Dawn broke, crumbling through the shadows, reflected from the shattered mirror-faces of temples erected to the illusion of civilisation, to a pantheon long forgotten.
Dawn broke, eclipsing the night, illuminating only the darkness.
She woke, still curled against his chest, still crying, broken.
She woke to her nightmare.
He lay against the cracked concrete, the rust-red hole in his chest no longer bleeding.
They came and pushed her aside, pushed her into the dust.
They came and stripped him – took his shoes, his heavy winter coat, his grandfather’s pocket watch.
They left her his body.
They left her the shadows.
Down, down in the deep, the Leviathan wakes. The seafloor buckles, tears.
Down in the eternal darkness his giant, sightless eyes struggle to open against the mud of uncountable aeons.
Aeons of loneliness.
Down in the deep the Leviathan wakes, an ancient, blasphemous monstrosity.
Unleashed once more into restless hunger.
The last of his kind.
Slowly, slowly rising. Out of the darkness.
The Leviathan rises, awakened into suffering. He pierces the surface, a serpent, writhing. A nightmare, forgotten.
Leviathan, reborn, dying.
The oxygen content is a fifth of what it was during the Jurassic.
The Leviathan surfaces, belly up.
Author bio: Chris White is a freelance writer of many styles (but mostly magic realism and science fiction.) He lives in Brisbane, Australia, on the other side of the world. An emerging writer, he pours out a flurry of flash fiction and short stories, mostly here: http://chriswhitewrites.com