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The sun was clouded up with tears, the clouds ready to burst out their own. Black umbrellas were still held precautiously under the sky, black sheets of water repellent spread out, making weaving patterns of black dots. They all headed towards the hole where the muddy earth spewed around; trailing onto the square stepping stones they hopped from one to another, avoiding stains from the emerald green grass. The wind was so still it was afraid to blow. If it might have, the red pond would’ve blown into the ice coated heart of the procession, stiffing the march even more. In the stillness of it all, an outsider would’ve thought it was an emotionless funeral, just walking in the line out of respect. But no one saw their eyes. Nobody saw the revenge boiling in their eyes. And no one saw the broken way they held their umbrellas.

The animals were kept silent in fear, knowing they would be dead if they made a single squeak in protest. The sky was supposed to turn dark, but the fear entrapped it and it stayed light. Fading silence was soon brought to a finish with a loud hum. That was the only sound. Then the white fox came. He scampered through the trees and looked at them, his eyes black as extinguished coals.

The umbrellas were put down, and a bouquet of flowers was passed along the line of people, and the mechanical movement was passed on, until one masked man in a coat that hung limply to his feet stood right in front of the churned earth and the pit to nowhere. A shaking girl in white ran through the two straight lines of melancholy faces, looking up at the man in her opaque gown. She looked at him in hopeful salvation, her stringy, brown hair falling onto the limp shoulders of the skin and bones.

The masked man stared at her though the thin black cloth, and steadily watched her as she started to reach up to take off his hood, her frail, bony arms trembling and silent prayers tumbling through her lips. Her fingers reached the hood, and she traced the top of his head. The cloaked, entirely unseen man stopped, his breathing got slower, and time froze. She trailed her fingers down his masked face, and reached the seam of the hood. Suddenly the crowd got confused. Why wasn’t he sacrificing her?
She was about to pull off the mask, feeling that everything would be alright if he was bathed in sun. She tensed up, getting ready to rip off the black velvety mask. As if the grace period snapped, the man got in position to strike out. The wolf on the hill howled, as if to save the girl, but was too late. He suddenly seized the girl’s arm, tossing her over the edge into the crumbling pit. She mouthed words of plead, mute with fear, though she knew they heard every word in her silent crying, stumbling to get her off white heels onto the falling dry earth, something more than only his betraying arm saving her from the long and never ending drop.

The hums got louder, the girl realizing with wisdom that she wouldn’t survive. Her sacrifice meant nothing to them, and nothing would change their minds. With coolness in her heart, she gazed into the man’s broken eyes, unseen as she searched into his face. Her cold hearted gaze matched his, but now the man was afraid. And ease seemed about when she looked at him. Something menacing waiting to pounce on them. Not anymore was a wild, afraid girl, but now a witchcraft had wrapped itself around her, making all wary. The humming grew shrill and he suddenly he released her, letting her fall desperately into a pit, her dead scream breaking the silence of the night as she fell down into the everlasting hole, the white fox whimpered and ran away.

The procession took long to get back, a poor scullery boy staying there, picking up the rusted shovel and taking mounds of dirt from the pile and pouring it in…pouring it in…





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Forever-darkness said...
Jan. 23, 2010 at 7:55 pm
"The White Fox", I have to say, I loved it. The description and sentence structure were great.
 
QuaddyAnn replied...
Jan. 24, 2010 at 1:38 pm
thanks! I tried to use all i have read to create something new.
 
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