Wish Granted
W ide shoulders ripple with thick muscles that strain beneath folds of loose, grey skin. It feels no pain and knows no emotion, and yet, its golden reptilian eyes blink with a strange kind of intelligence. Loping on immense back-jointed legs it bounds across the rock with an alien grace. Its enormous barrel chest juts forwards as its thick arms swing lose by its sides. Powerful fists hang ready to pound the scattered boulders into fragments of rock and dust.
The Kletch knows no love. It knows no friend. All it has is the voice. There is no warmth, no light, no sleep, no shelter. There is nothing. With the blackness of the sky comes a bitter cold that knows no end. To sleep would be to drift into a frozen coma without end. Instead, the Kletch rolls itself into a tight ball and flexes its muscles in sequence, straining against itself to generate enough body heat to stay alive.
The black sky shines with white specks, but the Kletch seals its eyes tight against the cold, rolling its bulging eyes within their heavy grey lids. The blackness is a time of waiting. A time of shivering and longing for the warmth to return.
After many hours, the bitter cold recedes. The Kletch lies helpless on the hard rock, shuddering until its blood thins enough to enable its cramped muscles to unwind. The darkness has been exhausting, but the warmth seeps into its coiled body, taking away the stiffness of its muscles, and filling its veins with the burning power of life. The rocks become warm under the rising yellow light. The Kletch spreads itself across the rocks and absorbs their heat. It clings to the warmth until its blood pumps fast and thin.
From massive fists, it extends its sharp, black talons. They glint in the bright light. Struggling into a crouching position, the Kletch rolls and stretches each muscle in turn, waiting until it can balance upright. With some flexibility restored, it pulls itself upright and stands like an ancient monument amongst the scattered boulders. Its grey skin is a perfect match for the dust that covers the ground beneath its feet. The Kletch remains motionless, waiting for its energy to return. Time passes and the hot light bathes its rough dry skin.
With blood pumping, and muscles rippling with power, it takes its first lumbering steps. Clumsy at first, limping and stumbling across the ground, it rolls its heavy shoulders until the last knots have worked themselves out. From a crawl to a trot, from a trot to a lope, the Kletch sucks in the rising heat and pumps its powerful legs in an endless cycle of strength. It never slows or tires so long as the warm light bathes its skin. It covers the dusty surface at a sprint.
Moving fast, its golden eyes take in the craters ahead. A smooth grey semi-circular dust bowl awaits. There are no boulders in the crater, no rocks or features, only a vague sense of familiarity. The Kletch races forwards in three bounding strides, its arms rising up above its head. Before it reaches the rim, it slams its calloused forearms on the dusty ground, tilting its head backwards as it allows its muscular hind quarters to slide forwards. The Kletch grinds to a halt amongst plumes of dust that billow up into the blackness above its head. Specks of dust shimmer in the yellow light before making their slow descent towards the ground. When every speck has settled in the crater's bowl, the Kletch crawls into the centre of the crater and crouches down to wait. It knows that soon it will come.
The Kletch's eyelids slide sideways, opening up to reveal golden orbs that twitch in opposite directions. One black slit faces the grey ridge of the crater, while the other scans the blackness above. The light is still warm. It doesn't have to flex its muscles.
When the blue globe comes, it is beautiful as always. Bright swirls of blue and green shine against the empty blackness around it, pushing the darkness back and demanding attention. The Kletch drags its talons back and forth through
W ide shoulders ripple with thick muscles that strain beneath folds of loose, grey skin. It feels no pain and knows no emotion, and yet, its golden reptilian eyes blink with a strange kind of intelligence. Loping on immense back-jointed legs it bounds across the rock with an alien grace. Its enormous barrel chest juts forwards as its thick arms swing lose by its sides. Powerful fists hang ready to pound the scattered boulders into fragments of rock and dust.
The Kletch knows no love. It knows no friend. All it has is the voice. There is no warmth, no light, no sleep, no shelter. There is nothing. With the blackness of the sky comes a bitter cold that knows no end. To sleep would be to drift into a frozen coma without end. Instead, the Kletch rolls itself into a tight ball and flexes its muscles in sequence, straining against itself to generate enough body heat to stay alive.
The black sky shines with white specks, but the Kletch seals its eyes tight against the cold, rolling its bulging eyes within their heavy grey lids. The blackness is a time of waiting. A time of shivering and longing for the warmth to return.
After many hours, the bitter cold recedes. The Kletch lies helpless on the hard rock, shuddering until its blood thins enough to enable its cramped muscles to unwind. The darkness has been exhausting, but the warmth seeps into its coiled body, taking away the stiffness of its muscles, and filling its veins with the burning power of life. The rocks become warm under the rising yellow light. The Kletch spreads itself across the rocks and absorbs their heat. It clings to the warmth until its blood pumps fast and thin.
From massive fists, it extends its sharp, black talons. They glint in the bright light. Struggling into a crouching position, the Kletch rolls and stretches each muscle in turn, waiting until it can balance upright. With some flexibility restored, it pulls itself upright and stands like an ancient monument amongst the scattered boulders. Its grey skin is a perfect match for the dust that covers the ground beneath its feet. The Kletch remains motionless, waiting for its energy to return. Time passes and the hot light bathes its rough dry skin.
With blood pumping, and muscles rippling with power, it takes its first lumbering steps. Clumsy at first, limping and stumbling across the ground, it rolls its heavy shoulders until the last knots have worked themselves out. From a crawl to a trot, from a trot to a lope, the Kletch sucks in the rising heat and pumps its powerful legs in an endless cycle of strength. It never slows or tires so long as the warm light bathes its skin. It covers the dusty surface at a sprint.
Moving fast, its golden eyes take in the craters ahead. A smooth grey semi-circular dust bowl awaits. There are no boulders in the crater, no rocks or features, only a vague sense of familiarity. The Kletch races forwards in three bounding strides, its arms rising up above its head. Before it reaches the rim, it slams its calloused forearms on the dusty ground, tilting its head backwards as it allows its muscular hind quarters to slide forwards. The Kletch grinds to a halt amongst plumes of dust that billow up into the blackness above its head. Specks of dust shimmer in the yellow light before making their slow descent towards the ground. When every speck has settled in the crater's bowl, the Kletch crawls into the centre of the crater and crouches down to wait. It knows that soon it will come.
The Kletch's eyelids slide sideways, opening up to reveal golden orbs that twitch in opposite directions. One black slit faces the grey ridge of the crater, while the other scans the blackness above. The light is still warm. It doesn't have to flex its muscles.
When the blue globe comes, it is beautiful as always. Bright swirls of blue and green shine against the empty blackness around it, pushing the darkness back and demanding attention. The Kletch drags its talons back and forth through
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