**No regular entries for a while. Once again, Tzoli is in jail and has no access to her journal.**
A boy with curly red hair. "I love you Tzoli." His hands reach out and fall away, leaving only the soft moistness on her lips.
I love him.
Liar.
I loved him.
The boy with the spider holds his hand to his chest, gloved and hidden. A gentle touch before he turns to smoke and vanishes like he never existed. "I do love you Tzoli."
Oh come back... come back...
You don't want him.
pain
Falling down into darkness. Alone on a stone floor. Laying there in the cold, the sound of moaning everywhere. "I love you Tzoli."
"It would be a lie."
"You are my flower."
"We are friends. We both ask and give the same thing. And that is why there is peace."
pain
The stone lifts up and envelopes her, creating a tomb. Darkness settles in. The stone press down and close in.
Fickle.. Weak little girl.
Coward.
The stones become heavier, more piling on. The chest starts to squeeze. The heart tight. Heartbreak sets in. The touch of a soft hand on the cheek. "I'll do something."
Peace
Fickle
"...Monster..."
"...Going to Die..."
"..hang you..."
Bjar...
Aanson...
..weak, fickle heart..
The stones collapse in and crush her. The heart breaks as they do. Sinking, falling into darkness again.
Can't leave them yet... can't leave him yet. I have more to say...
..coward... don't have the guts.
I do.
He'll hate ... like everyone else. Weak hearted fool.
"I don't want to lose you."
The body falls away onto another pallet of stone. Darkness surrounds and abosorbs the crushed body, pulling it apart.
I'll never tell.
...coward...
Pain
"...Monster..."
Ripping
"So beautiful..."
Tearing
A voice, soft, soothing, "Push harder now, come on."
The feeeling of being torn apart from the inside, Unbearable pain, ripping, screaming. "Push, harder."
Bursting open
Screams
"Oh gods, get that thing away from here, don't show her. For the love of Ylessa don't show her her child."
The thing is quickly wrapped up, a clawed hand still visible on the newborn monster. The flesh hangs on the leg, flopping and folding, discoloured and mottled. The deformed child screaming hoarsely.
"Go and send it to the beasts. Kill it.. that deformed monster, don't show her."
"...please...my baby..."
pain
Blood spilling out, warming and cooling at the same time. A scarred hand reaching out. Darkness, blurring.
The hand falls.
"...Monster..."
Pain
"...die..."
You're dead now...
"...monster..."
Sinking
Awaken.
Scream
I had a funnee dreem last nite. In my dreem I was not me, I was a man. I had on veree shinee armer with the Mark of Yarsin on my sheeld. I have nevar used no sheeld bafer so I no that it wuz not me. Allso, evaryone in my dreem callt me Gevard and that is not my name neethur. I was also veree small in my dreem and I had to look up at evaryone.
So I had a dreem abot being this man Gevard. I was in a skwad of men who fot on the bordars of the Country. I wuz in the skwad with sum men who lookt an awfal lot like me. The reel me, not the dreem me. The dreem me carried a big long weppin. I do not no the name of it now, but it was veree big and long and pointy but not a spear. The othar men carred the same weppin errah spear.
I was standin on top of a ledge neer a mountin looking down on all the othar men in my skwad as they was being killt. I do not no why I did not help them. They calld fer me to help them, but I coud not move a single inch. Then sum of the men got angry and they startid to all change. Their fasis lookt like monstars cuz they was so angry. They startid using ther weppins and ther hands and beet killt manee enemees. Then they startid killing eech othar.
Ther was manee flags on the grownd. I wached one fly up in the wind and wached it fly away. It was a green flag. I ramembar that. I was watching the flag fly away wen I was killt by a spear in my hart. It did not hurt to die in my dreem I just floatid away like the flag.
It was a weerd dreem but it made me feel bettar in the morning. I have bin veree depressd latlee. I do not no why. I put on a happee face tho and smile a lot. Things have bin good latlee, but I still feel far away and falling. But, today I feel bettar. Liter. Like I coud turn into a flag and fly away.
I think I will go an see Bjar taday. I think I can do that now. It hurts, but it is ok.
The eyes seem to glow from in the darkness.
One Green...
One Gold...
...it's His fault...
...sister...
...He did this to me...
The feeling of tearing in two, ripping apart. trying to flee the eyes that glow in the dark. But the eyes follow, always in sight. With eyes closed, they are still there, burning into the soul.
No... not you... please...
...He did the same to ye...
...sister...
Spinning, falling, fading.
One hand is grabbed, then the other. One hand is grabbed by the green eye, the other by the gold. Yet, they are two different people. One hand female, the other male. Pulling in different directions.
