Africa and Silas had still been asleep when I'd woken that first time. Dreary dozing came again and that same startling dream was breathed to life as my weary mind slipped past doze into actually bliss. Only, it was hell.
Ma’s breath is warm across my nape. She is singing. We are curled beneath the stars, laying upon a mat of soft spring flora and sand. Feathers and the smell of her fur and Da’s soothing voice mingling with hers. His tone is earnest and soft, not as a vine sent to snare but a warm ray of sun splashing my soul. I listen to another of his eve stories.
“Our plane of existence is mythical, abound with colorful sprites that whisk their way through life as silken beings spun into the cloth of time. I am child of this world, whelped from the soil and fashioned by intimate fingers. Yet. Among the flavor called joy, there must always be a bitter residue. A song of woo that decrees grand and tiny insignificance creature alike will sing.”
His face fades, I can no longer see it plainly.
“Every memory. Every action. There will always be a choice you didn’t make, a path you didn’t take. What would have happened child; if you had only taken that other path? “
I wonder if Seele would still be alive if my choice had been different. Eyes rise to see someone standing on a fragile cliff, salt is thick on the air. The ground beneath starts to give away. I thrust forward out of instinct, aimed to help. But I find that my wings are bound behind me. Fina and Neve are gone, and my voice feels trapped within slender fleshy folds. Yar, no magic. I'd never reach that figure in time. But still I try. Though, no matter how my limbs raced across this earth, it grew no closer to it and I only exhaust myself.
That body, tis female for sure. I struggle to call out a name, but what name do I scream? Dozens of different titles all in one word. She turns, this nameless, faceless lady. Ktulu, Seele, Kri, Onni, Ranjiri, Africa and dozens of others flash into existence. All smiling at me. They were fixing to die, why smile?
Singing, nay, tis quiet. Huming? Why do they find room for songs?
Lids flutter open as the nameless one falls, or jumps. Tis impossible to remember. There are tears inside each inner eye. I can still hear a soft song--rising above the wail outside. "Thee is awake," my comment is soft, almost a question. I can sense Africa standing by, her presence in this cavern is unmistakable, "Are ye alright?"
@[Africa]
MIDAS |
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