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|Atong (standard:horror, 216 words)|
|Author: jopoguerrero||Added: Sep 03 2008||Views/Reads: 1741/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Ilocano tradition during a wake|
On death watches' triumph, he awakens at the wake minute coppice, rubbed and fanned to weep like a splintered censer. In the interleave of the sincere and the insincere, his fumes swoop in guard of the remains against the gloating flow of Lethe. Then he burns in vigil for a burned life, stinging and whipping snags on the soul's destination from the banquet for either maggots or fire. His watch is a fierce simoon which turns even the darkest faeries shorn and shaven for with nepenthe his frailty is cast in flames. But oh! oh, a rash chill, scrawny but increasing pinched his blaze as famished Eidolons rise into form toward his charge. He hastens to rescue his dead, yet he felt sered, withered and chained feeble levin against eternal knells. He asked: In Pluto's name, why so? The underworld chuckles and points: Runic rhymes let slip your heel that bleeds when a child pours pure hatred on your dead right where your ashes breed. Alas! He hears an orphaned dreamer circling, crying right where his ashes breed then the phantoms cheered over their moieties of the object of the child's fury. The merriment of the spirit vultures brought the wind that puffed out his flames making him and his dead rest, but never in peace. Tweet
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