Nur’aishah Shafiq, dark magic

dark magic

Nur’aishah Shafiq

I walk through the city of claws, bleeding. black fountains erupt at my feet along rivulets of ichor, golden in the half-light of a fading sun. I bleed. everywhere, there are wounds, vomiting earthsblood and lifesbane. claws dig into me, taking, taking, taking the ancient sunlight within, and from these liquid offerings coaxing darkness. can you taste it. the skies black. burning ether. planetary poison that molds all things living. the monster city stops its labor for the day. I lie down on my metal bed, wet with my dying. ghosts disrupt my respite, empty bodies save for hungry hearts in calcium cages and tumors speckling lungs like stars, cannibalistic stars. the graveyard shift. after all, killing is a round-the-clock enterprise. my sons, I cry out. in answer, they drag me to my altar. killing is a silent enterprise. more gather. blades lift and fall. the clawed city sleeps. its work does not. killing is a communal enterprise, but so is dying. my wounds are theirs, so I laugh, and spit, as flesh peels, carbon leaking at the seams: you are no sorcerer-kings. only elemental.