...the pain Tzoli... so much worse now...
Kin, sister, help me..
Pulling, stretching, tearing.
-pain-
The body rips in half, the heart tears down the middle.
Melchior? Why?
Swinging, fleeing, stretching. Struggling.
Crawling away in the cloak of darkness, the eyes burning, glowing, lighting the way. Struggling to flee, to get out of the line of sight.
...Liar...
...Oathbreaker...
Shut Up!
Swinging hands wildly: then, a hammer.
Blood, brains, EYES...
We're the same. Ye and I, Tzoli.
No!
Smashing, hitting, frantic fighting against an already dead body. But the eyes continue to stare, to pierce.
One Green
One Gold
We were sisters.
...sister...kin...
Oh Gods... Melchior? What am I?
Darkness swirls in, leaving only the glow of two eyes. The body turns to smoke, immolated to ash, never to rise. Only the brand on the arm remains in the dust that was once ...
dryth...human...nothing
-pain-
One Green...
One Gold...
Two Black.
"Sister..."
"Sister..."
...
"Monster..."
The voices crowd, spinning inward. A cacophany of sound, of feelings.
"Sister..."
Calloused hands that feel soft on the cheek. The touch better than a whisper of clarity in the rush of sound.
"Sister..."
pain
The hand falls away, leaving nothing but lonliness. There is nothing else to see, only voices scream loudly through the pain of the lost hand.
"Sister..."
"...kin..."
pain
jabbing heartbreak
"He knows how you feel and doesn't care."
"...Kin..."
"Sister..."
"Friend..."
"Monster..."
The hammer swings, trying to chase away the voices, but they are incorporeal. Not even ghosts. The voices turn to screams, the screams to laughter, the laughter to weeping, then back to screams.
SHUT UP
Awaken.
I had a dreem last nite. I dun ramembar all of it, but wat I do ramembar is weerd in my hed. It makes me want to think abot it.
In my deem I was walkin rond the city and there was demmins an smoke evarywhere. Evarything smellt like fire, I dunno why I was jus walkin. I was... clam on the inside in my dreem. It was weerd. I saw a demmin an I just killt it. I crushed it hard with mah hammar and it jus died an turnd tah fire, then smoke and liftid away intah the wind.
Then I herd sumone call fer me. "Tzoli Tzoli!" they calld. I went to the voice and it was Sehki and he was surrondid by them demmins. he lookt at me and called fer help as onnah them demmins slashed his claws at 'im. I crushed them demmins and they turnd to smoke.
Then I herd anuthur call fer me. Sehki follahed me an we went to see who was callin. "Tzoli! Tzoli" the voice calld. It was Hemo. He was alsah surrondid by demmins. I saved him frum them, crushing all the demmins til they was smoke. Sehki castid spells tah help. Then ther was anuthur call fer help.
"Tzoli Tzoli help me!" The three of us went to help. We killt demmins on the way. Wen we got to the voiss we saw it was Daila. She was surroundid by deemins alsah. I savd her like I savd Sehki and Hemo.
Voisis kept callin me and mor an mor peepul startid follahin me. Soon ther was manee peepul fallahin me. Evaryon I new and sum peepul I din't no. We crush all them demmins in thah city an ferrah seccind, thah sky was a normal sky and we felt the light of the suns on our fasis.
It was a weerd dreem and i do not no wat to think of it. I do not no if I want peepul follahin me like thah. Its a lot of peepul to have to look out fer. But, I wundar, is it any mor peepul then I look out fer now?
How did I get here?
Bare stone walls, cold, hard floor, barred windows. The stench of twenty men, most half starved or at least half dead, fills the air. Somewhere in another room there is singing. The voice is familiar...
That's me singing, that's my voice. Where am I? Who am I?
A hand raised to the face, smooth white skin becomes visible. A ring on the index finger made of polished gold. A strange symbol impressed into the top of the ring. Concentric circles, slashes, floretts grace the man's ring on the finger that is obviously not quite large enough to sport it. A boy's hand with no callouses.
The words drift into the room through the walls, permiating them, almost vivible as they float into the room. Feelings of nostalgia haunt the body, but not the soul. The soul itself feels cramped into the body, stuffed into a place it does not fit. It wears the body like an odd suit, unable to move in it freely.
The gravely voice continues to sing perhaps from an adjacent cell. This is a cell, the bars give it away, the stench, the reek of death. The voice trails off. A few minutes later the screaming starts.
No one here listens, or at least no one here reacts.
A tear slips down the face.
Why am I here? What sort of dream is this?
