Nemesis Ex Machina

Its fiery, devilish eyes delved into mine. Not a flicker of fear, not even a frisson of war-frenzy. When out of the blue the beast landed on the window sill, time trembled on its talons and stood still. I was astonished out of my wits and beheld the behemoth, majestic, arrogant. It seemed impervious to the heat outside, caparisoned in feathers of steely pride. I was speared through by those yellow, beady eyes which decreed I was so insignificant I didn't exist. It lay there motionless, yet defiant.

The tension was so nerve-racking I could picture the howling of the wind, tumbleweeds rolling between us, and a dog barking in the distance. Time had been brought to a halt in an instant. And even though I didn't know for what purpose the colossal fiend had chosen my abode to reveal itself, but there was no doubt there was no way out of that confrontation. Warmongering was rustling its tenebrous plumage. I had to repulse the hordes of darkness.

I defied the stygian stench emanating from the demon and walked closer to the window, barring it entrance and affirming my determination to defend myself and my world it had come to destroy. Fuelled by willpower and survival instinct, I mustered a courage skaldic poets would have been proud to praise. I endeavoured to scare the brute off, executing ferocious dances of war, chanting imprecations and anathemas, cursing its offspring for generations upon generations. My arms and legs were as if possessed by the very god of war, but it seemed I only was in the grip of dread. The feral culver stood impassibly, gazing like a stoic stone idol of old.

I was left with no other choice. I had to take up arms. I quickly glanced around and there lay at my feet my camera's tripod. I raised it high above my head and with the loudest and most Viking scream I ever bellowed, and because the bugger didn't want to budge, I shoved the winged monstrosity off the edge. It nebulously flew across the street onto the opposite rooftop, and then turned around to face me, again. It had turned its appearance back to that of a normal pigeon but there, unfazed, it professed its archnemesisness. It told me in that ancient wordless language of warfare that the fight was only suspended, and that from now on I would have to watch the skies in fear.

But I have embraced my vikingness. I am ready.