It was the height and shape of a man that much was true. And it dressed in brightly red attire, as if it were anomalous yet stately. Its body was arched and splintered, and made of decay, while its fingers, reeking of tragedy, were shaped like a poet’s quill.
Where its face should have been, there was nothing but vacuous rot, looking more like an aged and arborous canker, upon arched and skeletal shoulders. And it spoke, just as a man might, but the sound of each word was less like a man’s, and more like the deciduous fall of ripened fruit. Between every word, its teeth chattered and ground like the hacking of a rusted saw, with every breath that it took, sounding much like the calamitous whoosh that might follow a fell tree.
It wore too, the strangest boots the boy had ever seen. On each ankle were what looked like a baby eagle’s wings, which flapped whenever it became alarmed or excited.
{Untitled} C.SeanMcGee ₢2015
Extract: On describing 'The Demon'
A story of fear and love, death and infinity. All is light and such, all is one.
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanMcGee
TheFreeArtCollection
