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The Spoils of Glass and Sand

The calm mistress of heed unhindered by the hold of charmed allusion and uneasy loves, filled his thoughts with the intrinsic need for gullied course, rabbit wills and hopping always, in secret chawing nibbles of grass. He watched the rabbit creep across the glenn and into the hidden copse near the west side of the gully. What of the contract, the promise for beacons and spotlights, sunshine and twilight, sylvan wilds and sand, endless eternal sand. What of the promise, " To dust," he whispered; just a phantasm of arranged fare, he thought. The promise... he saw the spoils of sand to glass reflections in gathering temptation. Tempted to abide and willed to trust in the promise, he thought in furrowed scathless perfection. The promise and what was begat by the turn of tide, what nascent dreams and rushing rivers will, the promise to countries in ash and townships full of starvation; and what ails the healthy? The promise unto oblivion, except with the sunshine compliance of man and revolution. The promise to passage and resurrection’s devise. He sighed and smoked in lazy tendriled passion, a cool ambiance of tobacco and wanderlust. He looked at the rabbit... "A full belly tonight" he said aloud, " and tomorrow we reap the rewards of the hunt, the hunt for salvation in the face of bloated bellies and gaunt demeanors... merely a rabbit, he thought.

Story by:

Ron Koppelberger

submitted at 11:34am

23 May 2010