The ClocktowerIt was midnight in the middle of the day.More Like This
The clouds had swallowed up a blue sky and had in return spat out a pithy black husk that germinated, polluting whatever once was cheerful with a dark semblance and a musky, cloying smell
One of rot.
I turned my eyes heavenward, shocked into silence as the disease spread its way, muddying the once beautiful sky.
Everyone seemed to pause, a pause that seemed to have only been rehearsed, heard only through hushed whispers as everyone decided when to make their final move. They stopped.
Irina did not stop.
I did not stop.
The sleek and sensual steel of the clock tower had lost its sheen. Its metal plating no longer played with the sunlight, it absorbed the black disease, turning it into a void, an object that acted as a vessel for the darkness.
It had transmuted its way to sky, and then had bled onto the ground.
A lone figure perched, sickeningly bent, its spine contorted into a way that no human form would naturally allow.