Destroying Castles In The Sky

A moment, a breath.

Air rushing in through seething teeth. Jaws snapping forward, eyes ablaze with ferocity. Within a string snapped. Delicate, slowly unthreading with every passing moment. Near unhinged, there had been no stopping the beast once unleashed. Driven by anger, paranoia, fear, a bundle of nerves poking, prodding, threatening to descend one into the depths of insanity.

Isn't that what they called it? Doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result?

Too many words, not enough actions. A belief stricken with pious ideals. A book of laws created by one and followed by none. So much to say, not enough time. Not anymore.

Pain is a funny thing. One moment paws are digging through the dirt, stretching, lunging forward to slam down upon another when fate intervenes. A different paw, large claws, ungodly strength, sweeping through that heavy, moist air toward that lunging form with purpose. Pain is the body's way of saying "Hey! That hurt! Don't do it again!" Too bad, too late.

It's funny how much it hurts. Bone colliding with rock, body colliding with dirt. Blood seeping, stars swirling, eyelids pressing closed. Shouting, so much shouting, everything fades. Mumbling, rustling, more poking and prodding, but no longer the fury inside, but the exterior tools and materials to save him.

Save him? Why save him?

That contradicting, self-righteous, unpredictable mongrel that calls himself King. At least he has the balls to admit he's terrible. What's terrible is the headache. Radiating across the brain, eyes forced shut, not time to wake up. Slumbering quietly, hoping it would get better. Unfamiliar smells, unfamiliar murmuring, he wants to beg them to stop. He wants to go home. Home...

Familiar voices now, the shifting of his body, bones aching, protesting! No, don't move! A low, rumbling groan, teeth flashing in the filtered light. Weak, unstable, on the brink of leaving it all. A faint, soft, tender light. So bright, so white, so tempting. What if he just headed toward it? It felt so warm, so inviting. Would the light end the pain?

Time. More time passes. He can't keep track. His body is focusing on getting better. A miracle is what he calls it in his mind. In his head, that puny brain of his head, whooping for joy because he can live to breathe another day. Time is still passing though. His eyes open first, fluttering, carefully peering through at that bright light. So it's not the other side, its home. He could nearly cry. They'd come back for him.

Words don't leave. Eyes watching, body still, doing whatever the brown boy says to him. Eat, drink, take this, do that. Body weary, bones creaky, nothing is right. Weak, too weak to stand. Time passes, more and more until he can shakily sit. Trembling, forcing himself to do it. The boy tells him he has to. Must if he wants to see tomorrow. If his body deteriorates, he's better off dead.

Death is on his mind more often than not. Practically ignoring those around him, he finally makes his way outside. It isn't the treehouse, they'd said that would be too dangerous. No, moved into the moor, safer, easier to move. It didn't matter to him. He was home.

Sitting in the field of wilting flowers and mist, he is unmoving. A statue, watching the world around him. Seeing the ravine in the distance, feeling the breeze carry from the south, his mind moves instead. Planning, calculating, thinking. Words were useless. Actions would prove it all.

The Raid King, Gilgamesh