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Kameoth
Xavier perched in silent reverie on the precipitous slope of a cathedral roof, anchored by black claws where toenails of a human foot usually existed. It was hot, warmer than usual, and very dry. The air smelled acrid, still soured by the British and American air raid that devastated the central and northwestern districts of Altona, Eimsbüttel and Hoheluft.
The sky was dark as well as the city, the telltale light of a myriad of stars the only illumination. Citizens shuttered their windows and doused all lights in meager protection against another bombing run by Allied forces. Previous bombardments experienced by the Germans were, until recently, mostly nuisance runs, more annoying than serious damage inflicted. Rumors among the officer corps signaled a change in their efforts, however.
Death is on the wind. Xavier harbored the fear of it deep within him. They were, after all, old friends, if one could consider Azriel, the Archangel of Death, a friend. No. Not friend. Inevitable companion. He stifled another sense of dread as it dared raise its head in his normally fearless being. None escaped the Destruction, not angel, man, nor beast. Spreading black wings against the night, he lifted his perfect form without effort. Natalina waited and he hungered.
He stroked his member as he flew, his erection an eager serpent ready to strike. The thought of her white flesh against his increased the throbbing in his groin and a small amount of seminal fluid escaped into his fist, slicking the glans and shaft. He released his grip, fully intending she drink of him.
She would come willingly this night or he would take what was due. After all he had done for her she owed him her life and more. He brought her glorious voice to the attention of the appropriate individuals, nourished her talent and fed her starvation for life beyond the simple farmstead of her childhood. How such a dove came to be born among the filth of agrarian life was beyond him. Xavier never had an appreciation of God’s humor, even less of an understanding of His thoughts once he heard her sing amongst the stink of swine in the barn where he found her. A brief conversation with her parents ensued. They were more than relieved to see her go, as if they knew the girl were an oddity, a freak to their kind and in whose presence they were never comfortable.
The sky was dark as well as the city, the telltale light of a myriad of stars the only illumination. Citizens shuttered their windows and doused all lights in meager protection against another bombing run by Allied forces. Previous bombardments experienced by the Germans were, until recently, mostly nuisance runs, more annoying than serious damage inflicted. Rumors among the officer corps signaled a change in their efforts, however.
Death is on the wind. Xavier harbored the fear of it deep within him. They were, after all, old friends, if one could consider Azriel, the Archangel of Death, a friend. No. Not friend. Inevitable companion. He stifled another sense of dread as it dared raise its head in his normally fearless being. None escaped the Destruction, not angel, man, nor beast. Spreading black wings against the night, he lifted his perfect form without effort. Natalina waited and he hungered.
He stroked his member as he flew, his erection an eager serpent ready to strike. The thought of her white flesh against his increased the throbbing in his groin and a small amount of seminal fluid escaped into his fist, slicking the glans and shaft. He released his grip, fully intending she drink of him.
She would come willingly this night or he would take what was due. After all he had done for her she owed him her life and more. He brought her glorious voice to the attention of the appropriate individuals, nourished her talent and fed her starvation for life beyond the simple farmstead of her childhood. How such a dove came to be born among the filth of agrarian life was beyond him. Xavier never had an appreciation of God’s humor, even less of an understanding of His thoughts once he heard her sing amongst the stink of swine in the barn where he found her. A brief conversation with her parents ensued. They were more than relieved to see her go, as if they knew the girl were an oddity, a freak to their kind and in whose presence they were never comfortable.
38 pages, Kindle Edition
Published June 1, 2013
1 person is currently reading
About the author
Erin Sinclair
9 books1 followerI am a daughter, sister, friend, wife, and mother but I was born a writer. I have created stories in my head, on paper, and out loud since I was eight years old. As an adult, I have been employed in the use of the written word for over two decades in various secretarial/administrative positions.
In my opinion story telling is the original art form. My life long dream has been to weave worlds, visit the faraway and impossible, meet the could have, would have and should have through the wonderful magic of words. I invite readers to join me with an open mind and a spirit of adventure as we explore all that literary fiction has to offer!
Email: erin_sinclair_writer@yahoo.com
In my opinion story telling is the original art form. My life long dream has been to weave worlds, visit the faraway and impossible, meet the could have, would have and should have through the wonderful magic of words. I invite readers to join me with an open mind and a spirit of adventure as we explore all that literary fiction has to offer!
Email: erin_sinclair_writer@yahoo.com
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