The Aged Shadow Beast

The aged shadow-beast rolled down the winding road towards the town, grumbling most of the way, bits of darkness falling off him like an old cranky car. He even made snarling noises and tried desperately to frown, but his heart was not there, not any more. All the valves and pistons of this ‘wickedness thing’ felt like a rusty rush of wind—a rumbling farce. He wanted to be a poet, eat wild blueberries, and learn how to do somersaults off a trapeze. 

From the hill he watched the sleeping town with a sooty tear rolling down his cheek. Evilness tried to leap from somewhere deep inside, tried to fire-up its terrible engines within the shadow-beast’s soul, but as it came closer to the surface it sputtered, blinked slowly, and could only manage an empty “Hello?”

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