Rewind

Darkness. There is nothing but darkness.

The blazing inferno rises slowly over jagged mountains, filtering through the thick plumes of black cloud that twist and writhe in their haste to get away from the scorching heat. The garish light hits the rocks and dead trees that creak and sway in the wind, the only sound in the barren wasteland.

A lanky figure limps between the rocky landscape, his tattered rags whipping and snapping in the relentless wind that threatens to cause him to lose his footing. The Ragman pulls his scarf tighter around his weathered face, grimacing at the grit that coats his mouth. He has long given up brushing the sand from the folds of his clothes.

Withered grass crunches underfoot. Dust is disturbed by his movements. The carcass of a large animal looms ahead of him, its skeletal remains overturned by the wind. Its broken antlers jut up into the air.

He circles around it.

The sand shimmers like giant serpents that move and slither on the horizon, their scales glinting in the scalding heat. The Ragman squints and brings his withered hand up to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight.

It is past noon.

He keeps walking until he comes to a shallow ditch. What’s left of a watering hole stretches out before him. A large overhang of slate on the far side blocks the blazing sun for a moment.

He lowers himself to his knees on the dry bank, the parched dirt clinging to him. He pulls back his sleeves, leans and dips his hands into the murky water at the bottom of the pool.

The wind has died down.

There is no sound.

The Ragman pulled his hand back, the movement flicking clear, cool droplets of water onto the bank.

A soft breeze teased the grass around him. Leaves rustled above, whispering among each other, their voices ancient and quiet. The sweet scent of sap lingered for a moment, mingling with the fragrance of the flowerbeds that grew beneath the sanctuary of the trees.

Up ahead, a bird chirped softly.

The Ragman drew himself up with the vigour of a man that had not traversed the world of dust for many years, and craned his neck as he shielded his eyes from the glow of the setting sun.

A white stag cast its eyes over the Ragman from its place on the overhanging rock. Its pale hide glowed with ethereal hues that spun and swirled slowly in the golden light, and its massive antlers arched over its form, breaking up the land below with shadowy lines. It held the immeasurable knowledge of the universe in its dark, intelligent eyes. As the Ragman watched, the white stag let out a soft breath and lowered its head.

The sun dipped beneath the horizon, sending brilliant rays of light over the lush landscape.

Darkness. There was nothing but darkness.

______

Originally published in The Liar Collective, Volume 19. A play on past and present tense.