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layout, title, date, categories
| layout | title | date | categories |
|---|---|---|---|
| post | Dark in the way old blood is dark | 2019-09-17 00:00:00 +0100 | fiction |
A study, of black sand wasteland
The landscape was dark in a way that managed to be lazy about its oppressiveness. Dark in the way old dried blood is dark. The murk encroached on the senses, instead of just laying passive like shadow should.
Black sand lay lifeless under a inky sky brimming with stars other than our own. Of course sand is always lifeless, so why did the word lifeless seem so eager to describe these dunes? Perhaps they had not always been this dead, this absent.
Either way, the sand glittered under the fierce starlight, sending it fragmenting away wherever it hit. Everything here was destruction.
As if to prove the point, detritus of a thousand battles littered the twisted landscape. Clusters of rust-rotten swords were jabbed into the sand like a mimicry of grasses. Other weaponry from all across the ages was scattered haphazard. Indeed, the only interruption to the rolling dunes from horizon to horizon was the half-buried hulk of a wrecked tank.
Nothing looked like it had died here but this was nevertheless a land of death. It was a land of destruction, and the evidence was all around. No wind stirred the grains and the wreckage. This place had seen battle once, but now it was just a huge graveyard. The whole land a marker, a totem to battles gone.