Creative Writing Pieces

Wounded Earth

The winds brought in deep gray clouds entrapping the once crystal blue sky. The sky used to be filled with flying animals and the ground filled with crawling things. But as the sky grew darker, almost black-like, that had all changed. It was as if the turn of seasons had stopped and everything became still as the dead. The grass was plagued, darkening a sick brown, with some patches of green strugglers holding on. Every being that could fled. The fliers scattered in all directions, back over the peak and out over the ocean as did the rest of the animals on foot, digging holes into the ground with each step.

The earth began to crumble from the slightest kiss of wind. Throwing limbs of rocks across the ground ending up in a maze. It picked up in order to synchronize with the earth's tremble, and the clouds hugged tighter and tighter together, darkening its coverage. By now the raindrops gathered in the sky, casting threatening looks below, causing static to surge through the choppy sea.

Along the sands edge where the water barely laps was a pile of a man. He had been thrown down onto sharp edges piercing his skin, and his blood stained the rocks underneath him. Bruises painted his paling skin and scars etched along his muscle dents. His brown hair caked dry with his own blood still seeping from an unseen wound at the back of his head. Eyes closed, lips still trembling, he is a fighter, even on the brink of death. The wind began to speed up and circle down to reach him. As they glided along the curves of his body, it caught pieces of his ripped kilt and a few trestles of hair along with it.