The season of madness continued its daily turns as if demonic hand were holding infinitely dark kaleidoscope.
Gleefully twisting large cylindrical toy hour by hour, the hand’s eye watched shards of onyx, obsidian, midnight slate display and reform myriad variations of dire events and grim revolving repercussions.
Now skies had opened their winter silos, unloaded sufficient weighty snow to burden nearly three-quarters of the country and call widespread halts to severely compromised ‘normal’.
Freezing temps, white ice walls, avalanches—none bear gifts of peace, nor hope of healing; and provide no balm to quell violence which still swirls like blizzards…at heart, as heated as summer’s firestorms.
Hand giggled deliriously, fingers wrenching kaleidoscope ever more quickly as though in arousal; slavering, it peered into faceted coal shadows which shattered then bloomed again.
‘Twas a night-flowering bouquet’s bleak delight: fever of virus, famine of faith, flaming rage gone rabid; Death-arrows swift-flying, hitting marks, seeding more loss, sorrow and devastation to spirits—pray glorious cathedral hues be restored.
©Avia Morrow, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.
Denise hosts Six Sentence Stories each week, and this time the prompt word is KALEIDOSCOPE.