Nov 03, 2006 21:05
It had been an un-thing.
That was the truth, he realized. Really, that's all it was. It was a thing that had not meant to be, but now was. And it could not easily be made into an un-un-thing. It could not easily be thinged, thinged out of existence, thinged out of his life.
He did his best to look upon the un-thing, but while he did, all that young Anthem could think of was that if he had known that his songs would come to life, he would have sung about something a little more concrete. He would have finished this song before he sung it.
Panic set in as the un-thing's icy un-fingers wrapped around Anthem's throat-- how could he sing if he were being choked to death? His hands groped about his throat for purchase, anything that was or wasn't there that he could grab-- and he peeled back a ghostly hand and gasped for air.
His mind raced, and inspiration came to him.
Anthem sung a song of swords.