| Updateing Story with new content, using LJ as my blackboard |
[14 Oct 2005|08:15pm] |
PRELUDE
I'm a forgotten one. There is no real set point that it happened. My
life just faded away like an old photograph then was gone. No one hears
me or sees me. If it wasn’t for the reflection I see in the mirror I
don’t think even I would believe I existed. What brought me to this
point? Destiny? Fate? Who knows, looking back I see now that I was born
alone, I live my life alone, and soon, I'll die alone. Realization an
acceptance, odd you would think this would make us something rather
then confirm our nothingness, our endlessness, our void.
Pushing away from the sink I sigh, my shoulders
slump. This is me, who I am. Nothing. Forgotten. The world swirls and
pulses around me, people drift in and out of my vision like eddies in a
tidal pool, insubstantial and never lasting. It all flows over and
around me, never marking me or me touching upon it. My day ends as it
begins, staring into the mirror before i shove off to bed, my
reflection leaving about as much a mark on this world as I do.
It came to me that night, blossoming as a dream in
the landscape of my mind, perhaps the only place left with a vibrancy
in a gray mist of being. I didn’t know where I was... It had to be a
dream the colors to sharp and clear to me, the grass a flowing green
scape of color dotted with purple flowers lazily swaying back and forth
as lily pads in a pond rippled by the touch of a finger. Tranquil. It
was all broken with a searing pain in my back, looking down I see the
end of something long and sharp sticking out of my chest. Surrealism.
The blood dripping from it is mine, the pain is mine, and this moment
is mine alone.
"You must die before you can truly have lived."
The words come unbidden to me as I sink to my knees,
the limp strings that supported my puppet frame cut. The frail Purple
flowers now speckled with the dots of my blood, but still the clarity
of color, the green of grass, the purple of the flowers, the red of my
blood. I pull my eyes from this sight and look up, and up, and up. The
blue sky rolls into view as I collapse to my back. More pain exploding
as the hilt of the object thrust though me further. My last thought as
my sight exploded and was gone was "Even the forgotten believe they are
alive, just insubstantial, odd thing dieing."
And the sky began to weep, but not for me, for the dieing of the day.
Pain…
Again, but this time a voice as well.
“Get up Lad.”
He reinforced his words with another jab of his toe to my ribs.
“It’s not safe to lie around out here all day, there are worse then me that travel these paths.”
Groaning I slowly open my eyes to see the blurry image of an old man
come into view. I sit up and immediately my hands clutch at my chest.
“I’m alive,” I mumbled.
He cackled at this.
“Of course you are Lad, might be a different story if you continue laying there in the desert,” this he said with a wink.
Confused I look around, sand and rock. Gone were the flowers gone was
the grass; gone was all of the vivid color and fresh air. Also gone was
the shaft though my heart. I felt strange; I looked at the old man
trying to find some answers in his eyes, what I saw was a sternness
come to his face, a tightening of the jaw and set look about his
features.
“Then again, maybe you are.”
He said the evenly and with a seriousness in his voice I had not head from him till this point.
“Anyway Lad its not polite to stare don’t you know.”
He leaned down and picked up the satchel at his feet and turned to head
down the road, if it could be called such. The road was nothing more
but a flatter, more compressed area of this dead place
1.
It was In the Year of the Silver Moon that He found
me. I am able to write this only because He taught me to read and
write. Once years ago I had asked him once why? Why teach me such
things that did not seem so important then? “So that you can never
become Forgotten” was his reply in that quiet sad voice that was to
become so central in my years. Forget me not, for this is my story as I
remember it at the end of my days.
Born in a death birth I had my destiny set from the start, or so the
village Elders, wise as they were, thought. Maybe it was, but it was
not to be as they would have it. Everything the village was plagued
with was blamed on me, famine, raiders, plague. I was a cursed one, no
one would have me, not even the raiders. But as despised as I was the
Tribal council could do nothing to me. Law, it is what binds social
structures, without it our tribe and others would have fallen to
self-destruction; this at least they had learned if nothing else. So it
was that Law protected me. “No one of the Tribe may be killed by the
Tribe. This was my saving grace. Not that it would last, the Elder made
up for in deviousness what they lacked in wisdom.
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