The Danse Macabre

Brian Reinbolt - psicosismark@yahoo.com

I peaked outside the cabin to look at the moon but instead found myself glancing too early, forced to watch the sun go down I became fascinated at the overabundance of leaves with all kinds of colors, oranges, reds and green that fell swaying ever so slowly until they gently hit the ground at the precise moment the sun disappeared into the landscape.

A dark and hazy tint took over the sky as lightning bolts crushed the hope of getting a glimpse of anything even remotely resembling the glowing crater, I couldn’t explain why I so desperately needed to see the object, days went by but only rain fell as I hungered.

I wandered out despite the wind roaring in my face, struggling to fight off the piercing rain drops I kneeled by the well and dropped the cup down the hole, wheeling it up again to take a sip, I could see my reflection in the water at the bottom of the hole, my skin was frail and had sunken into my face to the point my cheekbones protruded in an abnormal way, frightened by my own appearance I ran inside the cabin to wait ‘til the rain stopped and the morning arrived.

All was clear when the sun rose from the landscape. A crow sat on the lowest branch of the tree staring menacingly and cawing just above the wet grass where worms dwelled squirming their way through the Earth’s surface, I remembered my reflection and I had not intended to be a part of that surface anytime soon so that night I waited again, looking up I could see the drops falling rapidly towards my face, cold against my cheek I picked up the rifle and put it in my mouth.