Fantasmagoria I

A silent figure stands on the edge of a cliff, the wind is sharp, winter is in its heart. Its thoughts are lost in the sterile Point of Finality, the hollow point of all… The harshness of an indiscriminate sun. Wind pierces the tumbling absent rhythm of clouds, ruffles its black raven's cloak, like wings, fluttering. Emerald eyes stare focused far and wide the mind drifts into the distance… Down below the long jagged rocks, fathomless water turns churns darkly and disturbed. Glancing along the razored edge of the horizon, the figure beholds a rusted hulk, a mechanical beast. That once dug into this ephemeral earth, a pale blue orb in the distance of black space. A white, hot sphere burns cold behind gunmetal clouds along and on horizon wire… Over waters turning, churning the surface thoughts ponder the depth of Emerald Eyes narrow. As the somber sky reflects nothing but this figure upon stone… As waves lap, crest, come to rest where storms are born. A figure stands alone…