Ignorant of the desert bloom’s beauty, the scorpion lurked. Parched sand and shrivelled plant-death were all the same to him. Blind to the shimmer of light warmed land, no fragrance did he detect. Through life-thickened armour, came not a murmuring of the world beyond. He bore his venom tail in high jaunty fashion, as if it were both coat of arms and standard bearer. As days became weeks, as weeks blurred into a yawn of time, he was the monarch of that fractured rock.
Scorpions pay no mind to the ticking of clocks, nor heed the shouts of worried beasts. In the warm light they wait, claws relaxed, sting ever-ready. No energy wasted. No frivolous flourishes. No need to build a web. Hide and wait. Hide and wait. Hide and wait. Let the prey do the work.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.