While She Sleeps
I couldn't speak, it didn't register in my mind. No scream escaped my lips, the horror not setting in. He stooped, dipping his fingers in my blood, recoiling as it burned him. He roared, the world spun, nothing but a blur that I didn't understand. How could I not understand?
He had slit my throat in that move, my voice. Gone. My song ended. Was this to be my swan song, here? Was this to be what it all culminated to be? For my children to be chained to the hands of ambition and wrath? The warm fluid dripping from my neck, the earth greedily drinking in what it would take. I knew without being able to see them, the stars I had made with my own two hands, falling from the skies to crash upon the worlds we had built.
A sharp pain, something I didn't understand. I ws flying through the air before landing in a heap. Eyes opening once more, to see the face of one of my children staring back at me, lifeless and lost. I heard it, felt it. Golden spear piercing my chest one final time. I... couldn't. Everything felt like it was moving, only I was the one being left behind.
I can't leave them behind, I can't let them suffer that fate. I can't lose this to them! I sucked in a deep breath, filling my punctured lungs, repairing my shattered voice, opening my eyes I found myself in a place I did not know. An endless sea filled my eyes, palcid. Stillness beyond comprehension, a mirror held to waters surface to reflect back the infinte audacity of it all. Fractle nature of it all laid out before me, the plans we had made, the notes etched into the bones of the world.
The unknowable scale of it all, we four had made from nothing. Yet, here I stand. Stand? How can I stand on the water, stable under my feet? Tail gently brushing the surface, not a ripple to sound. A stasis, a womb to be reborn. Have I died?
The stars I had so carefully crafted to grace the eyes of my children, and their children's children and those children yet to be realized. A gift given to them, to never be returned, the skies were still. Unturning, not twinkling through the air, the endless horizons meeting in a synchonisity to render it meaningless. The skies reflected in this endless sea, reflected back to me, myself. Which one was real? The skies I had made, or the reflection of what I had done?
Had I died? Was I ever alive? I have always been, my siblings have always been? I was certain in this, wasn't I? When my children had died, I always greeted them, to welcome their souls home to warm hearth of my arms. A reflection of their lifes in the mirror of my eyes. To breath new life into their souls to begin again. I had created them, I had created everything the other Siblings had used to create what they had made.
What am I supposed to do now?
My own song so loud there was nothing but silence.
Outstretched arm, spark into creation a new world, but only void to fill me hands. Creation ellusive in this place. We made not this place, were was this? Fragments of my works, my own choir preformed back myself. Into this place, into myself. The scar to grace my neck, still warm, still tender.
Am I supposed to make ammends? Am I supposed to learn something? My reflection below me looking back through me. It's eyes moving where mine did not. They were still my eyes, I think I comprehend.
"I'm sorry, I know it was fault in the end. I see the world you have made with the remains of what we had done. It's beautiful..."
What a beautiful prose!
I'm glad you like it! I had a bit too much fun with the phrasing and composition here