We all help, one way or another." The man's footsteps faltered, catching slightly on the uneven earth beneath his feet. It had rained the night before, giving the earth a slightly sodden feel the following day. Things weren't simply drying up anymore. Indeed, the lingering warmth only served to make the air thick and clingy with residual moisture, and the breeze that crept through the branches of the surrounding trees was suspiciously cool.
The stumble was all the woman needed to close the gap, her slender fingertips lighting gently on his collar. The instant she touched him, he froze, no longer able to move. "It's time," she murmured, drawing close to him and gently easing his form to the ground. Even as she lowered him, the wind began to rise, carrying bits and pieces of his form away in little gouts of dust and debris. "...Not ready yet," the man whispered, his eyes widening at the last. "I know," the woman responded kindly, gently ushering the rest of his form into disintegration with a few sweeps of her hand. "I'm afraid that doesn't matter."
Unchallenged, the woman rose to her feet, dusted her hands off into the passing day's air, and then promptly smiled. The quiet, beautiful ending of life was something she found immensely enjoyable, and she was free to pursue that now without any additional...interruptions.
"I'm...not ready yet," he stammered, backing away slowly. "Few are," the woman replied, advancing on him. Her strides were slow, inexorable, and her movements were without malice.
The field was like one of a thousand different patches of fertile ground found in the area, lush with trees and long, once-green grass. A simple, two-lane road split the area in two, the lone and silent thread of civilization that graced the area.
"It might comfort you to know that you've actually been helping me this whole time," the woman offered calmly, gesturing to the sun-blasted field around them. "We all help, one way or another." The man's footsteps faltered, catching slightly on the uneven earth beneath his feet. It had rained the night before, giving the earth a slightly sodden feel the following day. Things weren't simply drying up anymore. Indeed, the lingering warmth only served to make the air thick and clingy with residual moisture, and the breeze that crept through the branches of the surrounding trees was suspiciously cool.
The stumble was all the woman needed to close the gap, her slender fingertips lighting gently on his collar. The instant she touched him, he froze, no longer able to move. "It's time," she murmured, drawing close to him and gently easing his form to the ground. Even as she lowered him, the wind began to rise, carrying bits and pieces of his form away in little gouts of dust and debris. "...Not ready yet," the man whispered, his eyes widening at the last. "I know," the woman responded kindly, gently ushering the rest of his form into disintegration with a few sweeps of her hand. "I'm afraid that doesn't matter."
Unchallenged, the woman rose to her feet, dusted her hands off into the passing day's air, and then promptly smiled. The quiet, beautiful ending of life was something she found immensely enjoyable, and she was free to pursue that now without any additional...interruptions.
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