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Jeffrey Samuel Longstreet

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The Plague of the Soul
By Jeffrey Samuel Longstreet
Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Rated "G" by the Author.

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A short story I wrote to toy with intense descriptive. Nothing to it really, it was just a little project I gave myself.

Lurking, churning, like seedy discarded oil into a pond, dark shadows formed eerie silhouettes across the night sky. Whirling, in an endless continuity, the shapeless wonder began a slow descent to the world below. It paid no mind, for it had none, to the unsubstantial existence of Unreality surrounding. Perhaps this shape of dark blackness, which shimmered at some moments and appeared transparent at others, was designed not by the gods but by nature. None could say, as none could see it. Though it oozed in a dazed purposeful manner towards the ground, none seemed to take heed. From whence did this foul presence originate? Perhaps an abyss of distorted personification would be a likely home; where it might excite activity by melting to and fro between fellow shadow creatures. Nevertheless, downward our demon wandered.

It came to pass a forest of deep green. Grasping words of local tongue, the mass of darkness may come to know this as the Black Forest of Cake; though alas, this trivial fact remained eluded. The pure point of interest seemed slightly more significant. It was a small girl, playing idly with her doll. The girl was innocently devoid of apparent realization that she would soon be in danger.
Pressing aside a loose bang of her braided brown hair, the little girl announced that tea would be served. Perhaps Ms. Dolly might enjoy a biscuit as well? Oh indeed so, Samantha.

The blob of ever-moving slosh of a creature sat mid-air watching this peculiar little child and her doll. A little ways away, setting up a picnic atop what was known as Blueberry Hill (a name to which the dark creature remained oblivious), the child’s parents had little clue of the terrible fate to await their cheerful little tyke.

Mishap and disaster befalls the ignorant. Had her parents been remotely concerned for their daughter’s health and wellbeing, they might have researched enough to know the dangers that lurk within Black Forest of Cake’s dark walls of pine. Naturally, no form of investigation could educe the shapeless form of creature we have come to know.
Long drawn moments came to a bitter end, when, as if sifting sands were falling into a funnel, the blackness swirled into Samantha’s nostrils.

The little girl gave a sudden gasp of breath, a terrified hiccup. Ms. Dolly crashed with a tumble onto the grass. Samantha fell back, spread-eagle and misconstrue d. Her body seemed to misinterpret how it should be unconscious. However, after a moment passed, Samantha’s eyelids opened in a single motion. One moment they were closed, as if she had fainted, the next second they were alive. Her beautiful blue eyes were turned into a swirling thunderstorm of the grayest cloud. The occasional lightning would spark across the spinning chasm that melted into a black oblivion.

Like a fallen marionette puppet, Samantha pulled her limbs together and stood. Her stance was awkward: bow-legged, sagging shoulders, and limp at the waist. That moment, her mother decided to call, “Lunch is ready, dear!”

At once, Samantha found herself replying, “Coming, mum!” For a second, her words sounded hollow, and diluted, but no one seemed to notice. She grabbed Ms. Dolly and ran towards her parents. Each step was like new, though her balance, stride and posture improved with every footfall. When at last she had joined the parents, Samantha appeared as she always was. No one noticed the pools of blackness in her eyes. No one can see these kinds of things.

No one ever expects it.

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