The Mountain of Skulls

[The Shadow]

The Mountain of Skulls

One mountain of skulls lied as dark as the night, whispering death in its chilling ice winds. Piles of flesh eaten bones jigsaw together, forming the foundation of the dark mountain. Jagged rusty rocks point playfully at the pitch black sky. No cherishing sun can be seen, nor can its warming rays be felt trickling down your back. Mist surrounds the stone cold mountain, worshiping it, licking at its scrawled feet. Jaws of sorrowful skulls clatter their teeth in grinding pain from the overgrown thorn bushes and poisonous vines. Darkness squeezes and intertwines through the bones, engulfing all life. Black night shade vines over hang from the top of the mountain, crawling down its steep sides. The horrid mountain echoes the forgotten screams of torture. Perishing tongues still lick the crimson blood inside stiff bone jaws. Holes of once noses smell the putrid stench of decaying lifeless bodies dripping with black gooey blood. The mountain sleeps there seeming lifeless but a dusty stale foot path slithers like a snake up to the top of the death carved mountain. It widens at a clearing of stunned faces at the top.

Two straws remained in the bulky hand of leading lot caster. Cool gusts nipped over the mountain stirring up rotten odors. All the spines of the soldiers standing in the gambling circle shivered. Snickers leapt like a panther from one brutal face to another. Two men remained in the breath taking game, each with an outstretched hand. One dirty brown straw was pinched between two gloved fingers. The over worn glove levered upward, sliding the straw bit by bit out of the leading lot casters hand. The few lot casters who were still watching with snake eyes, gasped as the short straw was wrenched out. The player dropped the straw on the ground and spit on it as a red hot anger seized his face. He steadily paced off down the dusty stale foot path cursing towards the dark sky. The winning player clasped his hands on the highly prized one piece garment. His eyes widened in a firey glow followed by a satisfied hanging jaw. Watchers began to drift off like snow as the winner froze like a statue. A small distance away came wailing screams.
Woman kneeled with their loose hair strewn across their smudged faces. Glistening tear drops fell down the many traveled paths again and again. Some of the fiercest fighters fell down to the dusty and rocky ground clenching it in their fists. Memories of laughing twisted together with regret and churned around in a sorrowful tornado. Many stood as pale as ghosts, shocked and shaken. Others held close to each other drying their tears on their shoulders, trying to find the comfort that would never come.
Some people turned back and headed down the dusty stale foot path. Other still stood in stunned silence.

Three tall wooden crosses towered over many worn down path pedestrians. Nailed upon the over looking crosses hung three blood soaked corpses. The streaks of blood from their hands and feet was dried and cracked. The corpses either side of the center cross had shattered legs that were hideously skew and blood stained. The silhouette from the crosses shadows permanently patterned the ground. Rocks chanted to one another the dying word of one corpse “eloi, eloi lama sabachthumi.â€