The picture is a piece of art by Dutch artist Pieter Claesz called "Still Life with a Skull and a Writing Quill." I have applied a filter to it.
With a strike of a match, Patricia lit the candle. The candlelight danced across the old, worn desk. The air was cold and dank, much like any other basement. Rows of metal drawers lined the walls. Flicking the match, Patricia snuffed out the flame. Smoke drifted upward into the cracks of the ceiling.
It wasn't the most homey of work areas, but it was secluded from any type of being, living or undead. That was rare these days. So she didn't complain. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting, allowing her to continue her studies.
The world had changed with the sudden and drastic appearance of new stars in the night sky. Before humankind could react, the new stars eclipsed the sun and moon. A new sense of night and day fell over the earth. Day now meant mellow orange tones and night a seeping purple that left an odd, blue dew on the skin.
When the new stars aligned in a triangular fashion, bodies rose from the graves. Though their body stayed half-rotten and pus-filled. Other phenomenon followed. Patricia looked over to the crumpled pamphlets stacked on her desk. Too many for her to keep track of.
But that wouldn't stop her from finding out why they occurred. And, maybe with some great luck, she could find a way to bring things back to normal. She walked over to the metal cabinets. Each drawer had a yellowed label with a number and abbreviation. After a moment of contemplation, she chose #385 GNDWN or Gondwana as it had spoken of an ancient continent. Gondwana, the supercontinent of Earth, was the closest thing in her mind to it.
She lifted out the skull. It looked human. Yet the slight green haze around it said otherwise. It'd been found seeping up from one of the many graves behind her house. She set it on her desk next to a pile of her writings topped with an aged brown skull.
"Who dares awaken the great ¥¢<>" Gondwana said, the last word completely unintelligible.
"Patricia. I have some questions for you."
A half laugh and half cackle answered. "And why would I take order from a ¥¢<> like you?"
Once again, it used one of what Patricia supposed was its native language, utter nonsense to her. She crossed her arms on the desk and leaned closer to the strange skull.
"Because," she said pointing to the missing bottom jaw of the other skull, "I don't think you want to become a mute."
YOU ARE READING
Refined Sugars
Short StoryRefined Sugars is not a part of a balanced reading diet. This is an eclectic grouping of short stories written by me during periods of writing droughts on my main works in progress. Some of these are spin offs of those where I explore a character, a...
