The Hand

A Story by chanze reid

This was my creative writing class story that we had to base around a hand

Slowly, delicately, sensually, the pages of the ancient book turned. Guided by a single flawless silhouette. A single hand. Deep in thought the wielder of this hand sat ever so deep in the shadows, becoming like wallpaper clinging unnoticeably upon its desired surface. As her hand slid ever so slowly, carelessly across the aged parchment leaving only a delicate line of swirls in its wake as she read. She sat atop a stool in the depth of the hidden vale that held inside the magic of the world. Here she drew upon her power, power that she would dispel with nothing but her fragile hand. The unnaturally long lavished nails resting upon the slight pale fingers of her hand glistened slightly, revealing a violet glow that shown in the faint light. She was Hell daughter of the night, a witch plague upon the world. A wielder of the arcane and this, this hand was her tool. As a conductor of all that held magic this was her instrument of power. In the ever slight illuminate aura of the chamber her hand shined like a perfect glass sculpture: light, delicate, but when forced into a fractured state it could cause untold damage. Weaving throughout the air her hand did outline itself in essence that was indeed magic. She thought it queer the simplicity of something so beautiful and innocent, but contained in it the nature to devastate all she wished upon. Such a simple thing it was. Such a simple thing a hand.

© 2015 chanze reid

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Reviews

Collyn

I'm not even sure what just happened in my head right now this is so friction amazing! I absolutely am blown away... Your vocabulary and the flow are just amazing!