Ash by Daliah B.

Posted on March 8, 2014 by

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The distance from base 182, has turned from soldier needs to report back to base, into soldier must find home. It had been difficult for the object to move and not hear the creek of its limps; the press of a forearm again a bicep never came without the sound of restraints remaining him, in the Sphere of Resistance, he was nothing but It, the Object or Soldier.

 

In the workings of his mind, previously referred to as Receiver of Command or RC for short, he sometimes slips back into that setting of dehumanization; in which he refers to himself as It, the Object, and Soldier. He is still a work in progress. At least, what inside his head has become a far cry from that bleak court where his system was to initiate self-destruct at the surfacing of thought.

 

It’s the another night of sun, and he’s never felt a longing for darkness to take over like he did now. He’s been running. Running away from flames that he swore to himself were whispering, Ash.

 

He shook off that doubt remembering that it’s been 12 days spent going up a mountain and being chased by that ring of fire. There was no room to entertain suspicion.

 

He comes into a halt after realizing that the fire is long gone. Eyes shut, he takes off his gas mask expecting to feel as if he were inside a furnace. He was preparing himself to choke on the chunks of CO2 in the air, but he doesn’t.

 

He takes one calculated breath that then causes his wide, whiskey-colored eyes to open in awe, the air is clear and misty, smelling of fresh lilacs.

 

Taking in his surroundings only adds to his astonishment. Behind his mask, everything was in hues of black and gray, but now, that he’s seeing with clarity, the sky is blue, the sun is yellow, he was standing in meadow with green, grassy floors and the smoke he saw is clouds of crimson hanging in a circle around him.

 

Crimson, that was his name.

 

He laughs to himself remembering how his mother sacrificed him to a destiny of sniggers by giving him a name more suited for a harlot. It was her favorite color.

 

She said, “But you just wait, my sunshine. Someday your name will weigh more meaning than a color your mother loved so much or an enigmatic persona a harlot chose to boost her allure. And harlots are saints, my boy. So don’t go on letting those dimwits make you think so poorly of them.” Tilting his chin up and kissing his forehead she continued, “Or yourself.”

That was him at the age of 15, and Crimson, blushed a deep crimson at his mother’s words. May the irony of that writhe in damn pain.

 

They, The Ravens, had disciplined his compassion in callousness, and schooled his once expressive face into a menacing façade. So that pile of fear, laughter and astonishment felt so overwhelmingly new to him.

 

His smile falters as and a sigh escapes his dry lips, as he take off his cloak and lays his lithe form on the ground.

 

A dull ache threatens the sol— Crimson’s heart, lungs, and joints. He stays a while listening to the wind dance and sing its way through shrubs. Ash, he hears it whistle, but he’s too tired to surrender to illusion, his heavy lids feathering shut forcing him to sink into sleep.

 

The sound of fire and wind whispering Ash haunts him in a dream, but this time they tell him, “Ash is home.”

 

Ash was home.

 

***

 

Mother Nature writes in her scrolls:

 

Crimson is the element of fire and Ash is the element of ice. The Sphere of Resistance and its Ravens shall be demolished and Earth will begin its restoration. On the 12th night of Sun, the elements shall encounter, and 12 days of polar nights will commence. Ash’s wolf will awaken, and in him, Crimson will find solace.

 

The Sun questions why I choose mortals to become elements, but that choice was out of my reign. I do as her, The Universe commands me. I obey my Queen, and would not dare to stand in her way of fulfilling a promise to her son.

 

She on Earth was a secret only I knew, and I still watch over her husband’s bones buried within me.

 

She descended upon Earth disguised as Lilac, a mortal lycanthrope, a woman and a wolf. I asked her to lock of two of her powers in my chambers, the power to mold hearts and the power to see her love’s destiny. My Queen resisted, but soon obliged knowing but it would have broken her heart more to know that that man loved her against his will and under her influence, and seeing his fate would have distressed her to no end.

 

Soon enough, having to battle a primal, animalistic instinct and a human desire to be loved back drove her into a frenzy.  

 

Queen Universe could not control hearts or uncover her love’s destiny. I still hold the tears she wept in frustration as rain. Seeing her suffer broke my core, but I needed to take my course.

 

‘My Queen, you’re leaving me, the loyal servant of your heart, in good hands, so don’t you tie knots of worry. But I must confide in you before my passing. You told me that our son will have a matching of heart with man of your mortal kind, but he will never find him. Lead Crimson to his love, Lilac. Lead crimson to his love is all I ask of before my departure,’ was his will. He was a kind man, and loved her with all his being, regardless of all her might.

 

Ash shall hold his ground at mountaintop, and the desolation that came upon his heart will be lifted. His wolf will awaken, and in him, Crimson will find solace by the 12th day of polar night.

 

From there, the season shall commence starting from spring.

 

Signed,

Mother Nature.

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