The tear turns to smoke and rises upward, dissapearing into the cieling. Another tear falls, then rises. Soon, the room is filled with smoke. The body slumps, the soul falling out of it and rising up with the smoke. The body is visible now. A small boys body lays slumped over, it's chest rising and falling in shallow breath. Mousy brown hair falls over the gaunt, bruised face. Even with the bruises, the boy looks young, no more that 12 summers old.
The others crowd around the boy, lurking and leering. One takes the ring, another takes the boots, another takes the clothes, leaving the poor lad bare on the floor. His skin is perfect and the other men see that, a horrible glint marks one of other prisoner's eyes.
Gods... he's just a boy. Just a boy. Stop it! Stop it!
Suddenly the soul become the boy, the body changing into that of a grown woman's. The faces change to patches of black... people become nothing more than shadows. The shadows claw and grab, fingers whisping through the flesh.
The screaming from the adjacent cell continues, the voice dry and harsh. Muffled screams dance upward to the ceiling where the soul floats from this cell.
The screams turn into a choir, music of terror, of disgrace. The room fades away, nothing remaining but the shadows and their greedy claws that rake through flesh trying to steal whatever they can grab, but they can grab nothing, so they continue to rake the flesh.
*entering*
*tearing*
*entering*
*leaving*
Stop it...please stop it. Balor, give me strength. Oh please...
The body turns to smoke in an attempt to escape the ghostly claws that tear the flesh, but they begin to tear the flesh that is no longer there. Shadow tearing smoke. The smoke turns into a soul and floats upward, once again in a room. A box with no windows, no doors, just a closed in space with the walls closing in.
The soul at the top of the room shatters into pieces, unraveling into tiny threads. Still aware, still looking on, but now in a field of white. Pure white. The memory of what just happened slips away as things tend to do in dreams, leaving only the feeling of despondance.
A boy's voice sing from somewhere in the world...
A blurry, sleep ridden image of a field moving past. In front are a pair of draw animals pulling a open air carriage forward. The backdrop is ever changing, distant and blurry. The smell of grass fills the nostrals. A woman sits nearby, glowing with the light of the large sun, "It is almost time for your birth day isn't it little star? They don't celebrate it where you are do they?"
Momma...? No, I'm asleep aren't I? Aren't I?
Confusions fills the mind and the heart followed by a sense of nostalgia.
A small farm house becomes visible in the distance, a woman with dark skin stands in front of the house, waving. She stands next to a fair-skinned, but tanned man. "Look, Aunty Linna is waving to you, wave back, always wave back. She's excited for you today. Do you understand why?" Lifting a scarred hand and waving back, the scars are fairly fresh, but healed.
I don't remember this. Is this real? Did this happen?
The scene changes and everyone is around a small table. On the table is several bottles of wine, each one marked with a specific label 'Kita Farm Reserve'. There are plates full of muffins, cakes and other assorted succulent dishes. Looking down, a bright yellow dress can be seen covering the dark skinned body. Long white gloves cover the scarred hands and arms.
Did this happen? Is this a dream? It must be a dream. yes, a dream.
Confusion -- Nostalgia
Polite eating and conversation, most of which drifts by unheard and misunderstood. Food dissapears like smoke, leaving only empty dishes. Things are cleared away, only wine is left, the gloved hand reaches for the crystal glass and sips it politely.
"It is the Anniversary of your Birth little star. We have gifts for you. Hold your glass properly, don't let your hand dawdle, I don't care if you can't feel it, that's no excuse for impropriety at the dinner table. Manners are important." The slight scolding is not ill-tempered, just a reminder.
"Today you are fifteen, that means your are a woman. We know we cannot celebrate it with your wedding, so instead we just have gifts." From the smoke, delicately wrapped presents appear on the table, each one wrapped in orange paper and tied with an orange ribbon.
The gloved hand reaches out for one and it moves away as if of its own accord.
Frustration
The hand moves to another gift, this one jumps into it, as if pulled to it by a similar gravity. It opens by itself. Paper rises from the box like steam. Inside of the tissue paper is a delicate chain, upon which is the symbol of Balor.
Did I ever have anything like that? Is this real? Balor, what is this dream? It is just a dream isn't it?
A motherly hand puts the necklace on and the golden symbol sears itself to the skin over the heart but with no pain, no feeling. For a moment, everything in the vision turns orange, then darkens to red. "Be a lioness. Protective and strong. Be a hunter."
"Come with me, we'll never be apart, the Sun you see is me..."
The song drifts over the field where the smell of smoke and blood fill the air leaving a metallic taste in the mouth. The dark smoke rolls upward into the already dark clouds, blending and mixing so they are one. The field is empty, save for corpses and scavengers (human and animal alike).
