Voice Claim Minion
Posts : 1271
Join date : 2013-09-16
Location : 1721
|Subject: A Brief Passing [Prose] [Closed] Fri May 23, 2014 1:24 pm|| |
The roar of an engine disturbed the air, rumbling through the tranquil forest. The Forest of Forever Frost, called that since its real name eludes him, is utterly empty, save for frozen trees and the occasional Beowolf or two that scampers across the road. The hooded huntsman on his two wheeler drives on, dodging tree branches that stuck out due to the lack of public workers in the deadly land as he goes.
The lone motorist continues like a drifting ronin; lost, masterless, peerless. Driving over a frozen river bend, the lone figure with a four square foot blade on his back passes a border between forest and fire. Past the river, the trees are splintered, the even snow disturbed by several footsteps, and a smoked house, charred black and abandoned for almost half a decade. The huntsman pulls up to the house and stops at the door, cracked open by its abandonment.
Wandering inside, he looks at what remains in the house. A few chairs surround a table. On the kitchen counter, an open glass jar stands next to a plate, which holds a knife on top of what used to be toast, now burnt to a crisp. The huntsman pauses, wondering if the lives lost here were taken so suddenly during the family's breakfast. How quickly things fall apart in this world.
He travels to the living room, and sees how much of these events were just like how his own memories from five years ago were like it. The charred mementos of memories, photographs on the walls that burned apart. The scroll on the wall, shattered by the attack. The window, broken in by a body smashing though it. A smear on the floor, the color of dried blood. All too familiar to him. The huntsman leaves the house, going back onto his vehicle and inserting the key, powering on the engine once again. He had his own goals for that Thursday evening.
Several more minutes of driving pass before he reaches the top of the mountain cliffs, stopping before the three covered holes, all of which measure down seven feet, and are marked by various weapons. At the grave on the left, he kneels and mutters, "Thank you, Herald," then stands back up and readjusts the grandsword behind it to stand straight again. The second grave, he shines the shield on it, removing some of the dead leaves that became trapped in its frosty cover before planting the only flower he brought, a yellow rose, and leaves a whisper. "I won't forget you, Lin." And the third grave, placing the triple changing weapon back up on its bayonet, he says only one line. "We'll meet in another lifetime."
Standing up on the cliff, he watches over the valley, wondering how things led to him being here. Those events five years ago... how things changed so much.
A sudden glimpse catches his eye from the other side of the valley. Another person, standing at the edge of a cliff. He would have thought that it was just a mirage, but it was no doubt, a person was standing there with a red cloak billowing in the wind. The huntsman, too, had his blue trenchcoat loosely flowing in the winds. He raises his hand in salute, and the other one does similarly before turning back and walking into the forest. He wonders. Who was that person? Did they have anything to do with his own past? It doesn't matter, though. Unlike the person wandering away, the Hunter named Thợ Săn had business to do in this valley.
"A fretful sky
An absent sun
The day all die
The damage undone
The planet turns
From black to white
From red to silver
And from blue to gold
The end of old days
The dawn of a new tomorrow
From the end of the play,
'The End of Sorrow.'