There was a brief amount of time before the smoke would blanket over them again, revealing the apparent tranquillity of the statue erected. A mass of bone sewn together under the strength of flesh, ‘Fury’.
Amongst the crowded mess of people, rancid odours rose from the cluster. Flies gathered on backs, attracted by years of sweat and blood. To see such a group from far away, one might imagine a sounder of swine or herd of cattle. To be in such a horde might be described it as hell. With the thick air of burning flesh and ash beginning to dissipate, many would stare lifelessly into the night sky, instinctively exploring other worlds through their mind’s eye. But with the stars comes the light, and with the light, an opportunity. An opportunity missed by many.
Under the shroud of darkness, it is always hard to notice a calf missing from the flock, there is a meager shift of power as the blind regain sight. Jacob, acutely aware of this, matted his locks stiffly together in an attempt to clear his vision. Many years he had waited for the clear of night, such a rare occurrence always warrants action.
Waiting for the Light Tower (should I just say spotlight) to move its eyes from him, Jacob rubbed sand in between his hand, fine rock scratches and grips to course leather, softened only by fresh scars. With the beam of light moving from him a deep breath cuts through the silent ringing, far from the eyes of the tower (face and look description)