[12660.052]
A minuscule, desolate island rests within vast waters. The fog obscures the horizon, and seabirds fly high above, crying desolate cries.
The waves crash on the tiny shore, and bring with them a figure. Its skin is tortured by torrents and rocks. Its frame, ghastly. Emaciated.
223.454 - ART
In search of streets of gold
The road may lead to Feneos
Where the river begin but the journey doesn't end, no
Water trickles out its mouth, its chest making the faintest movements.
Minutes pass, a flicker of life comes from within.
Winding through a valley
You may reach a sulfurous swamp
Place a coin in the mouth of your loved one
So they can be ferried across
Muscles begin to tense,
An exercise not done for ages.
Two eyes form narrow slits, the face beneath them vacant.
Feet try to move, fingers as well,
But water still floods out.
Shield their eyes to the damned that eternally choke
These muddy waters replace the dirty words that they spoke
And consciousness trickles in.
A dull ache permeates the body. They feel heavy as a rock.
A boulder sits upon their chest.
Their lungs are not yet evacuated. It's still impossible to breathe.
You may ask yourself, 'how did I end up around these ways?'
And the wind replies, 'my friend, you were at the right time in the wrong place'
The dull ache and heaviness become a searing paralysis.
The world shifts into acuity, and memories return.
(Your saint only cares for money)
(Don't you touch his sense of pride)
[1744.938]
A village up in flames. Many footprints carve reliefs in the dirt and mud of the settlement, and shattered fragments of pottery line compacted ground.
Its denizens have been taken someplace else.
Your saint only cares for money
Your saint only cares for money
Don't you touch his sense of pride
A drizzle vaguely threatens to put the pyre out.
On the outskirts lays Three Seeds, legs slashed by brambles, bleeding on the ground.
Your saint only cares for money
Your saint only cares for money
Don't you touch his sense of pride
A field of crops is growing. They will soon come into bloom, then shatter.
They will prove resilient.
Long after the village's decay, the crops will still survive.
Paris's arrow is hot on your heels
A scholar caught in the rain
Unnoticed, unnamed
Small life flitters above the pool of blood,
Three Seeds will soon wake up, and find the flames have passed.
Your saint only cares for money
Don't you touch his sense of pride
Shoulder to shoulder, most faces face back
The only warm air was breath through a whispered prayer
Shelter Built, Falling Leaves stands in line with the other captives.
Their backs are to the Pool, but the ascensions can be heard.
An officiant dictates rites to each person. Some go out with protest.
Some just make a splash.
It is Leaves's turn.
She shakes. A broad figure grabs her by the hair and walks her to the elevated relief.
"May they be delivered to a place free of suffering,
No place at all"
Her hands were never bound. She finally considers.
"May they find peace within the abyss,
Comfort under oblivion"
A blade is holstered to her leg, under her robe.
Small enough to evade detection,
Too small to fight with.
How could I survive ain't even a question of life
My passage has no ticket just a price
Trembling, tears flow down her face.
"At last to leave this wretched world,
That is our gift unto you"
The figure holding her pulls her head back, ready to force it into the Pool.
The debt that makes my cheeks run rivers
Turns sleep into a threat
Haunted by nightmares, she made a vow.
She'd killed before. She couldn't again.
But she had to.
She had lived a life so full. She had met so many she loved.
She had been taught to subvert those who profess ascension; she of course must destroy those who force it onto others.
But in the face of death she had killed before, and still failed. Her father was still gone.
Now she would be too.
She couldn't be.
She must not die. She must kill.
She must plunge the blade into her captor's head and throw them into that cursed Pool.
I dream of faces I will never touch again.
"Now begone!
And may you never come again!"
She drove her elbow into her captor's belly, and with her other hand unsheathed her work blade.
The figure recoiled and let go. She whipped around and grappled them by the hair.
Firmly gripping the knife, she plunged deep into an eye. She struck the butt of the handle, and the captor fell.
Each body across water, a spirit still tethered to a place
That meant purpose was being
That sang sweet I ams
Still tethered now straining my face
The other captors, shocked, took a moment to draw.
"Attack!" Said Leaves first, being met with a reply from the officiant.
The prisoners scattered. Some fled, but others begun to crowd in groups around those armed.
Leaves grabbed the bucket by the Pool, and doused her captor's life.
Pulled into shapes of mourning
Now home is now a burial ground
Testing faith and grace
All fearful, appalling
Blurs filled the room as strikes became faster and more frantic. Each force, inexperienced from a lack of training. Dulled by an eternity of peace.
But neither Leaves nor the officiant had a match.
They lock eyes.
It seems they have each other now.
He dashes at her with a short, curved rudimentary dagger.
She steps fast to his right. His braking and turning are too slow to surprise her with another attack.
Between them is neutral ground. Neither can escape.
Same time panic and dash, same time still chase
All missed calls and calling
She steps forward and slashes at him.
He replies with a dodge, and a slash to her left.
She grabs his arm, but he grabs her blade.
Cutting his skin, it is wrenched out of her hand.
She backs away, her calves now to the edge of the Pool.
Bones calling out, 'will you bury us here?'
Really?
He shoves her back.
Her scalp touches the Fluid.
Now knee to knee, she comes back up and rams her own head into his.
He recoils. She disarms him.
Heart still burning, black core, red fire
All for love
Pulling him to the right, she gets behind him, and runs him to the edge of the Pool.
He grabs one of her arms. She punches him in the face,
Each strike getting more violent and vindictive until,
He is thrown overboard. His body floats on the pool of Void. The golden ripples get stronger,
Until he is nothing but light.
How come they scared can't see
The purpose, the power, my sacrifice, the beauty within me
Why they grimace and spit, play fickle with life
Void Fluid pours down onto her face.
A weak breath leaves her mouth,
"and may you never come again..."
Leaves's hair is soaked. Soon, her clothes will be too.
Rest.
She is tired.
And cold.
She must sit down.
Her hair hangs over the pool.
Turn hope into a hell for me.
Your saint only cares for money
Your saint only cares for money
Don't you touch his sense of pride
The battle is over. Five still stand.
They look over their neighbors. Their friends. Their families.
They will survive.
Your saint only cares for money
Your saint only cares for money
Don't you touch his sense of pride
"But our leader is too far gone!"
"They soaked her."
"Leave her be. We'll talk to Seeds."
Paris's arrow is hot on your heels
A scholar caught in the rain
Unnoticed, unnamed
The rain has passed. The pyre too.
In a stagnant pool of blood lies nothing but a scrap of cloth.
Your saint only cares for money
Don't you touch his sense of pride
---
[12660.052]
A figure lays in an old ruin. It has woken from a long dream.
Muscles aching from disuse, and an old scar still tender, it makes two small slits out of its eyes.
The stale air feels undisturbed.
The world shifts into acuity, and the memories return.
Waves lap at the empty shore.
Inside, an interface lights up.