Walking -- Moving
Increasing speed with time, the onlooker moves forward. The grass is slick with blood and the ground soft with it. In the distance, the sound of a music box can be heard. Its metallic music blending with the taste of blood in the mouth. There is no other sound. No crying, no screaming, everything is silent, save for the sound of the music box. Even the scavengers are silent, ghostly. They fade in and out like red mist, ghosts that are real, yet distant, as if they drift between this realm and the next.
"No more fear, my heart is ever still, the Sun won't set on me..."
In hand - a man's hand - is a spear stained red with blood.
This must be a dream, I'm not a man. This must be a dream...
The onlooker continues to walk, yet goes nowhere. The field remains the same with each step, the point of view, the angle, never moving. The mist creatures fade like smoke, stained red by blood. The bodies on the field slowly sink into the ground. The grass turns red, growing taller and taller until it nearly reaches the sky.
"No more pain, no memories remain, I am the Sun you see..."
The sound of the music box grows louder, the hollow sound childish as it's song moves through the blood grass. The scene remains somehow serene, calm. The heart still and silent like the field. The mist creatures now run through the grass, bending around each blade, flowing between them and reforming.
Who am I? Where am I?
Walking, eternally walking forward. Soon, the onlooker turns to red mist like the creatures dancing between the blades of grass. Flowing with each step, becomnig aware less and less of himself and more and more aware of the music that dances so lightly atop each blade, as if the song itself is a part of the blood grass.
"This is fate, the dying congregate, follow the Sun to me..."
The mist creatures all walk together now, slowly moving to the goal, the onlooker with them. With no warning, a large hand scoops everything up. The mist creatures held firming within it. Below, the blood grass is covered in red flame, melting everything away. The sound of the music box fades from the grass and sings from some unseen child's lips.
The hand stretches outward, becoming a new ground. The mist creatures begin to fight to avail. Weapons, fists, everything passes through the red mist that was once men. Looking up, the only thing visible is the blue sun in the sky, watching down like an eye. The sky is hued red, the ground and even the air as well.
This is a dream...just a dream...
"Walk this way, the dream will end one day, the Sun will fight with me..."
The red mist creatures evaporate into the air all at once, the onlooker along with them.
Wake up.
Inside a rather large house, before the fire. Large stuffed couches covered in violet velvet. The house is warm, not only in temperature, but also in spirit. The fire dances not with a plain yellow flame, but rather with a violet one.
This is not real...This is a dream...
All at once, five smiling children run up, ranging in ages. The eldest of the children looks at the onlooker, sitting on the large couch beside her. She places her hands on the swollen belly, her creamy chocolate skin running over the soft purple silks of the dress.
"Momma... will it be a boy or a girl?" she asks, leaning her ear against the large belly. "You always seem to know, like you did with Little Niko and little Tzoli. And Jeri and Silvia too. Will this one be a boy or a girl? I'd like another little sister."
A large dark hand rests on the smaller one, "A little girl? I'll see what I can do." She looks into the child's face and smiles, rubbing her cheek. "Shall we brush your hair then? You can do your Silvia's." A small baby, barely able to walk stumbles into it's big sisters legs. "Dor-dor, pig-pig piggy tail." The baby giggles as she speaks, her skin dark like her mother's.
The boys gather around, "Momma, how much longer do we have to wait for our new brother?" the eldest asks, his smooth black hair slicked off of his face. He wears purple pantaloons and a clean white shirt. The youngest boy looks at his older brother and grabs at his shirt, "Niki...tell momma tah makah boy." The older brother ties to remove the hand from his clean shirt, the toddler instead leaving a grubby handprint on his clean shirt which he looks upon with distaste. "Momma...tell Jeri not to mess up my clean clothes."
The hugely pregnant woman leans down and scoops up the little boy. She runs her fingers through his kinky hair. "You really like your brother, don't you?" she asks him instead of scolding, "Who do you want to be like when you grow up? Niko jr or daddy?" The toddler screws up his face, his violet eyes glinting against the strange firelight. "I wanna be like momma!" he says, looking rather pleased with his answer.
This isn't real...
The children cry out briefly, then return to smiling and asking about the new baby. Fear enters the heart, spinning around it, then chased away by the little hand of the child that rests on her knee. "Who want to help momma with setting the table? Today is poppa's birthday so let's make it extra nice, okay?" The older children scamper off, led not by the eldest, but rather by the middle child, a dark eyed, dark skinned boy. He doesn't speak much, but wears his emotion openly on his face. "He's just like me. He's just like me, little Tzoli is just like me." The though dances and the boy turns around and smiles at his mother.
