The sun breathes its orange warmth onto the horizon, beckoning the birds to begin their beautiful morning songs and sending the ghosts back to their coffins to sleep. The ink of the sky releases its nocturnal grip and allows the soft blue to fade in. I trade my black tank top for a white tee and slip on a pair of red shorts. A pair of round sunglasses shield my eyes from the waking light outside. With wireless earbuds taking their place, I queue up one of my saved playlists titled Forrest and head down to the kitchen. After filling up a water bottle with the refreshing cold, I pause at the front door to put on my white running shoes. Cujo lifts his head as he rests on his big fluffy bed in the living room.
"Where are you going?" he asks with a curious glance.
"Just a morning run, buddy," I tell him in a quiet voice so I don't risk waking Mom. "I'll be back soon, promise."
Cujo relaxes back onto the soft white plush of his bed. The door closes behind me with a gentle click.
The humid morning air covers my skin in kisses, the underlying whispering wind delivering its sweet nothings. Delicate guitar strings fill my ears and set me on my path with a relaxed walking pace to start. Orchestral strings ease into the mix, providing a sweet backing to the acoustic guitar. The two play with each other, a game of tag where prominence changes hands back and forth. They dance around each other, teasing and tempting like mischievous lovers. But the lust grows too strong for them to maintain their celibacy, and they come together for a solitary rhythm of expansive melody and harmony. A voice, a tender tenor, joins with its soothing crooning.
Born in the age of blood,
the warrior could not turn stone hearts to flesh.
Broken spells of the ancient accord,
the burden of secrets is hers to behold.
Ushered out of the heavens,
the warrior must learn to run.
The lock awaits in its secret place.
Who holds the key to the door to get her back home?
The warrior must learn to run.
The warrior must learn to run.
All of the strings hold their last note. It rings out as a final toll, slowly fading away. A high-pitched squeal of feedback approaches and takes the place of the strings. As it grows, an open hi-hat counts to four. The rest of the band comes in with their distorted power chords and gut-punching rapid beat.
I kick off from my relaxed stroll and launch into speed. My feet do their best to keep me on the downbeat, left right left right one two three four, but can't keep up. Maybe one day I'll be fast enough to match the song's sprint, but not today. Still, I push as the band transitions from verse to chorus, chorus to verse, verse to pre-chorus, and back to the soaring chorus again.
When the blessed have thought they are losing control,
Punishment for the sin! Punishment for the sin!
In the darkness she walks, in the darkness she speaks:
"We bastard children, we disposed children,
YOU ARE READING
Incinerate
ParanormalWhen Ash Woodward moves to a new town before the beginning of the school year, he makes it his goal to befriend anti-social track star Sera von Abaddon. As Ash traverses his new life with his new friends, mysteries arise as to who Sera truly is. But...
