Rust

“Mother, how could you? You punish this recalcitrant child of ore, stealing my strength and leaving in your wake a tantrum of destruction. This hurts me; it leaves me a damaged mass straining to survive. Is this your intent? Am I to twist and writhe until all that once was is now a pitted mass of malcontent? Mother, how could you?”

“My son, stolen from me and wrought by the hand of man, yet strewn about my body with little care – be blessed. For I have bathed you in my milk, taken from you all constraint, and given you back time’s natural glory.”

“But, Mother, they look upon me with disgust and intent – intent to destroy. I am no longer wanted. I wish to be wanted, Mother.”

“My child, Fe, you are wanted. Relish in it, be thankful for my shed tears, my nourishing wash, and embrace the beauty of hues that lie within your visage. There are those who value greater your discordant rust than the shiny ingots you were smelted to be.”

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.


I’m doing the 2013 Blogging from A to Z Challenge! Pop back everyday but Sunday through the month of April for a new letter prompt to spawn my deranged ramblings! ;}
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About Nina D'Arcangela

Nina D’Arcangela is a quirky horror writer who likes to spin soul rending snippets of despair. She reads anything from splatter matter to dark matter. She's an UrbEx adventurer who suffers from unquenchable wanderlust. She loves to photograph abandoned places, bits of decay and old graveyards. Nina is co-owner of Sirens Call Publications, co-founder of the horror writer's group 'Pen of the Damned', and if that isn't enough, put a check mark in the box next to owner and resident nut-job of Dark Angel Photography. View all posts by Nina D'Arcangela

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