This is for Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto prompt
An underground river flowing into the light, they call it. After a sinuous journey through rock strata and hollow caverns, it finally rises and pours into a shallow bed, tranquil and green, shaded by lush, broad leaves. Two low arches, mossy with damp and alive with rampant vegetation straddle the placid water.
Who built them, nobody knows, nor why. No preservation order protects the dark twin tunnels, no protest group has tried to prevent the local farmers building a dam that will stop the river, flood the site and provide water for their maize crop.
The river flows, calm and peaceful. Stars look down on its ever-moving surface where moonlight ripples among the stones of its bed. Moonlight glints hard and bright on the shiny bulldozers lined up to begin clearing the trees and the old stones.
Is it moonlight reflected in the depths of each tunnel, growing stronger as the night advances, filling the arches with a light as old as the stars? The ground shakes and the river flows quicker, tumbling angrily as the earth surges upwards, higher, into the star-flecked night.
Two dark eye sockets beneath a helm of stone, above a warrior’s frame, stony and ancient as the earth, turn towards the little town that dared steal the waters of life. The dark eyes let their tears of anger pour away, and feet dragged from sleep deep within the earth, wade through the roaring river, crushing the engines of destruction, following the watery path to the town.
In the morning, the waters will pour red, and they will still flow to the sea.