Oh Strange and Beautiful
DescriptionA realistic fantasy
|This writing has been rated by 3 members, resulting in a rating of 96.333333333333% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:|
|Spelling & Grammar:||99.333333333333%|
'Goodnight in a sleepy hour of the morning.' The fairy queen smiles as she peruses the inert figure before her; so handsome, so sculpted, so refined. It was almost a pity. Almost. The sun is dawning, an insignificant glow over the pearl grey horizon. Maybe there is a chill in the air? Can you feel it, that subtle coldness gently blowing on the back of your neck? She sighs and stretches luxuriously. Pale skin is illuminated, blue and ivory. She reflects upon her night's entertainment. The modern world is her utopia, the best plaything she could ever have hoped for. Modern humans are so deliciously naïve. She could never be bored. She wonders how she ever survived in the old days. It was so rustic. What fun is there in stealing pies from window sills or turning milk sour? It had been like a trip to the countryside, simply tedious, bucolic. Now technology! She loved technology. There is so much fun to be had. Humans are so clueless, dense with no sense of perception. Their imaginations are limited by unfounded rules and regulations. They had forgotten their sixth sense. That sense of perception where space and time combine and become an overriding unconscious feeling. Desire and possibility should be infinite. So quite simply, now, they are a plethora of delight just waiting to be played with. What fun is crashing a computer system! The chaos and disarray is purely delightful. Oh, the pleasure that can be gained from messing with traffic lights. The pile ups and the standstills and the human frustration, it's so amusing. The fairy queen laughs. She steps back to view her masterpiece, her wonderment. Her fun had been had. She'd created another calamity for her human playthings. The sun beckoned her. It is time to go. To her still companion she bids adieu. *** Medical Examiner John Stanton, frustrated, sat at his desk with his head in his hands. Discarded, half empty and used coffee cups sporadically decorate his desk. What a night! It was insane. The world was insane. What on earth is going on? All night it had seemed like an unseen shadow of disaster had been plaguing him. The computer network had crashed sending the entire office into a hysterical frenzy. The office had been at a standstill for an hour. Some poor harassed tech guy had attempted to placate the fray, unable to explain the occurring crisis. Technology, we had once lived without. It will probably be our downfall. Surely the universe was laughing? A murder had been called in. The gruesome, calculating, ruthlessness of the description had been what felled him. A fancy young soap opera star had been killed in a prominent inner city hotel. It was a death scene of depravity and artful cruelty. The preliminary police report had been intensely descriptive. John wondered again at human nature. He took a deep breath, trying to find that inner self, that sense of calm and sanity that is the essence of human fortitude. It was time to go. He was no stranger to death. It was his job. Only a certain kind of person could appreciate the fundamentals of human anatomy. Its inner workings and fine tuned mechanics one of nature's most beautiful creations. Every death had its own unique narrative. The human body would, bit by bit, chronicle its life story and continue even in mortality until there was nothing left, not even bones, just nothing. However, murders are never easy to deal with. They are a story of one human being versus another. It is age old Darwin, the survival of the fittest. Grabbing his leather jacket John walked out of the now functional office. It was time to view the body. The hotel room was already abuzz with forensic teams and photographers. The media would not be far away. 'Crime scene do not cross' emblazoned on the tape plastered across the doorway. Room 67. John walked in stepping through the tape. Moving past the generic living and kitchen quarters he found the bedroom. There was a view, the sun was rising illuminating the waking city below. Then, lying in the middle of the room, it struck him. The little details, the precise measurements of what he was surveying encapsulated a picture. Gruesome to many but art to some. So carefully dissected and displayed was this human. Clearly it was an act of love. It was beautiful. And then John felt a chill in the air, a subtle coldness. There was a gentle blowing on the back of his neck.