***

People are greedy, love. You give them a taste of something good, and they devour the thing in seconds—forget making it last! ... One slice of the pie is never enough. It’s seconds and thirds and on and on, and before you know it, the whole thing’s gone! They gorge themselves on it, shovelling sweetness into their mouths until their bellies bulge over their belts and they can barely move. And do you know what happens then? ...

The nausea’s first—then the bile. Then up comes the pie, all mashed up with dinner and soaking in stomach acid. A perfectly good thing, ruined. And all because of greed.

***

This is a short excerpt from a project I have in the works. When I read the prompt for this challenge, I just had to enter it! XD

#prose

#excerpt

Do you know what it’s like to look at the china afterwards? When the light catches the gilded edge? You scrape off dinner, and underneath are those little painted shells. You look at that flawless, bone-white plate or the dish with the rosebuds. You look at your hand-thrown bowls with the faux cracks buried beneath the glaze. It’s all broken, and you want nothing more than to shatter it. It’s ephemeral, and it’s permanent. The scalloped edges and the machine painted leaves. Every vessel stripped down and unable to do its job. No more containment. It’s haunting. That ephemeral dish sitting so permanent. Just reminding you. Once she was here. Once you ate your meals together. You shared this table. Her feet resting in your lap. You can see her hair fall across her eyes and her smile when you catch them. And you want to destroy every reminder. You want broken glass. The metallic flakes in the glaze scattered across the floor. Nowhere to put the food. Just the debris and the wreckage. Raw glass and glittering, sharp edges. And no more reminder. Just you and the broken pieces and the floor and the empty table and the empty house. And it’s not permanent. It’s ephemeral. And it’s gone.

I needed an extreme amount of energy. A weather spell far surpassed my normal output. I figured if I could get something tangible to help channel my magic it might just work. Even from a distance the carousel was beautiful. It had shining organ pipes so that when it was running this place was alive with music. The horses’ saddles were gilded and colored in muted pastels, and the creator had built sconces into the giant center post. I lit the candles with a wave of my hand. The sun was setting fast which meant time was short. I could feel myself overflowing with mystic energy as my heavy, black boots hit the hardwood floor of the machine. I could swear the wooden eyes came alive in sympathetic stares as I poured myself into the wood and metal. I got to work immediately. I crossed the circle in five points, marking the floor with chalk as I went. At the last point I grabbed the saddle of the horse nearest me and climbed. My jacket and boots didn’t make shimmying to the top of a massive carousel ideal, but something told me that the highest point at the center would offer me the best chance of completing the spell in time. The top had almost no foot holds and was angled enough that I had to crouch to make my way to the center. I knelt down facing the setting sun, and almost forgot what I had to do. The fair grounds were laid out before me with fiery light bouncing off every shining surface. Oranges and yellows playing against bright pinks that shone almost white at the edges. I could live forever in this moment, sitting on the precipice of a possible collapse. I swallowed that image like a violent shove of motivation. And with my palms to the sky I started begging the universe to send me winds. I plead for rain. For full, dark clouds to blot out that beautiful sun-down and send storms to me. And the sky darkened. And the wind whipped. And as the shadows grew and the earth’s breath became heavier I let my voice raise over it. And underneath me I could feel the carousel picking up speed. I concentrated on its tumultuous, turning weight. I let it pull the air around it in cyclonic energy. And as my chanting grew louder and more insistent the storm hit with enough ferocity to extinguish the candles I had lit. And in my panic I made a quick and sacrificial decision. And with my left hand I kept the storm careening towards us, but with my right I sent flames licking the hooves of the horses. Crawling up their bodies and scorching their rose and lilac skin into bubbling black and brown. And as it caught on the saddles I knew that I no longer would need to concentrate on the fire. It would devour myself and my companions. I had conjured my own demise. And it only fueled my frenzied desires. I was a dark and slender effigy blurring into the background of uproar that was the sky. My face upturned in communion with the world above and ground below. And I screamed the wind into violent fits. It whistled through the organ pipes creating an eerie soundtrack against the resounding destruction of nature. And all the while the machine below me was a spinning, reeling inferno. Surrounding me in pirouettes of revolution. Turning with magnificent force. And as the water-logged clouds filled the sky with black and as the fire worked it’s way up the bodies below me and as the wind breathed life into the organ pipes, my voice finally reached its peak. And the ghostly sky opened in torrents. And the downpour turned to tempest. And as the water fell in heavy curtains I saw the ground shake. I felt the air around me quiver with the psychic disturbance that my storm had created. And the impending flames below me were extinguished. And as I spent the last of my energy and fainted atop my steeple, all I could hope was that the fissure in energies would be enough for everything that was to come.