Steven Wyman-Blackburn

Craft of Writing

October 13, 2008

 

The Wood Elf

 

The Wood Elf sniffed the air,

He could sense that the cold was near,

Winter had come to a land so fair,

A forest which he held so dear.

 

The small elf hugged the tree

which his small hands held tightly to,

He feared for his friends, feared for his love,

Feared that he would lose them to this hateful weather.

 

The winter here lasted for years,

Without an ending in sight,

The snow would fall forth from the skies above,

Covering the ground and shielding the sky with everlasting night.

 

But like the countless years before,

The brave little Wood Elf would stay in the darkness,

He would share their pains give them even more

than he would ever expect, a painful bliss.

 

And soon the snow did some with relentless hate,

His friends cried out in pain,

But the Wood Elf refused to leave their side,

He would never betray them, even if he died.

 

He would sing even when his throat was sore,

He would dance when his feet were frozen to the floor,

He would smile even if his insides cried for weeks,

He would laugh even when tears stained his cheeks.

 

For many months he continued to suffer

for those which he cared so much for,

He froze in the ice and choked in the hail,

But still he stayed with them.

 

But one day some creatures came,

Strange beings he had never seen before.

What could they be?

How could they move like an elf?

 

Their faces were like his reflection,

They had hands that acted like spears,

Their feet plowed through the ground without inspection,

They were wonderful, hateful; the best thing he had seen in years.

 

 

But how the trees wailed when they saw them,

They spit, taunted, cursed and cried,

They could see the Wood Elf’s eye

and how he worshipped their every move, his sigh.

 

 

And soon that elf soon felt his little feet pass on by,

He felt anew as if he had just grown silk-like wings,

So on he went before he heard the trees all cry:

“Don’t go, don’t leave us!  They are not good, but evil things!”

 

Upon hearing the words of wisdom and clarity,

The Wood Elf quickly turned away from the men,

He cried and cried until his tears could no longer flow,

And there he fell asleep in the cold, cold snow.

 

There the elf dreamt of a dream as dark as the night,

He could see the men in all their delight,

Their glowing faces smiling, their fair hands beckoning

for him to join them; he did not have to fight.

 

He wanted to go to them,

He wanted to touch their fair skin,

He could feel their words all around him,

But his friends held him back even when he kicked with all his might…

 

Soon something pulled him out of his restless state.

At first all he could hear was the sound of tears

hitting the cold cold snow.

But once his eyes opened did he really know.

 

Around him his friends cried and cried,

Their old rotting bodies creaking in the breeze,

“What ever could be the matter,” the little elf cried,

“Our friends,” they answered “because of those monsters have died!”

 

It was then that the Wood Elf soon was able to see

the horror that the trees had spoken of,

The trees which had once stood so tall

were now nothing but stumps so small.

 

But there was something much worse than this,

The men had left him, they had gone for good,

With a tear for the men and not for the trees,

The elf cried so hard as he fell to his knees.

 

But there in the middle of all the cries and tears

was something so beautiful that the elf soon forgot it all.

It was a large and roaring flame flickering in the night,

Its image was so smooth and slender, what a beautiful sight.

 

 

It waved around as if it was calling,

Its thighs whipped from side to side,

Its bosom blossoming, he could fell himself falling

for this thing dancing upon his friends’ graves.

 

 

“You cannot go,” the trees wailed,

“They have killed, they have plundered!

This flame will kill you too!

About that have you ever wondered?”

 

But of course the elf ignored their blather,

He had ignored them once and had lost the men,

The men whom he longed so much for,

But he now had this; he would not lose anymore!

 

The flame called out to him,

The heat was so strong,

It was a feeling so foreign,

How could this be wrong?

 

For years he had been freezing

just to comfort his friends,

But now there was something that could heal all his pain,

Wasn’t it obvious?  The message was so plain.

 

So with shaking hands he reached out to the slim figure

as it coursed through his fingers,

It curled around his flesh,

His insides burned with curiosity and delight.

 

The elf hungrily got even closer to the flame,

There was only lust in his mind and absolutely no shame.

He did not care that the trees were watching,

Let the watch.  Let them overflow with jealousy!

 

And so the elf allowed his hands to light,

The fire moved up his arm shining ever so bright,

It kissed his skin, licked his flesh,

It caressed his wounds, it felt oh so right!

 

The elf sighed as the snow dripped from his hands,

Giggled as the ice broke from his flesh,

Moaned as the cold went away,

Smiled as he began to burn.

 

But the Wood Elf could not feel the pain

that overwhelmed his very figure that longed for the flame,

He could not see that his skin was gone,

He did not believe that the flame could be at all to blame.

 

And as his body slowly faded

along with his friends in his lust,

A smile could be seen in the elf’s last moments,

His life was complete.

 

Gone.