The Mammoth | Teen Ink

The Mammoth

February 3, 2009
By Alex Carlisle BRONZE, Indianapolis, Indiana
Alex Carlisle BRONZE, Indianapolis, Indiana
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The time when pupil and sky become one and the bats freely frolic has always been the lovers' partiality. The screech of the cicada muffles euphoric ululation; spine tingles from the long grass's caress; no eyes can gawk when the only illumination is that of the rear of the firefly.

But this night was not like the blissful ones in which they loved to love. Tonight, the breath of the boreal mammoth--who, hiding behind the moon, peers with envious eyes at the lasciviousness on the earth from which he was evicted--frosts the lewd lovers and the eternities around them. The breath of the mammoth remains frigid from the time when glaciers sculpted the plains and canines were used as sabers.

The mammoth's freezing breeze pierces the heart. The lovers' bodies stand rigid as icy trees; impassioned murmurs turn to wafts of hot air; enamored embrace turns into glacial detachment. Like the numbed blue rose wilting away, like the surface of the deepest lake crystallizing grudgingly the lovers become numb to all passion. The mammoth's freezing breeze swindles the earth of its love.

And from the belly of the highest cloud fall the piteous snowflakes, racing through the cold abyss to where the lovers lay. The sky turns white and pure; the lovers abound in the snow. Passion races through veins of the earth. Each crystal is a warm embrace between two earthly lovers.

From behind the moon, the mammoth feels the snow's lustful serenade radiating through the atmosphere, disturbing his vengeful freeze. Outraged, he leaps from behind the moon into earth's joyous atmosphere. He stomps on the clouds and breathes his cold air.

Below, the earth becomes violent. The snow overbears as the freezing breeze roars; the blizzard rages.

Like the lustful apple trees, the lovers try to root to the ground. The untamed snow swirls in the sky, piercing all that comes in its way; the mad wind rushes, looking to benumb every fountain of warmth; the treacherous booms of the thunder pierce the naked ears. The lovers can defend naught against the mammoth spectacle. They hold each other close. They breathe replenishing air into each other. The lovers protect the last source of warmth on earth.

The hellish mammoth will not be defied. Dipping through the clouds, he penetrates a lover's heart with his saber of ice. The warm blood dripping from his canine freezes as he races back to the moon.

The first rays of sun--timid as a bunny--observe the choas of the storm. The smells of wrath, blood and fear abound the air. The sun is the one thing against which the mammoth's abomination cannot stand. Rising spectacularly like an armored gladiator, the sun wrangles the blizzard away.

The earth, tamed, shines with gratitude in the morning sun. The snow falls endearingly.

The lover, no more blinded by the tempest, awakes to the sun. In the snow around her, blood taints the pure white. An icicle is stabbed through the heart of her lover.

'My son!'

The sun is cruel; it taunts the earthly lovers, shining high, but warming naught.

She desperately tries to breathe life back into his cold body. Around her, the serene land is striking and beautiful in the infant snow; the naked trees stand tall, their branches barely undulating.

The lover is cold despite the endearing snow. The golden rays of the sun sparkle on the snow, dance through the falling flakes. The lover lays down and watches the snow bury her; it warms her as a blanket.

The winter sun is cruel.

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