Dreamscape 001
Effortlessly, the wings of a raven stretch wide out on either side of its small body. There's nothing around it but darkness, heavy and thick like billowing smog clouds. Pure and sleek, each shift of its dark wings only ascends the creature higher. Each time another bird enters its territory it is easily picked off by the much larger bird. For a while nothing changes until the raven starts to descend slowly, seemingly growing bored of an easy flight and an easy meal.
The creature lands upon a fence, its caw beckoning those that dare to listen forward, but it does more than that, its call echoing everywhere in the air. The ground begins to rumble underneath, shooting up gravestones out of the soil. Jagged and rough, some old and some a bit new, they bare names that are forgotten and scratched, unreadable except for the newer ones. Candles on graves behind him dance lightly.
Feathers drift to the ground as the raven with crimson eyes stares straight at the viewer further away than it was before. It's perched upon the gravestones as its head cants and it locks one crimson blood eye before its head turns down towards the graves below. Everything is still except for the candlelight against the graves. Occasionally, the orangish red flames begin to flicker more rapidly, burning brighter until they extinguish. From the fire is born a bird, beautiful and red, wings spread brilliantly towards the sky and it cries out in pain, suffering, hate and guilt. Each emotion fuels different burns, their pain in whatever manner present bursts outwards to sting at the back of ones throat. But the raven, ever hungry descends, talons sharp and murderous without mercy. With each meal the air begins to thicken once more, suffocating the viewer and the birds born from such lively fire.
Eventually the raven stills, wings spreading wide outwards once more. Shadows drip down from falling feathers, thick smokey blackness seeping into the ground. Like acid, it burns and pops, crackling with violent violet and black mist. Choking and suffocating is the atmosphere, pulling at the soul's very ties to the body with a tearing pain. Blue butterflies burst forth from the current flame, blue and unique unlike the other golden flames and when they flutter away a small bluebird sits upon the extinguished candle, long tail trailing down to brush and dip into the darkness. The raven's beak ensnares the red butterfly that appears from behind the bluebird, its delicate wings broken and fluttering desperate to fly.
But the raven never lets go even when the blue bird takes flight up onto the gravestone, the final unmarked one where the raven once sat and behind it a dark silhouette approaches, gloved hands slowly reaching towards its bluebird meal.
The creature lands upon a fence, its caw beckoning those that dare to listen forward, but it does more than that, its call echoing everywhere in the air. The ground begins to rumble underneath, shooting up gravestones out of the soil. Jagged and rough, some old and some a bit new, they bare names that are forgotten and scratched, unreadable except for the newer ones. Candles on graves behind him dance lightly.
Feathers drift to the ground as the raven with crimson eyes stares straight at the viewer further away than it was before. It's perched upon the gravestones as its head cants and it locks one crimson blood eye before its head turns down towards the graves below. Everything is still except for the candlelight against the graves. Occasionally, the orangish red flames begin to flicker more rapidly, burning brighter until they extinguish. From the fire is born a bird, beautiful and red, wings spread brilliantly towards the sky and it cries out in pain, suffering, hate and guilt. Each emotion fuels different burns, their pain in whatever manner present bursts outwards to sting at the back of ones throat. But the raven, ever hungry descends, talons sharp and murderous without mercy. With each meal the air begins to thicken once more, suffocating the viewer and the birds born from such lively fire.
Eventually the raven stills, wings spreading wide outwards once more. Shadows drip down from falling feathers, thick smokey blackness seeping into the ground. Like acid, it burns and pops, crackling with violent violet and black mist. Choking and suffocating is the atmosphere, pulling at the soul's very ties to the body with a tearing pain. Blue butterflies burst forth from the current flame, blue and unique unlike the other golden flames and when they flutter away a small bluebird sits upon the extinguished candle, long tail trailing down to brush and dip into the darkness. The raven's beak ensnares the red butterfly that appears from behind the bluebird, its delicate wings broken and fluttering desperate to fly.
But the raven never lets go even when the blue bird takes flight up onto the gravestone, the final unmarked one where the raven once sat and behind it a dark silhouette approaches, gloved hands slowly reaching towards its bluebird meal.