The night attempted to engulf humble wooden shacks, each adorned with vibrant flowers of every color to beautifully contrast the plain wood it grew upon and the surrounding ebony darkness. The smell of soothing pollen along the sound of dancing, crackling embers blended together as the breath of the small community. Sculpted, hand-made blossoms with hearts of dazzling flames illuminated the rustic houses as it repelled the inky dusk from its unbiased blanket.
Along a field of wilting Canary flowers, a crowd of people trampled over the sea of rotting yellow flowers. They marched with grimace and hesitant purpose; a wooden crucifix held above them and a figure viciously nailed to its planks.
Upon the crucifix hung a being of fragile, agonizing beauty; like a damaged glass mosaic, each crack adding depth to a desecrated masterpiece. Its presence imposed a hearth-like warmth that consoled, like the inviting solace of a campfire on a winter's night. The blighted, dying floral sheltered by the comforting radiance seemed to be revived with vitality for fleeting moments. Its face held a serenity of perfect symmetry and softness as though a doll sculpted by a master's hand. Skin, pale and smooth as porcelain clung to its form with an unsettling majesty, eerie perfection unlike any human physique.
Such haunting beauty derived from its stark contrast of mortality, was ironically tainted by its revolting fragility. Its subtle lips parted, but instead of divine wisdom, they wretched a torrent of crimson blood, staining a trail below with sound like relentless downpour. Though muffled by overflowing ichor, they spat out despairing pleas, cursing their grisly fate. A gaping hole revealed writhing lungs that struggled to draw breath in an abhorrent display of aortic art. The soft flesh like leather crudely slashed wide open in a mutilated gash, mirroring the sight of an improvised surgery. Its mouth choked desperately for air, though blood betrayed its vessel, circulating the lungs rather than its heart. Its limbs were brutally affixed with nail-like bones and bound by abrasive rope and its own strung arteries. Bones snapped with the sharp crack of splintering wood as it thrashed, each maniac twist a futile attempt to tear itself free from torment. With each sway of the crucifix, a hollow rattle echoed as fractured bones scraped like the crunch of stepping over glass.
A child lagged far behind the crowd, her scrawny hands pressed tightly over her ears, fingernails digging into her dusty hair. A wilted blue flower rested prominently over her neck, drawing a bit of attention away from her bony, malnourished figure. Her eyes were clenched tightly as she could neither process, or understand such agony and suffering. Even through the darkness of her eyelids, she could see everything clearly.
As the horde of townspeople marched on, a boy glanced back and noticed their friend was missing. He scanned the area quickly until he spotted her, hurrying to her side.
"Lily…you don't look well." He gently comforted her, his hands worriedly placed on her arm. She lifted her head slightly to face her friend, but started convulsing uncontrollably. Small dribbles of saliva and bile oozed from her lips. "Here… let me…" The boy used his worn shirt to wipe away the vomit, earning a sheepish, grateful smile from her. A bit of dust from his dirty cloth replaced the vile liquid on her mouth as her smile faded quickly.
"....why?..." Lily asked quietly. "...I…don't understand..?" She clutched the flower on her head for comfort, the haunting image of torment forced into brain.
The boy tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth slightly to answer, but closed it. A few tense seconds passed before the boy broke the silence.
"...Me neither… I heard that the thing was evil, and it was the reason why our flowers are dying… at least that's what my friends said.." Lily's legs wobbled again, giving out as she fell towards the ground, but she was caught before she hit the floor.
"LILY!?" He gently lifted Lily to her feet, clumsily draping her arm around his neck. She steadied herself, a bit flushed from embarrassment. "..T-thank you.."
He shook his head slightly. "..We should get you back to your house where it's..err..calmer.. I think there's still some clean water left too." His voice held uncertainty and hesitation. The pair took a last glance at the townspeople some distance away; the mob had stopped marching and began to post the crucifix into the ground. The two turned away, walking a slow pace towards safety. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the distant commotion of the riotous mob.
"....Father said tomorrow night…they're going to hold a feast for everyone... even though there's been no food recently…" The boy stared high into the desolate sky above. What once used to be illuminated by starlight, was now an empty void. "....Wouldn't it be nice, Lily..? It hasn't been long since we last ate…but it feels like forever."
Lily smiled softly. "...It would be nice, Vale… I'm…so h-hungry…" She clutched her bony stomach for a moment, but quickly composed herself to avoid worrying her friend. "Like you said…we'll have a feast tomorrow…" Lily smiled wide at Vale, a bit of hope returned to her expression as she playfully traced on his arm. "..Do you think they'll have those mushrooms I love..?" Vale scrunched his face in a disgusted, dramatic manner, delicately batting away her poking. "I wish upon a dandelion that they don't. I think I'd rather eat hemlock or starve than be near any." The pair shared a brief moment of laughter, momentarily drowning out the distant uproar of the mob. But it was fleeting; the discordant symphony of the crowd surged back, insistent and aggressive.
Vale's smile faltered as he glanced over his shoulder. The crucifix loomed abjectly in the field, an unsettling presence amid the surrounding beauty of life and vibrant colors.
Lily tried to look behind her, but Vale delicately blocked her view and motioned forward. "..We…we should keep moving...we're almost at your home.." Lily frowned slightly, her hand gripping his arm a bit tighter. She nodded, trusting her friend as they kept walking.
Vale looked back one last time. The wooden cross with its tortured captive resembled a grotesque and bloodied scarecrow. Yet the rotting flowers near the disfigured totem appeared to resurrect, their colors vividly animated as if drawing life from the very suffering that hung before them. And then there was celebration.