Black eyes crowded in mystery shield the magical imaginations
of an old man. Each furrowed line of his ancient skin a different path in his
destiny of transformation.
Alchemy is an odd thing he mused for no reason in particular, since no one cared to listen.
Oh he knew they heard him and how they assumed he was just a
wittering old man. The higher perceptions of the old ways were no use to them
with their smart shiny computers.
A harmless old man practicing a long dead craft, he couldn't hurt a fly they said.
Arcane wisdoms whispered into the wind just an old man’s
mutterings but how they wailed when the power went down for no reason in
particular.
© JG Farmer 2013
Inspired by:
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| http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/11/trifecta-week-102.html |
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