Squirming Coil

The burning pastel mosaic of sunset reflected brutally off his retinas, his pupils narrowing to the point of near-blindness, sending shivs of pain back into the recesses of his skull. His refusal to look away forced a rebellion of tears to flow like ants from a burning hole.

He would find it.

Heavenly fires rolled lasciviously across the horizon, masking the coil that squirmed somewhere within the chaotic maelstrom. Power, the only power to ever spark lust within his soul, was presenting itself to the world behind a mask of ordinary miracle. Few knew to search, none it seemed had made the discovery. Ezmerel could no longer keep from squinting, the salty flood threatened to undermine his search. The horizon blurred into abstraction, creating more shades and shapes. Twilight rained from the east and the fire was extinguished. The coil squirmed on.

The rolling shamble of his strides carried him in a vaguely familiar direction. He stumbled through near darkness overlaid with a foggy sheen that eventually dulled to spotted colors and something resembling sight. Seeing his way through the murk of urban dusk, the maze of progress baffled him. How did he ever get home? The brittle cracked faces of dilapidated dwellings silently interrogated him from all sides

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