83: Restless.
83: Restless.
Sophie Wed Dec 31, 2008 6:34 pm
On Livejournal, I'm doing the 100 Moods writing challenge. Basically, I've got as long as I want to write one hundred fics about Greek Mythological characters. (You can view my list here - but be warned that things there can be anything from PG to 18.)
This fic is mood #83, and is about a character from the Greek Myths called Limos.
*
Wherever she walks, life is devoured. Death follows in her footsteps, and corpses flourish in the villages she passes through. Her skeletal body gorges itself on this stolen life-force, but it isn’t ever long until the hunger strikes again (it eats her from the inside-out, and she knows that; and she can’t do anything to stop it, to stop the pain, the hunger, the never-ending cycle of kill kill kill, feed feed feed).
Grass wilts beneath her bare, bony feet, and even the blades she doesn’t touch are soon affected – the famine spreads, leeching the vibrancy from the plants until they crumble to dust between her skinny, skinny fingers. She picks up a rose petal, one that has remained beautiful amongst the destruction that clings to her like a second skin, and it fades to a lifeless grey within seconds.
She clenches her hand. When she opens it again, the wind sweeps the tiny particles of dead rose-petal away from her skin, and she brushes her hands across her skin. To the other gods, she seems indifferent to the death she brings, but that is not the case. She does care – but there is nothing she can do. If she stops feeding, she will surely wither and die like the plants, the animals, and the people she has killed over the centuries. She doesn’t want that, though, for her life may consist of relentlessly pursuing an unattainable goal—to rid herself of the Hunger—but it is still a life, and she isn’t yet willing to give that up.
Her thin lips fold into an even deeper frown, and she continues walking. The beast in her belly begins to snarl, to scratch and bite at her insides; she places her hands over her stomach and feels it kick, as though a child rested in her womb (as though a child could ever rest in her womb, that barren, lifeless inner-world). Tears prickle at her eyes, but then they are drained away, like everything else, to feed the Hunger.
The wind flits across her skin, and she pauses and closes her eyes. If she wishes hard enough, maybe the wind will answer her silent prayers – and rid her of the beast. She tilts her face up to the sky, and lifts her arms. Give me wings, Mother, she silently murmurs. Give me wings so that I can flee the beast. I will have no rest until I do…
The Hunger snarls at her, and she sets forward again, all too aware of the death following her with laughter in it’s eyes.
This fic is mood #83, and is about a character from the Greek Myths called Limos.
*
Wherever she walks, life is devoured. Death follows in her footsteps, and corpses flourish in the villages she passes through. Her skeletal body gorges itself on this stolen life-force, but it isn’t ever long until the hunger strikes again (it eats her from the inside-out, and she knows that; and she can’t do anything to stop it, to stop the pain, the hunger, the never-ending cycle of kill kill kill, feed feed feed).
Grass wilts beneath her bare, bony feet, and even the blades she doesn’t touch are soon affected – the famine spreads, leeching the vibrancy from the plants until they crumble to dust between her skinny, skinny fingers. She picks up a rose petal, one that has remained beautiful amongst the destruction that clings to her like a second skin, and it fades to a lifeless grey within seconds.
She clenches her hand. When she opens it again, the wind sweeps the tiny particles of dead rose-petal away from her skin, and she brushes her hands across her skin. To the other gods, she seems indifferent to the death she brings, but that is not the case. She does care – but there is nothing she can do. If she stops feeding, she will surely wither and die like the plants, the animals, and the people she has killed over the centuries. She doesn’t want that, though, for her life may consist of relentlessly pursuing an unattainable goal—to rid herself of the Hunger—but it is still a life, and she isn’t yet willing to give that up.
Her thin lips fold into an even deeper frown, and she continues walking. The beast in her belly begins to snarl, to scratch and bite at her insides; she places her hands over her stomach and feels it kick, as though a child rested in her womb (as though a child could ever rest in her womb, that barren, lifeless inner-world). Tears prickle at her eyes, but then they are drained away, like everything else, to feed the Hunger.
The wind flits across her skin, and she pauses and closes her eyes. If she wishes hard enough, maybe the wind will answer her silent prayers – and rid her of the beast. She tilts her face up to the sky, and lifts her arms. Give me wings, Mother, she silently murmurs. Give me wings so that I can flee the beast. I will have no rest until I do…
The Hunger snarls at her, and she sets forward again, all too aware of the death following her with laughter in it’s eyes.
Sophie- Posts : 14
Join date : 2008-12-31
Age : 31
Location : Lancs, England -
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