Invasion

There is a building, the only building on a barren earth that is covered in long-forgotten yellowed plains and dried up grassy hillsides. The building is a tall rectangle that reaches for the clouds, but finds itself stuck ten stories high. It is simple and made of brick, with several windows on each floor. It is lacking any embellishment on the outside surface, there are simply old red bricks that have gotten more brown with each kiss of the sun. It is a simple rectangle reaching upward, pure right angles that flaunt function over form.

Within, the structure is stuffed with people and furniture. The ecstatic energy inside is frantic and crowded, like a third-world bazaar or market. Each floor is crowded with old wooden hand-crafted furniture from Russia. There are decorative couches with broad armrests made of wood and padded fabric. Embroidered cross-stitched pillows sit on every chair, coughing up floral patterns. Crocheted doilies rest on top of hand-carved armoires and dressers, protecting the delicate, shiny surfaces from plastic flower stuffed vases and old picture frames.

Rugs of many sizes cover the floors; tiny rugs big enough for a pair of feet in front of grand one-person chairs; large monumental weavings that sit below a set of three couches. Rugs of all shapes and earth-toned hues.
Struggling for breathing space among all the furniture are the throngs of people, all of them moving in the same direction. The one set of stairs wrapping the length of the building from the first floor to the tenth is overwrought with a mad panic. Men and women jump over the stagnant pieces of furniture to find a bit of footing on the stairs. Small children are left to fend for themselves as people clamor to the top.

Visible beyond the sparse windows are the series of hillsides on all sides of the building. The sky above is blue, yet a thin layer of white brushes everything in its soft stroke, muting out the sun just slightly. The hills are soft mounds of yellowed grass that continue towards the horizon like a monumental mountain range, continuing on and on past the line of sight. Coming over the crests of the dead grassy hills are men and women on horseback.

Most of the mounted riders are holding long poles with thin triangular ribbons attached to the tops of each pole. The ribbons flutter in the breeze like thunder, stretching a hundred feet behind each mounted rider. The men on horseback are dressed like Mongolians, wearing thick leather pants and jackets that are lined with pale brown fur. Their features are wide and their skin is like burnt copper. Their feet are covered in leather boots that reach their knees and they kick horse bellies with their boot heels, urging them on shouting “haw!” Between the sweaty horse breasts are more women on foot. They climb and conquer the hillsides in bare feet, running towards the building holding their square flags high above them. The cries and hoots of the invaders compete with the fluttering of the ribbons and flags and a chorus fills the valley.

The King's Tent

There is a barren valley of soft dry earth. Surrounding the flat land are short jagged hillsides covered in dry yellow grass. The sun is out, undisturbed by a single cloud. The light is extremely bright, reflecting off the hillsides with tremendous force and sending up wavering transparent waves from the hot ground. The hillsides are undisturbed by man, not a house or a planted tree rest on its surface. In the valley, a narrow blue river tumbles by, finding its way over small rocks and large boulders.
The singular structure on the flat valley floor is a simple rectangular tent. The temporary structure is 200 feet long and twenty feet wide. The walls, made from a mixture of pale linen and canvas are twenty feet high and meet at a point in the center of the tent, creating a long peak that stretches the length of the tent. The smaller sides of the tent have two open spaces in the shape of an over-sized door. A cool breeze runs between the two ends.
Inside the tent is the warm yellow light of the diffused sun, it is calm and quiet within. Cut from the fabric on the long sides are square holes for windows, there are fifteen on each side of the long structure. The windows are wide open to the elements outside. Along both long walls is a single row of wooden chairs that face each other. The arrangement leaves plenty of room in the center, creating a wide aisle of fine dirt that has been covered in maroon rugs with intricate patterns of blue and yellow.
In the chairs are women and men, most of them under thirty, their skin taut and pale. The women are wearing dresses made of silk and satin. Their skirts are fluffy and their necklines dip deep, revealing cleavage and bare soft necks that are caressed in fallen curls. The men among them wear tailored pants in pale patterns and small form-fitting vests and flowing white shirts with ruffled collars and cuffs.
One third of the way down from the front entrance, a king of the people sits in the simple wooden chair. He is built like a large bear. He is wide and tall and is formidable in his thick dark cloak made of fur and velvet. He sits looking forward and stoic, his left hand is on his knee, the other hand is on the armrest. A young woman to his left repeatedly nudges her long Semitic nose into his chest.
In the distance, by the river, the sound of townspeople creates a murmur. There are the sounds of excited women and men and screeching young children. Only their voices reveal their location. They shout their jeers and insults at no one in particular.

The Portal

The earth is covered in dying golden brown grass and leafy hip-high bushes of a blackish-blue hue. Scattered upon the landscape are oak trees, their bark and tiny leaves have absorbed and manifested the darkly colored images that play upon the landscape of heaven. Thick cloud covers have layered themselves upon the sky. Grand streaks of gray and blue sweep overhead, each displaying a slightly different shade of darkness. Despite the clouds, the predominant color is a deep reddish black. It is as though the air itself is red, an invisible red that is somehow tangible at the same time. It is not a bright joyous color, but more of a muted blood mixed with black and nebulous star systems. In all directions, the landscape continues unabated… just grass, trees and shrubs and the dominant sky force. Among this place is a dug-out piece of earth, a large hole about 7 feet deep. The hole resembles a rectangle, because of its two longer opposing sides, but it is also so organically carved that it looks like a choppy oval. The walls of the hole are solid, but very small patches of green grass grow sporadically in the slight grooves and miniscule crevasses of soil. The cutaway earth is rich in minerals, the soil is moist and dark and little pieces of sediment flicker in the light. In the center of the trench, a young woman lays on her left side, maintaining her balance with her left forearm. Her voluptuous hip pushes itself up and forward, offering itself to the gods. She lays like a muse to a painter, relaxed and soft, a soft sensual earth creature dwelling in its place. Her skin is pale and white, and her hair is light, a golden orb of curls and sparkling streaks. She has on rags, a tattered shirt of white linen and a frayed peanut-shell colored skirt. Towards one tip of the hole, where her head is closest to it, there is an open tunnel. Just large enough for a human to crawl through, it is in the direct center of the earth wall. The space inside is completely black, not a sliver of light goes in or comes from it. Resting on her left arm, she uses her right hand to scoop up handfuls of earth. She cups mud colored like pale peaches, the sediment is soft and smooth in her hand and she rubs the thick liquid on her face, painting herself with its color. She takes another handful of mud, this one slightly yellow in color. She rubs it over her hips. Another scoop, this handful contains eggshell colored mud. The silt drips from her forehead, follows a path down her chin. She covers herself in handful after handful of mud, each a slightly different hue of the spectrum found within stone and soil.

Pan in the Twilight

The time is both sunrise and sunset and the light from a sun in transit cloaks the mountainside in shades of yellow.
There is a dark figure hidden among thick woods that blanket the protruding earth.
He stands alone, quiet and still observing the earth below. He is a deep blue silhouette against the golden light. His motives are mysterious.
Both man and deer, his form changes constantly.
Sometimes his horns protrude, in other instances, his legs and hooves are obvious simultaneously.
Everything is motionless, the woods, atmosphere, the entire solar system seem to stand still in this moment, not even the wind touches his fur.