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The Black Quill - Imek and the Quill

by Michael Blanco 2 years ago in surreal poetry
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Part 1

imek the gnome

Twas a dark and stormy night when a crackle of lightning struck the ground.

In the flash that followed a small creature could be seen daintily running by.

The rain was pouring, and thunder roared in every other moment.

The small creature, a gnome, was panting out of breath and was soaked from the rain.

Quickly and with haste he ran through the darkened woods with the moon his only light.

Eagerly the gnome reached his destination, a door, hidden in plain sight leading into a hollowed tree.

He entered and shut the door behind him. Then with great delight he placed a small box on the table.

It was wet from the rain. His hand shaking from excitement inserted a key into the box and opened it.

There inside was a small black quill. It was deceivingly innocent in appearance.

“At last!” whispered the gnome through a dark toothy smile. Slowly he picked up the quill.

Lightning struck outside the window and thunder rattled the shutters.

The gnome began to laugh a dark powerful laugh. A laugh that shouldn’t belong to a gnome.

He began to rummage through the room for parchment recklessly throwing things aside.

He found it and began to write. Not waiting for even a moment.

He wrote in such a way one would describe it as violent, rageful, and insane.

As if his hand were possessed. None before had ever written with such vigor and speed.

And all the while laughing… And the storm carried on!

He wrote of dark things. Wondrous things. Wonderous and dark things!

Days passed and then a weeks. And still he continued to write never stopping for sleep or food.

His body grew thin and his muscles weak. Even his mind began to fade, but still he wrote.

Some strange dark power keeping him alive just so he could scribble the next prolific word.

Parchment seemed to appear from nowhere as if to allow him to carry on.

Stopping for nothing the room filled with paper and his writings flew out the window in the wind.

Some of the papers, by the wind, found their way to a far off kingdom where winter never goes.

And those that read the papers saw only scribbles and gibberish and a name signed at the top.

imek the gnome…

surreal poetry

About the author

Michael Blanco

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