Saturday, August 2, 2014

A Small Work Of Slightly Lyrical Fiction

There is a place where metal and heat and men of a certain quality come together to make the earths elements take shape. Ancient teachers of alchemy once told ancient day students there are spells and chants, ghosts of men and animal. That metal, air, wood and water all have a power their own. Some would chant and some would pray back in the day. Each would have his own way. 

All so silly modern man had said. We are the power and the energy.

And then on a day when no men stood to bear the heat an olden spell found itself in a modern day in a modern place. And so a spell that once wrought the plow and the sword came to make old forces flare and sing.

It was after all just a ghost of a flame. But even a ghost of a flame leaves a shadow if one looks quick to see the olden day. 

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