This is a dream... don't end, please don't end...
Breath catches in the throat as the two hold their dark eyes to one another. "Thank you momma...I try to make you proud." They blink at one another, then the boy turns, walking toward the dining room with his brothers and sister to set the table.
This isn't real, I'm not one of them any more. This isn't real...
The baby walks over to her mother and tries to crawl into her lap along with the little boy. "Jeri, make some room for your sister." He scooches onto one knee and the baby climbs up the thick skirts. She rests her face on the swollen belly. "Momma gunna giveee a sissy," she says, her little face lighting up.
"You think so? Well, maybe, maybe so."
The baby looks up at her mother and tears start to roll down her face. "This not reeel momma, we gotta go away now."
Tears blur the vision and everything fades away save for the violet flame of he fire. The stomach shrinks, laying flat, almost concave, the expensive skirts turn to leather and pants. "Come back, please come back. Don't leave me alone here. My babies...please come back."
The violet flame warms the body, calming the heart. It looks the same through clear eyes or those floating with tears. The flame grows, glowing brightly for a moment, then fades away.
You knew it wasn't real. This is a dream.
Wake up.
LIVE
From the heavens, the visage of a fire bird can be seen. The warmth of its light flows through everything. The burning feather dance indigo on it wings, its tail. The line between fantasy and reality blurs just a little more. The line between past, present and future.
"Story, I thought it was a story."
The bird takes flight, flying over a stone fountain of a dragon that slowly transforms. The cobblestones grow taller, longer, more fluid, the fountain sinks into the ground, the carved stone uncarving itself. The long fluid cobblestone slowly turn golden, no longer stone, but rather to grass. The fountain is but a pond, the sound of water rippling blends with the gentle rustle of wind blowing through the field.
The onlooker also shrinks, aging backwards, turning to a child. The grass, while not long, comes up to her waist, enveloping the girlish skirts she wears. Layer upon layer of fabric also rustles, but not with the wind, with movement.
Running -- Following.
"Firebird! Wait! Take me with you!"
Chasing after the quickly shrinking flames of indigo. Running through the grass, ignoring the whipping blades of grass on the dark skin of the arms. The flames of indigo do not halt, nor change direction and chasing is futile.
But the chase goes on until the lungs burn with indigo flame.
A sense of panic overtakes the body, the landscape foriegn. Shifting all around, changing on it own. Time itself seems fluid as plants grow and shrink, live and die. The mountains tumble into boulders, boulders crack into stones. In the distance, the Suns rise and fall so fast, they are a blur across the sky.
The field turns once again to city: the grass to cobble stone, the pond to a fountain. The sound of screaming can be heard coming from all directions, inky darkness pours into the streets, pushed back by burning light. Then ice falls from the sky, pelting everyone. Blood runs between the cobbles, mixing with the melting ice.
And the indigo flames puts it all out, washing over everything, blinding the sight. Eyes close against the brilliance and when they open, they are home. Not the home of the present, the home of the past. In bed, covered by a thick blanket.
"The fire bird momma...the firebird. I wanted to go with it."
"Hush now, hush...the fever will be gone soon." A cool rag preses against the skin, but the indigo flame burns in the body, bringing with it only pain. The muscles tighten into rocks (that were once boulders).
Screaming -- Burning
The blue flames fill the body with fevered dreams.
...this too is a dream...
Outside, white falls from the sky.
Inside, indigo flame absorbs the body.
The firebird is gone. The mind blurry.
...it was only a story....
An image of the sky drifts by. White, puffy clouds float in the blue sea of the sky. Cool, relaxing water rolls over the body in small waves from the light breeze blowing over the surface of the pond.
Swim
Floating -- Flying
"...be like water little star..."
The eyes shut and the feeling of floating takes over, moving with the flow of the water. Hanging on the surface as if flying. The eyes open again and the sky can be seen once more. The sound of breathing echoes in the ears, the watery surface covering them and reflecting sound back. Each breath pulls in the scent of water and air and calmness.
With little effort, the body stays afloat, moving with the wind and the current of the water. The Suns arc across the heavens, dancing behind the clouds and casting shadows on the face. The clouds are shaped like animals, like food, like anything one can pick out of their mind.
"...learn to move like water, feel the flow around you..."
The waters pulls the onlooker down, but there is no sense of panic, no sense of urgency. Just peace and calm. The clear water reflects the surface of the sky, casting it blue.
Above, the surface ripples the clouds and breathing comes naturally. The mind empties and all that remains is the blue surface above. Fragmented clouds float on the surface of the water and a hand reaches out to grab them, plucking them from the water... from the sky.
