The Rider
Flash fiction. Less than 200 words. Enjoy.
From the great hall of night The Rider came forth in the shape of Man conjured by the waning embers of a warm forsaken fire. His flesh upheld by the bones of the old kings plucked from their hiding places and carried on the backs of spectral winds. With the final breath of Divine Nature he rose from the dirt and sand and mounted smoke in the shape of a horse. Pale ghosts whisper to him of a golden kingdom long since mutilated and effaced and the wind whistles a hymn of a perpetual sorrow once seen and felt by all during the desert days of Man but the red-blooded rider thinks only of the night for he was marked for it at birth and hurls forth armored in the steel of his own supernatural will. The Moon blushes silver behind a black cloud as he rides beneath her panting and wild and in their holy exchange she lights his way with white-hot starlight and celestial visions of splendor for he carries the dream of Life and the sky cannot stay dark in the face of such a dream.
This is beautiful. Taking something western and plunging down into a mythology. Giving it a soul older than history.
Really interesting piece. I like that you don’t take the time to explain anything, just jump right in and see it through, and somehow the emotion and scope still come through clearly. Feels like an excerpt from Beowulf or something very old. Could even see this being like an epigraph at the beginning of an epic historical fantasy. Great work.