Abyssinian Maid

My thoughts mid-air are never confessional and my thoughts anywhere are never short. I have no clue why they come or where from. I don't think they are thoughts. I saw these things. Or i would like to. Some visions are really difficult to pen. They disappear as lightly as the steal in.

The blue and silver propeller from my window looked like a fantastical beast. Even this high up the sun was soft and light as it flowed through the mist-like clouds draped over the whirring creature.
A mountain of white came up and the beast charged in. The enemy scattered and clung on. The beast roared out victorious. But on the gleaming wing from the smoky white an iguana leaped like a feather and solidified nonchalantly before my very eyes.
It pulsed crudely gloating like filth that has subjugated beauty.

-----

The tall man worked day and night, through dreams and light, while eating and running and talking and crawling on knees through mud and sweating in forges, with not a moments rest, he mixed and measured, went back through time to Salem, returned with ingredients, alloyed and experimented, lit fires and burnt his creation, threw curved steel and shine pieces away and started anew.
The man woke with a jolt from his dream. Phaeton had whispered to him the lost method. He was just in time. That day the sun didn’t creep up on him but blazed into the sky in a single moment. The man was ready with his instruments. He mixed the Salem blood with water and it turned from the red of heat to obsidian. The angry sun sizzled as the man splintered his carbon hard shiners and mixed them in the black blood. The mixture fumed. The sun tried to stop its light but Phaeton would not pull his carriage back. So it stayed there and glowered. The man shut his eyes and his passion burned through till he had a liquid heat pouring out of his heart. The man collected the flow careful not to leave a drop behind. He looked wonderingly at the gold liquid. Outside of his body it didn’t lose heat but burnt hotter and hotter as it met the black mixture that was a result of the gold’s existence.
The man took his bubbling potion and poured it in to the hearth. Strangely it cooled and simmered waiting for the man’s touch. He let it simmer then poured it into the mold. With a rush the essence took on its body. The man left it for a moment and went outside. He looked at the sun and was pleased to see it burn brighter. A yellow ray lashed out to finish him but he leaped aside and chuckled.
He took his instrument out of the mold and hammered at it. Then with a flourish he threw it and caught it. Threw it and caught it. He laughed with sheer pleasure. He plunged it in vats of its ingredients to cool and harden and cool till it was no color and seemed to darken and glint all at once.
The man took out a scabbard and cloaked his life’s work. He picked up a pack and started out. He walked for days. His brown skin glistened and his long legs ate the earth. He stopped neither for food nor water.
Then he climbed atop a mountain and the tall man removed his weapon and held it comfortably in his palm, fingers clasping its hard made beauty. With his caress it glinted just once and then waited patiently for the final moment. The man held, swung his arm back and with a flick of his wrist cast it away. It flew and soared and cut the wind. The man saw it leave and become a speck taking a circuitous path till it was engulfed by the flaming sun.
He waited. One second. And another. Moments passed. He kept looking. His amber eyes blazed as they caught a flicker. And it came flying back having touched the sun, saluted it, taunted it… his diamond hard, obsidian black, witch blood, eternal water boomerang came flying back straight to his hand. Cold as the moment it left. The tall man laughed and fell to his knees before the sun. Phaeton pulled away and the sun disappeared as quickly as it had come.