scribbling off byron

Cover Image

thanks to Lord Byron's "The Destruction of Sennacherib" for inspiration... and a few lines ;)



Angel of Death


He came down like a wolf on his prey, his nostrils wide, taking in the sharpness of the cold air. He sliced through the waves of the red sea, followed by the thundering roar of the cannons. His gleaming black skin was not wet from exhaustion but covered in strength, that kept driving him on. With the breath of his pride lingering over the numbing stillness of the bay, destruction came rolling. Fatalistic resignation preceded the convulsing echo of his hooves as his unstoppable force crashed against the mortality of hundreds. 


The screams of the living and moans of the dying drowned as if they were stuck in a far away past that could not keep up with his strides. Barely an inch to his right, just where one of his hooves had flattened a blossoming daisy, a pool of thickening red covered a hollow bedding a waxening body. As those lungs began to refuse to take in any more of the icy air, slowing down the heart beat and unrecoverably ceasing its blood stream, a pale nothingness settled over the darkness of life, but he kept racing on as if nothing had changed. Fighting off the sea of flesh, his muscles grew tense, his pulse racing through his body, his legs strong and steady. The empty bodies below him unified into one field of averted eyes wishing for blindness. 


With the rotting breath hovering over the countryside, merging with the fog creeping up from the sea, darkness seized every fiber of his body. A wall of exhaustion building up inside him, his speed diminished. As his violent facade faded, he fell into the dust, like millions before him, dispersing it into the coal black air before it settled again on the white cover of the frozen field.







ps.: this text is already online but as a picture file, so here again in proper text version and as individual record.

Created: Jan 04, 2011


mildemar Document Media