Young Writers Society

A lone flaming torch lights the darkened street. Cobbled stone on the road cast thin and jittery shadows across the ground. The sea’s scent is clear through the smoke and smell of hay. A straw man stands, arms spread, illuminated by torchlight. He stares out into the rolling waves and white foam of the churned ocean. His beady lifeless button eyes reflect the torchlight. The post he is fastened to has been hammered deep into the sandy roadside. The ragged straw man’s second hand clothing ripples in the sandy seaside wind. His sack head bears no straw hat, for that is worn by his tormentor.

The man’s bony cheeks and pointed nose are made apparent by the darkness around them. His pale blue irises pierce the night. The straw man is locked in his steadfast gaze. He holds the torch up to the overflowing brim of the straw man’s shirt. Instantly the tinderous substance is lit. The individual straw strands blacken and flicker with orange flame at first. Then they ignite with vigorous speed. Flame spreads beneath the once white shirt, now stained by all manner of ungodly substances. Fiery fury erupts from within the straw man’s chest, illuminating him like a lantern.

Inside the straw man, a boy awakens.He struggled with his bindings, all his efforts are to no effect. His guttural screeches of pain are seemingly unheard by the man, who simply smiles in reply. The tufts of pale green grass that sprout from the brown seaside sand reverberate with his echoing cries. The mountains and valleys that border the other side of the cobbled street are silenced by the pained wails. All forms of nature from the resolute oak tree to the humble squirrel cease their every movement. Even the ocean’s tumbling waters seem muted to the single cacophonous cry. The smoke and sea are joined by a third smell, burning meat. The smell, normally related with the best of times, is poisoned and stained by the moment.

The screams reach a crescendo before subsiding to final silent sobs. Then complete cessation overcomes the boy’s body. Him and the straw around him continue to burn. The button eyes begin to melt, dribbling black tears of sorrow down the straw man’s face. The silence the scream created remains. Only the gentle crackling of the inferno is audible now. The strawman’s embroidered smile unravels in flame, the cloth comes apart, and his sack of a head begins to shout fire as the roaring of the smoke and trapped flame bursts out of the artificial maw. A plume of turgid smoke rises into the air.

A grin begins to peak on the corners of the man’s mouth. His eyes glint subtle madness. He had completed it, his life’s work had come to fruition. Just as the flames engulfed the straw man a great wind swept in from the sea.It extinguished the fire and the torch and swept away the rags that fed it, leaving a charred little skeleton with blackened flesh still clinging to it. The ocean began to pull out, the lapping of waves replaced by the running of water. The gale from the ocean with it carried a stench, the reek of a thousand dying men drowning in their own retch. It was the smell of extinction.

As the windy malestrom swept over the now dark cobbled road, it found the trees. Their leaves were nigh torn from the their branches, the grass waved in synchronization. The wind petrified the wildlife, whom scurried not to their dens, but in opposition to the ocean. Regardless of whether or not the animal next to them were predator or prey they all fled in unison from the retreating ocean. The man’s grin stayed etched on his face, he had succeeded where a thousand before him had failed. On the distant horizon something large and monstrous could be seen. It peaked out of the vast swathes of retreating ocean. It’s size was beyond compare, even by silhouette it invoked fear beyond all reason in the man. His urge to run from the godforsaken shore was overpowering, but he held steady.

In the nearby town infants cried kicked, awaking their frustrated parents who tried to soothe them. Church bells rang as the tides of despair rolled over the town. The man stood staring out at the distant behemoth that grew closer by the second, revealing more and more of it’s grotesque figure. The ocean deep could contain it no longer. It was awake. He gave a final baleful smile before pulling the trigger of the small flintlock pistol that he held to his chin. His blood wouldn’t be the last to spill that night.