Story a day: 8.10.16

The language of the gods sounded in a tangle.

She looked up, feeling more than hearing it, the way one might feel a roll of thunder. A wash of images and impressions passed through her mind like a raging tsunami, too fast and disorganized for her to make any sense out of. A few things repeated: heat, dry, red. Something foul wrinkled her nose, a stench of wrongness. But all this had no name in any human language she knew.

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