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    Nature’s Slaves; Nature’s Masters.

    Discussion in 'Image Story Contest' started by giselle_zella, Jul 27, 2007.

    Nature’s Slaves;
    Nature’s Masters.
    The great black clouds obscure the sky, rendering it impossible to discern whether it is the hour before dawn or the one before nightfall. It seems as though all four winds have merged to create one colossal storm, one storm that devours all that dares stand in its way. The rain lashes out, whipping the Earth, its stinging blows growing increasingly merciless.
    The storm rages on. Intelligent wights have barricaded themselves within the apparent sanctity of their homes, not guessing that mere man-made materials will never withstand the unnaturally enhanced gale. Nature is at the peak of her fury. Her forces have been unleashed with an unforeseen virulence, aided and abetted by an unforeseen ally. He is a separate entity, yet he is only a part of the whole; he is the master of this freak of nature, yet he is only a slave.
    Amidst the storm-tossed clouds and twisters, she sees him, arms outstretched at his sides, as though he himself is the tempest’s conjuror. His lower arms are wrapped with strips of white cloth, remnants of his encasement, with their tendrils blowing in the wind. On his toned and muscled chest, Y-shaped stitches, evidence of his resurrection, almost glow in the darkness. His thin lips are stitched shut, drastically lessening his true power. His brow is deeply furrowed and his untamed black mane whips wildly around his head. He simply stands, seemingly torpid, dark shadows where eyes should be. But he is not blind. He sees her; watches her intently as she begins to make her way towards him.
    She is walking slowly, bare feet a few inches above the ground. Her white dress is ragged, torn, almost non-existent; her winsome form shimmers beneath the sheer material. Indeed, her entire person radiates a cold, bluish light. Her long silvery hair billows behind her, her lips are shut, and her steel-grey eyes gaze straight ahead, appearing to stare right through him, boring into his very soul. The rain continues to fall, drenching all that exists around her, but she remains untouched.
    Notwithstanding the surging winds and rains, she advances across the drowning Earth. To the casual observer, her nonchalance would be unnerving to a heart-stopping degree. But there is none to observe her casually, and her lone observer is far from it. He is wary, even almost afraid, but her penetrating gaze warms him. Suddenly, he feels safe and a wave of emotion (is it happiness, he wonders absentmindedly) washes over him. The storm strengthens in power and still she comes. She exudes a strange and wondrous aura as her every footstep forms a puddle in the watery air.
    She is standing before him now. His eyes cannot help but look down at her, following her every movement. She rises through the air, coming to a halt only when she is at his eye level. Her icy stare pierces his coal-black one. Slowly, she raises her hands and brings her cold fingers to his face. Her light immediately spreads over him, engulfing him, feeding him, giving him an energy he has never know. He almost shivers beneath her soft touch. He wants to look away, wants to be free of this temptress’s captivating stare and binding touch. He is unsure of himself, unsure whether to feel trepidation or tranquillity.
    Her eyes are closing. Suddenly, a wave of terror rushes throughout his being. No longer does he want to be free. It is better to remain imprisoned beneath her gaze forever. Now he is sure. Trepidation will come when she does not grace him with the grey of her eyes; tranquillity will come when he is certain of her blessings. He wants her; he needs her. Her eyes are completely trapped beneath their lids now, and the storm weakens.
    She leans closer to him, bringing her face closer to his own, and gently caresses his stitched lips with her pale ones. A feeling of total and pure ecstasy pervades his being, and he is, surprisingly able to move his lips to kiss hers. He closes his eyes. The stitches from his mouth have dissolved into the air and he feels his power intensify. She draws away, her movements ever slow and careful, and passes her now warm lips over his chest. The abrasions heal, and he is whole again.
    She is muttering strange words against his skin, her hands still holding his face, and her eyes still closed. Warmth, strength and power flood throughout his body, spreading to the tips of his fingers and the tips of his toes. His brow is furrowed no longer, his mind is clear. He is revitalized, as full of life as he was before he was entombed out of fear of his might. Nature’s slave and master he remains, but she has now joined him, becoming the mistress of him and his heart, the sole source of his power.
    He realizes that her murmurings have ceased, and opens his eyes, only to lock them onto hers. The storm’s strength increases around them, but they are protected by that strange bluish, glowing light. She revolves on the spot until her back is turned to him. Her arms are outstretched at her sides, identical in position to his, and he links his long, strong fingers with her smaller ones. The winds increase in speed and force, the rain pelts harder, the twisters spin more violently, threatening to overthrow all control and hurl their collected debris to the ends of the Earth.
    He pulls her closer to him. The cloths still wrapped around his arms now entwine themselves around hers. The intensity of the storm is climbing rapidly to its maximum. Their coalesced power is unlike any that the world has ever seen. The very ground on which they stand quivers with fear. Their combined forces of destruction are more than enough to rid the Earth of all life, and rid the Earth they shall.
    988 words.
    By: Giselle Sharada Kowlessar
     

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