Sunday picture prompt response
I just whipped up this up in an hour and a half, perhaps. I hope the story is clear. It's inspired by Hindu myth as well as the photo. Oh, and this is my first post. Be gentle. ;)
"Raktavija"
He had taken a saffron sash to each of their throats, watching their eyes widen silently beneath his gaze.
And so the others had come for him and bound him up. If they had come upon him in the night, he might have escaped - for that was his time of power - but they had found him beneath his neem tree, a mere human in the light of day. He hissed and spat and growled at them. He scratched them with his sharp nails. He cut them with his fangs. But he was without his brethren, and Her shieldmaidens overpowered him.
They carried him far, for many days, and they sat on top of him during the night. His ankles and wrists became raw, and he moaned from hunger and thirst and spite. Each night, he would watch the ones who had taken their turn to sleep. If only he had his weapon, she would sleep forever, with eyes wide open, he thought. But his brethren would come for him, he knew. Shrieking and leaping over the brush, their blades would flash like teeth in the night, and he would join them once more in the thicket.
Then he saw that they were traveling to that plane of fire beyond the hills. He could see the flame of Her eye in the distance. She meant to clasp him to Her black breast, but he would not fall to Her sword. He was greater than any foe She had battled alone. She was a coward, ultimately, he thought. But soon, even that would not matter.
He felt the heat ramming against him as they approached Her looming form, and he saw Her wild jet locks tumbling about Her shoulders. His captors swept their veils across their noses and mouths as they dragged him across the scalding ground. And then he saw that violent, luminous river, glowing saffron like his bandeau, that tongue slithering down Her black chin toward him.
A knotted scourge was struck against his jaw, and red seeds went flying to land upon the darkened earth. They thought they were hurting him. Only he knew that after he had gone, he would rise again out of the stains; more, more, more, like dragon's teeth. Nothing would stop him; every drop from every wound would transform into an ally, springing out from Gaia's lap. He shouted at them; told them that their efforts were wasted. He would soon be free as the rain, bearing down upon them in countless numbers. But the tongue only grew larger, widening to swallow his future generations. He stared, blankly and unbelieving, as it eclipsed his progeny. He began to whine, and then to moan, and then to howl in rage as the beating continued. But his protest was silenced as a white flash in the sunlight darted at his side, swift as a serpent. His captors ran, and he watched a burgundy fount pour into Her lambent mouth.
"Raktavija"
He had taken a saffron sash to each of their throats, watching their eyes widen silently beneath his gaze.
And so the others had come for him and bound him up. If they had come upon him in the night, he might have escaped - for that was his time of power - but they had found him beneath his neem tree, a mere human in the light of day. He hissed and spat and growled at them. He scratched them with his sharp nails. He cut them with his fangs. But he was without his brethren, and Her shieldmaidens overpowered him.
They carried him far, for many days, and they sat on top of him during the night. His ankles and wrists became raw, and he moaned from hunger and thirst and spite. Each night, he would watch the ones who had taken their turn to sleep. If only he had his weapon, she would sleep forever, with eyes wide open, he thought. But his brethren would come for him, he knew. Shrieking and leaping over the brush, their blades would flash like teeth in the night, and he would join them once more in the thicket.
Then he saw that they were traveling to that plane of fire beyond the hills. He could see the flame of Her eye in the distance. She meant to clasp him to Her black breast, but he would not fall to Her sword. He was greater than any foe She had battled alone. She was a coward, ultimately, he thought. But soon, even that would not matter.
He felt the heat ramming against him as they approached Her looming form, and he saw Her wild jet locks tumbling about Her shoulders. His captors swept their veils across their noses and mouths as they dragged him across the scalding ground. And then he saw that violent, luminous river, glowing saffron like his bandeau, that tongue slithering down Her black chin toward him.
A knotted scourge was struck against his jaw, and red seeds went flying to land upon the darkened earth. They thought they were hurting him. Only he knew that after he had gone, he would rise again out of the stains; more, more, more, like dragon's teeth. Nothing would stop him; every drop from every wound would transform into an ally, springing out from Gaia's lap. He shouted at them; told them that their efforts were wasted. He would soon be free as the rain, bearing down upon them in countless numbers. But the tongue only grew larger, widening to swallow his future generations. He stared, blankly and unbelieving, as it eclipsed his progeny. He began to whine, and then to moan, and then to howl in rage as the beating continued. But his protest was silenced as a white flash in the sunlight darted at his side, swift as a serpent. His captors ran, and he watched a burgundy fount pour into Her lambent mouth.