Past the atmosphere blanketing earth, past the inky vastness of space, is nothing. A white dimension, silent and overbearing. The nothingness shakes, cracking and splitting, the pieces falling, shaping a presence. Body became bark and flesh, blood a cosmic mix with veins like vines. What cruel irony is it to become the one thing that ended your time on earth? The newly born God did not remember their past life but knew what was to become of the forest- it withered, disappeared quietly from earth as its essence became one with the god of flora and fauna. Flowers bloomed from their palms, decay heavy on their breath. Some say that when a tree falls, something else grows in its place-  maybe that works for humanity and the supernatural as well.                          

Darkness descended across the countryside. The usual hustle and bustle of Life that filled the lands and roads slowly died along with the light, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. A wind rustled the leaves of the trees, scattering sticks and left over debris across the empty grounds. The remains of a once beloved carnival sits abandoned in a field; music still drawled from burned speakers, crackling out into the night like a cry for help, or recognition. The lights, once playful and lively, flickered dimly, as if they were blinking. The mystery of how the fire started remained just that, some unsolvable puzzle that authorities didn't have the time nor knowhow to crack. The case quickly turned cold, the cops coming to the  assumption that it was a freak accident. The magic of small town gossip took off the rumor that the grounds were haunted by the souls who had become victims to the inferno. Bored kids and teens quickly became obsessed with the legends and discovering the truth behind the circus tents but most of those who had entered, either never came back, or emerged with a look of horror on their face, never being able to talk about what happened in the confines of the night. If anyone bothered to wander deeper into the maze of broken down attractions, however, they’d find a carousel: winged horses bobbing in rhythm to the music haunting the contraption. Step closer, and they’d realize it had a soul. He'd sing sweetly, sad and forgotten, but the explorer would know that they’d be safe in his embrace, protected against the shadows creeping along the damaged land, waiting for their next victim to be released.            

im absolute GOOSEJUICE at posting my art. yell at me to do this more often