#forgottenones

[dr3w-g-blog]

the gtp #grandprixgtp #grandprix #pontiac #forgottenones

[darkseraphim28]

{Scribblings} Church of the Forgotten

He rested his hand on the old, dead wooden doors.  They gave off a terrible squeak, swinging on rotten hinges threatening to fall off all together.  He stepped inside the blessed darkness of the decrepit building, out of the hot desert sun.  He didn't expect much from the place.  From the outside it was crumbling and ancient.  Once pristine white blocks were now a filthy and disgusting yellow, baked by the hot and unrelenting sun.  It had only two windows, or rather small openings in the walls.  Both were long devoid of any glass or framework, instead boarded up to keep out the sun.  A sort of overgrowth attacked the walls as though whatever life that managed to survive in this harsh wasteland was determined to force itself onto anything that it could, just to show its defiance in the face of the bright and harsh land that wanted it dead.  All together, the outward appearance warned away any traveler foolish enough to try their hand in this wasteland who managed to find this place.

But inside...

Almost instantly he felt the oppressive heat evaporate from him, almost violently so.  He wrapped his arms around his frame in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill that wracked his body.  He had to fight the urge to run from the dark and back into the hot sun and instead allowed his eyes to adjust to the lack of blinding light.  It took several moments.  The harsh sunlight barely entered the building at all, almost as if it was frightened by the darkness. 

Polished black wood made up the floor, shining in the sparse light spilling in from the door.  Pillars of the same black wood stretched like tress to the high, vaulted ceiling.  From the outside the building hadn't seemed so tall, so grand.  Pews sat neatly in two rows, stretching to the front where an altar sat upon a raised dais. 

He was frozen to the spot.  From the outside, the church seemed so old, falling apart as time grew on.  But the difference here was so vast; the floor so clean and polished, corners devoid of cobwebs or dust, as though the inside had been scrubbed from top to bottom with loving hands.  Only the chill in his bones gave him any clue that he was not trapped in a strange illusion. 

Alcoves dotted the walls and were carefully cleaned of dust and debris, instead adorned with what seemed to be handmade offerings to a winged deity.  The walls boasted beautiful mosaics and murals of terrible beings with wings of fire, and horrible creatures made of light devouring a mass of black.  The winged beings fight the light creatures, driving them away from the black masses, sometimes being devoured themselves.  The battle scenes were horrible and violent, beautiful in their destruction and chaos.

He couldn't remember being so terrified and awestruck.

Almost against his will, he found himself approaching the altar at the front of the church.  The pews sat neat and cleaned, waiting for their congregation to arrive.  He stopped at the base of the dais, looking up towards the strange altar.  A mosaic in the shape of wings adorned the back wall, made of silver and onyx.  The wings were outstretched as though to enfold the entirety of the church within it's grasp.  The altar was covered with a blood red cloth too large for it.  It seemed to pour over the sides of the altar, like liquid...he tore his gaze from the unsettling cloth to the items lying on it.  Lying there neatly in a row, were feathers.  Each one was perfectly preserved, looking as though they had only just been plucked. 

They were all as black as the night.

A loud cry bounced off of the walls as he stumbled back from the altar, his breathing quickening as his heart raced in his chest.  The feathers were undisturbed by the movement, resting atop their blood covered home in quiet serenity.  His body shook with terror as suddenly his senses became alive, hearing the smallest of sounds, the darkest corners of the black church becoming illuminated in his fear. 

He wasn't alone here, not in this place untouched by time or decay, this terrible, forgotten place.

A church of darkness, tossed to the sands to be forgotten and buried....

He turned to flee, to race into the dreadful arms of the sun.  It was familiar at least, better surely than the dreadful unknown of the darkness.  He froze before he could take his first step.  Before him, the hopeful light of the sun was gone, blocked by a door that now stood strong, closed and obliterating the only light casting him into complete darkness. 

The sound of quickened breaths echoed in the massive room.  Despite his panic, he could not will his limbs to move.  He sucked in a breath at a sudden sound to his left, almost jumping at another to his right.  Then another behind him, and another, the strange sound so loud in the dark.  It sounded like rustling, the rustling of feathers...

He was soon aware that he was surrounded, cut off from any means of escape.  He shivered as the chill in his body became worse, his blood feeling like ice in his veins.  He could hear the rustling of wings and the feel of feathers falling against him.  Though he could not see, he knew he was surrounded.

The sound of heavy footsteps approached him.  The being gave off no warmth, instead as it neared he felt himself becoming colder.  He once again felt the sensation of feathers brushing his skin as a pair of enormous wings wrapped around him, the being so close that he could feel it's cold breath on his skin.

All of the tension left his body in a sudden rush, a string being pulled taunt snapping under the pressure.  With a gasp he fell forward, into the arms of the winged being as his legs refused to support him.  He grasped weakly at feathers, trying in vain to regain control of his own body.  The arms around him were firm and unyielding, he doubted he could have broken free even if he hadn't lost movement in his limbs.  The arms embraced him firmly, wings outstretched.  He heard the others approach and a brief terror flashed through him before fading into a feeling of exhaustion.  He was tired, so tired, and the arms around him promised rest. 

Why had he been running?  Why had he been so afraid?  There was no need, not really.  He just needed to relax, to rest and forget...

"Welcome to our congregation."