Writer's Workshop: Ragnarok
Ok, I'm tagging the 'first day' prompt of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today. I'm going a little fictitous with this story. I've been reading alot of Norse Mythology lately and decided to write about a mortal witnessing the first day of Ragnarok (The Norse 'end of the world' scenario).
The First Day of Ragnarok.
Woken from my sleep by a eerie ghostly howl of a hound. I don't hear it so much as I feel it, it reverberates through every inch of my flesh making my bones ache in terrible foreboding. The house shakes with this baying, cabinets open on their own with plates shattering on the floor. Out the window, the trees look to cringe in their place, leaves shaking from their branches in fear. Almost like a quake, the earth shudders to the crescendo of the howl and then silence. Stillness reigns over all, nothing moves, no bird sings, no wind blows; uneasy expectation dominates all.
Suddenly, the tearing sound of leather, chain, and steel. The sounds of a thousand fetters rending apart. A triumphant roar rattles all of existence. A booming declaration of infernal intention, my blood feels like it's freezing in its veins. The windows shatter with a rush of wind, the walls creak from some unseen strain, a gale has descended upon us. Out into the day I push but the light seems to falter.
I don't understand this. It's the middle of August yet only twenty degrees outside. The sky roars like a lion, its breath a bone-chilling wind. And the Sun! Our glorious Life-Bringer fights for its own life! Shadows of fangs cut into the solar disc, the light is slowly dimming. Yet at the same time, the moon cracks apart! Chunks of Luna disappearing from the Heavens as if they're being devoured by a monstrous celestial maw. The luminous twins fall to their unseen assailants. Darkness engulfs everything.
Still I can see, random fires illuminate this informal night. On the horizon, something... horrifying. Great teeth, like a canine or lupine, thousands of feet high. A mouth that reaches from earth to sky, slavering over morsels of life, devouring everything in its path. Above the mouth and barely seen, those eyes, those burning eyes. Pinpoints of hateful fire, straining with madness and hunger.
There's no point in running, there's no place to run to. It's begun to snow?
The First Day of Ragnarok.
Woken from my sleep by a eerie ghostly howl of a hound. I don't hear it so much as I feel it, it reverberates through every inch of my flesh making my bones ache in terrible foreboding. The house shakes with this baying, cabinets open on their own with plates shattering on the floor. Out the window, the trees look to cringe in their place, leaves shaking from their branches in fear. Almost like a quake, the earth shudders to the crescendo of the howl and then silence. Stillness reigns over all, nothing moves, no bird sings, no wind blows; uneasy expectation dominates all.
Suddenly, the tearing sound of leather, chain, and steel. The sounds of a thousand fetters rending apart. A triumphant roar rattles all of existence. A booming declaration of infernal intention, my blood feels like it's freezing in its veins. The windows shatter with a rush of wind, the walls creak from some unseen strain, a gale has descended upon us. Out into the day I push but the light seems to falter.
I don't understand this. It's the middle of August yet only twenty degrees outside. The sky roars like a lion, its breath a bone-chilling wind. And the Sun! Our glorious Life-Bringer fights for its own life! Shadows of fangs cut into the solar disc, the light is slowly dimming. Yet at the same time, the moon cracks apart! Chunks of Luna disappearing from the Heavens as if they're being devoured by a monstrous celestial maw. The luminous twins fall to their unseen assailants. Darkness engulfs everything.
Still I can see, random fires illuminate this informal night. On the horizon, something... horrifying. Great teeth, like a canine or lupine, thousands of feet high. A mouth that reaches from earth to sky, slavering over morsels of life, devouring everything in its path. Above the mouth and barely seen, those eyes, those burning eyes. Pinpoints of hateful fire, straining with madness and hunger.
There's no point in running, there's no place to run to. It's begun to snow?
Labels: Mama kat, Ragnarok, short story
by Ink and Stone at 12:04 PM
6 Comments:
Your descriptions are amazing. Visiting from Mama Kats.
Wow. Are you available to do children's books?
Seriously - some great writing there Ink. I would like to see that scenario played out on the big screen.
Yep! You have a talent there kid! ;) I love it!
Now paint the scene... Bitch.
Send it in. I'd buy it.
Here from Mama Kat's... I have never before experienced any Norse writing, but your brief works are so descriptive that it has led me to want to find more! Great job
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