The clouds are soft and maliable. They change with the thoughts, shaping like clay.
The clouds changes, the hand molding it without thinking. Soon it comes apart, floating away into the water. The white wisps flowing into the water's tide, into the current. The hand reaches up to grab another, molding it into a doll.
On the surface of the water above, the dark featured face of the onlooker is reflected back down into the depths. Dark eyes, dark skin, broad lips, broad nose: these features mimic those of the doll being molded. With a breath, the doll comes apart and so does the reflection.
All at once, water is all there is. Everything becomes a part of it. The flow, the current, the will of fate is all that guides it.
"...be like water..."
Soon, everything comes back together and the image of the pond can be seen below. The onlooker a cloud rolling over the sky. The suns smiles, warming the puffs of white that form hands, that form feet. The cloud is swallowed up by another, then another, becoming one with the sky. The surface of the pond reflects you back, a fragmenting mirror.
flow
A hand plucks the cloud from the sky, pulling it under the water. Soon it is molded into a doll of the face that lays beneath the surface. ulling apart, it becomes a part of the water and the cycle continues.
flow
peace
"...like water..."
The smell of spring dances on the air, fresh and blooming. The chirp of birds and brays of the animals creates a symphony of sound, a symphony of life. The melody carries with it hope and joy. Life grows and blooms and rejoices in the buds of spring.
The feelings of rebirth grow into feelings of freedom, dancing merrily on the heart and on the soul.
In the distance, the onlooker watches a group of men till the fields, sowing the seeds for the year. The Suns remain high in the sky, casting down a warm light, a muted green. Before the fields lays the yard of budding grass. The sheep chew the tender shoots from within the pen. She onlooker runs her freshly scarred hands over the railing, leaning against it.
The sound of singing fills the air, drifting in from the fields in the distance. Men and women sing in chorus, their songs of the earth and rebirth merry.
A voice from behind beckons with its sweet song. The voice like a bird's soaring in the air calls the attention of the sheep and the person on the fence. The sighs pans around to face the singing voice, scanning over the mountain on the horizon, the house nearby and finally landing on an elegant woman. She sings along with the workers in the field, her green dress catching in the light spring breeze. A scarf round her hair gets caught in a gust and floats away, drawing the eye.
The scarf dances on the wind, flying upward on an unseen wing. Soaring like a song. The translucent green silk floats, catching the rays of the Suns. Floating away like a bird in its first flight.
freedom
A voice in the back of the mind echoes softly it warnings against the heart that yearns to float away with the scarf. And the sound of singing grows louder for a moment.
"...and the flowers dance upon the breeze, the heart floating in spring song, the melody dances upward, singing freedom on the heart as spring rebirths the land..."
And the world around grows. The suns setting and rising as fast as the eye can watch. The grain grows gold against the green grasses, bringing life. Sheep are born and birds sing their songs of spring.
Rising -- Falling
The Suns draw their breath each day, bloowing a cool breeze of life across the land to the sound of singing voices, each one singing the green melody of life and rebirth.
"...to sleep, to dream, to live, to die, the song of spring draws freedom onto the heart, fly away, fly away with me, dance to the Suns on silver wing, dance to the voice of freedom..."
And the taste of apples explodes in the mouth, their ripe green taste filling the heart with joy that has no words. The song sings on as the world rolls by, unhindered by the future.
"...sing freedom on my heart, make it the green of spring, sing freedom on my heart and let my soul rise up with the Light of the suns on gilded wing..."
A breath of release can be heard as the Suns set beyond the horizon, the song drifting off into the darkness.
"...the rebirth of spring sings freedom on my heart..."
For a brief moment, the heart knows this is not real, but feels the urge to sing anyway. To truly be a part of the dream.
"...I sing the freedom on my heart, I sing freedom and fly away..."
The blackness of sleep quickly falls into a white, not a field of white, but rather a field covered in white, in snow. A rare thing to see. The mountain in the distance is covered in the white powder, the field harvested and frosted as well. The small puffs of white fall from the sky though the window.
There is an inability to move, to yell, to do anything against the silent white death that falls from the sky. Pain shoot up the spine and to the head, burning like fire against the cold wind.
A voice, a soft woman's voice accompanied by a cool cloth on the forehead, "You'll get better my little star. You'll be fine when the fever breaks." Worry creeps into the voice as the onlooker attempts to speak, nothing but mumbling and ravings spewing forth.
The words get lost in the field of snow. The touch of comfort strained by the burning pain rushing through the body, enflaming every nerve.
Screaming.
Darkness.
