Newlot’s thin fingers pecked and darted precisely, assembling arrangements of intricate magicks on his desk, or work table. His eye holes were puckered and sewn shut; the several eyes in his jagged metal crown blinked, searched, and focussed independently. His forked tongue flickered through his clicking beak. With the faraway hisses and varying susurrations there came from the intricacies before and around him the smells of rose and ashes, thorns, vinegar, summer, deep stone, and the stars of Orion’s belt.

Newlethe, his mate, stood in the rigid doorway, bearing his supper on a cold tray.

“Newlot, my friend, your supper is prepared.”

The supper moved and cried.

2023/02/16 #DailyWrittenOOM

Behind the curly fringe of dust vapour rimming the basin, there was disclosed the supermassive industrial dragon, plated in Richter scales, fitted with an injection coil infernal gorge from grinding gizzard to double-hinged maw. Its seven and a half swivelling eyes travel along the curving ridges, their scrutiny kicking up ever greater clouds of obscuring dust.

Tasmanian devil bloom undersea, of carmine cumulonimbus murk, unfolding its manifold dread to none, to the deserted fields of flat stacked fluid. The pylons penetrated, threading through the holes left in the substance by their solid material. Down into the unresisting and shapeless arms of the bloom is plunged the whole complex and entire operation of the industrial dragon, all of which is quenched to a burning chill. The bloom is smeared and blurred with dust brown under the sea, destroyed with its destroyer, but above the sea all is better now.

2023/02/15 #DailyWrittenOOM