When the storm rolled in, I was unprepared for its severity. Consumed as I am with the immediacy of my reality, I missed the warnings.
Had I visited a rooftop I would have seen the clouds forming way out on the Eastern Plains. Rolling grey clouds, illuminated by intermittent flashes of lightning, dragging the earth with wispy tendrils of rain. From the rooftop I would have seen where the city ends and the vastness of the eastern horizon flattens out. Looking west to see the immediate presence of Mount Blue Sky bumping base with the foothills outside of Denver.
Mount Blue Sky was previously named after former Colorado governor John Evans who proved himself to be a murderous bastard when his declarations to “kill and destroy” hostile Indians lead to much death; including women, children and the elderly at the Sand Creek Massacre. Mountains, unlike monuments to Confederate soldiers, can’t be torn down, but you sure as fuck can rename them.
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Black paws moved slowly past the ruins that lay silent. The bunny smelled something succulent and cautiously edged to investigate its source.
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This made Henry want to cry, but no tears would come. He raised his hands to his face … smooth as bone. The dice. He remembered: He’d been given dice for eyes.
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“May this arrow fly true as the spirit of Enrathiel, the White Falcon,” Melara whispered as she drew. The ten-tined hart raised its head as though hearing her prayer.
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Video collage by Jonny DeStefano | Featured artists: Peter Kornowski • Ryane Rose • Ray Young Chu • Jack Estenssoro • Mark Mothersbaugh • Jorge Mascarenhas • Derek Knierim • Jash Tracey • Jason White