Night falls and nothing is visible out the window. Sound is muted by the thick silence hanging over everything. A woman holding a small ball of golden light comes into view. Her mouth moves but no words can be heard. The onlooker tries to scream, but the sound is absorbed by the silence and the burning pain in the body.
A cup of white liquid pushed forward. Swallowed and bitter.
Spiraling darkness through the white silence.
drifting - floating
pain
fever
The eyes open and a woman is there, hand outward, praying silently.
The eyes close.
fever
pain
A thousand needles pierce the skin, carrying their ink into the body. The slice of a thin knife along the spine. The inability to move. The feeling of prayers amidst the silence.
floating
fire
snow
"You will hear me now my little star, you will hear me now."
The voice floats through the air, no longer muted by the silence. The window can be seen once more, the snow outside melted and gone. A small, child's hand reaches for it, finally able to move. It falls back to the bed. The fire is gone, the burning in the body.
tears
"Momma...momma...where are ya?"
A soft hand clutches the small one, wrapped around it. The face of a woman, soft and friendly. Braids hold her dark, smooth hair at her temples. She reaches her hand and runs it across the onlookers forehead. "Mommy's made you better. She's taken away your sickness. I won't ever let you go my little star. Never, I'll never let you go."
"Where did tha silince go momma? Evarythin wuz quiet...like the stuff fallin frum thah sky."
A frown crosses the woman's face, "Nothing fell from the sky little star. It was your fever dream."
"I don't unnerstand...."
And silence once again covers the mind, only this time, its a different sort of silence.
A haze, covering the mind like snow.
'What now?'
'What comes next?'
'Who am I now?'
'What am I now?'
Questions spiral around and around, growing stronger and growing more desperate. The feelings of doubt are all that linger on the broken heart that is only one inch away from being a broken soul. Silence falls and wieghs everything down: choking, crushing, breaking the will that was once there.
Emptiness.
The visage of a young man, probably in his teens with bright red curly hair. He has two smiles, one is fake and one is real. The real one is soft and heart warming, the fake one is harsh and empty.
'He is lying to you, using you.'
Screams of denials. Pains of rejection. Whispers of loving words floating away like smoke. Everything is white, everything is pure on the heart of the adult who is still a child. A heart that submits to the Word because it is holy. A heart that also wishes to be holy. The heart submits so that it can grow stronger.
'What am I now?'
pain
Now, the heart has fallen white again. Clean, empty, broken but not cracked. It is in disrepair, but not filled with the shadow that once haunted it. Instead, it is filled with nothing. A nothing that even lacks something as substantial as a colour.
Floating.
Once again floating in the whiteness and forced to be honest. Forced to scream, forced to beg. But this time, there are no answers, no other voice. Just the field of white where there is no up and no down. There is no right and no wrong. It is nothingness.
'Where am I?'
'What is left for me now?'
Soon, even the voice, the lone and solitary voice fades from the head, from the mind. The lone voice that echoes in the field of white fades away. The emotions melt away and all is empty within as well as without.
For eternity, for time that cannot be measure, everything floats. Then, a crack forms. A break on the heart that was so close to falling apart. A single crack forms and this heart shouts.
'Is this what happens when everything is gone?'
And there is an echo from within.
'...when everything is gone.'
The screams of a familiar voice, calling, shouting, begging. Smoke lingers in the air growing more intense along with the heat. Running forward into the flames, the tall barn red, not only from paint, but also from fire. Kicking the door down.
The voice screams, the words fading into the cries of pure agony. Burning hay, burning wood, burning flesh. The screams fade into the popping of he damp wood.
Guts of flame dance at the hem of the long, cotton and silks skirts.
Running. Searching.
The image of a burning body. Running, grabbing it despite the fire that covers it.
Outside, the sound of laughter bellows in the air. Childish, boyish laughter. 'The dummy is gunna die to save her little friend. Both of them are useless. Best they burn up and turn to smoke.' More laughter, cruel, horrible laughter.
Grabbing the body as it burns, no longer moving. The smell of burning flesh and hair chokes more than the smoke. Gagging through tears. 'No...no...don't die...I'll save yah. Niko...don't burn up...don't git burnt up. I'll save yah I promissed tah keep yah safe.'
Dragging the body as flames crawl up the dark skin of the arms.
pain
Choking and gagging on the smells, on the smoke. Falling down, the charred, burning body falling onto the long skirts, catching them aflame.
Panic.
Desperation as the onlooker tries to pulls herself free. The feeling of burning fat melting around hands and arms, burning them.
The cieling, fear as the onlooker watches a falling ball of fire that was once a bit of wood from the cieling. The ball of fire approaches. 'Balor...no.... I don't wanna die here..' The burning plank misses, landing to the right side of the person dragging the body.
