Healing Myths

Writing stories to find forgiveness.

He of the old ways has a cape called Blindness, made only from those eyes which were won by plucking. His sour breath was reeking pale yellow bile and iron-tinged. His brother, the Bone Collector, found the World of Ruins no longer had enemies. That there was nothing left to grind. He made an unholy twin whose left little finger was the claw of the last of the carrion birds, This was how he got the eyes. He took only one for enemies were nothing compared to the hobgoblins of broken men. Vengence was his name.

Forgiveness, her dark curls alive with wind and bare feet cooled by green earth, stood before him armed only with a pilgrim’s staff. She smiled.

Black eyes ringed with red, crooked smirk, sadistic glee rising. He wanted her amber brown doe-like eye set in the clasp of his large cloak. Maybe a bone for his troubles.

Laughter broke from her; a glissando made kaleidoscope glass across his blackened sky.

He turned to see the damage. Eyes of his cape blinking at the refractions of light. Sunlight spilling through the many colors.

With a soft touch, she tapped her staff to the ground, and it filled the void with song.

Blindness screamed in terror. Eyes closed against this unknown sound.

Vengence losing ground lunged for her. Fat fingers were grasping her throat. Furry paw with deadly claws slicing in.