The heart strengthens as she stands again, dragging the body from the building. Flames dance up the dark skin of the arms. Flames dance up the hems of the skirt. Heat and smoke dull the senses.
pain
The outside of the barn, the clear sky obstructed by smoke. The body burns, smoldering in the girl's lap upon the thick skirts. Screaming, agonizing screaming as the flames continue up her arms.
The voices of boys. Two faces looking down as the girl collapses onto the ground, weak, tired, unfocused and in pain. 'The moron and the invalid are gunna go ta Annwn tagether. Ain't they? Good riddance ta 'em. Jus draggin tha rest ah us down.' Laughter as the two boys laugh.
Attempts to move, to grab them as they run away.
Held down by pain.
'Momma! Momma help me! Momma! I don't wanna die...! MOMMA!'
Screaming.
Attempts to move away from the body, Fat melting into fat, flash melting onto flesh. Wailing, attempting to crawl away.
Flames consume everything around now. The onlooker, the sky, the earth. Everything is on fire. Pain lights up the senses. Pain weaves it's way into the soul.
A field of fire slowly melting away into a field of blood. Laughter. Horrible, maniacal laughter coming from the voice that was screaming. Colour fades away into darkness. Into shadow.
'You have a weak heart. I shall consume you in fire and blood.' Laughter, deep rich laughter.
Screaming
A field of golden grain. Sitting on a porch, watching the suns set beyond them. The wind slowly blows over the field. Voices inside, muffled, but audible. In the distance a mountain, the rays of the Suns catching the peaks as they dowse the field of grain with light.
'She killed them Lady Kita. She killed them with her bare hands. She may not have known what she was doing, but it doesn't change the fact that she did it.'
The onlooker watches the grain roll like water in the wind, watching the golden waves catch the blue rays of the sinking sun.
A woman's voice, 'She is my daughter...my little girl. She's just like her father. Maybe she is her father.'
Another voice, 'She is nearly grown. With her betrothed dead, she will always need you. What will happen when you're gone? Who will protect her then when she loses her temper?'
The fields roll on, the sight blurring through watery eyes.
The woman's voice, 'I will not have her treated like a doll. I will not have her treated like a ghost. She isn't deaf.'
Feelings of overwhelming guilt and sadness. The fields roll and the sun sinks behind the mountain in the distance.
Wet cheeks.
The first voice, 'She killed them Lady Kita. She cannot stay here. You have to send her away, at least for a while. You have to send her away.'
A defiant woman's voice, 'Never! She is my child!'
'Lady Kita...if she stays here, we will have no choice but to kill her. You know the law.'
'I..I know.'
Growing feelings of failure and abandoment.
Shift in scene a pretty woman with dark skin and smooth black hair, two braids at her temples. 'I'll come for you Tzoli, I swear. You are my child. Be strong, be strong in Viroth. I'll come for you...Remember what I taught you. Write it all down so you don't forget.' The woman kisses the onlookers cheeks and forehead and hands.
Another shift, the city wall of Telantha. The voices of children all around. 'Tzoli Tzoli! We're here! Look, look! We're here!'
The growning feelings of sadness and lonliness growing like the walls in the field of vision.
Time rolling by like sand in an hour glass. The onlooker in a tree, staring over a wall, watching the gates of the city.
waiting
'She'll come...she promised. She'll come fer me.' Growing sense of abandonment and loss as emptiness filla the heart.
A woman in a long, shapeless brown robe, 'You have to leave now Tzoli, You cannot stay here any longer. You're too old to stay. We've gotten you a job.'
Grasping at the robes with scarred hands, 'No...please, lemme stay. Lemme stay ah lil longer. She'll come fer me...she'll come.'
'No, Tzoli, you have to go now. You may visit, but you cannot stay here any longer.'
Growing dispair and abandonment, fueled by feelings of lonliness.
A woman with dark skin and long hair, elegantly dressed as she carresses the onlooker as they sit in front of a fire on a plush, soft rug. 'You must always remember to smile Tzoli, always smile and show a brave face. Show your happy heart.'
Feelings of guilt, feelings of despondance.
Shift in scene to nothing but whiteness. 'Be honest...you must be honest with yourself.'
pain
Conflicts in the deep recesses of the soul.
The feeling of breaking.
The feeling of being swallowed up.
A stream of memories, of voices being shoved away. 'So pure are your intentions, that it is almost cruel that you be burdened with these worries.'
screaming
pain
Attempts to shove everything away, to forget.
Failure.
Breaking -- Shattering
'A restful peace at the end of a long road.'
Fading and falling into the well of lonliness and abandonment, followed by a heavy, choking silence.