A Day In The Life

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

((Im really writing these for my own personal enjoyment but I figured I'd put them up here because why not?))

13th of Snow's Maiden, 1480

For the first time since my memory returned, I feel like my past belongs to me. After I'd consumed that golden apple my mind was blurry, distorted at best and empty at worst. As I began my recovery, the memories seeping back into my mind seemed distant, like they had happened to another person instead of me.

I believe that was partly due to my own efforts. I had of course wiped my own memory as a way to escape my past, so naturally, I feared it's return.

It wasn't bad at first. I relived my first kiss. My wedding day. Teaching my little Alex'ii how to ride. I saw myself sparring with Varlan Gerofe, the only man I ever considered calling a brother. I watched as I cavorted across Anthos with Isabella dressed in ridiculous pirate outfits, mildly confusing townsfolk wherever we wandered.

It was wonderful. But I was not a fool. I knew I had chosen to destroy these memories for a reason. Dark visions had begun to become omnipresent, a looming presence like thunder clouds on the horizon. I was sailing directly towards those clouds and eventually I entered the storm.

I watched a woman of deathly pale skin approach me with a flaying knife. I felt the bite and the sting of the ice she had summoned clinging to my leg, pinning me to the ground. I saw lightning crash down on her. I heard her scream as electricity coursed through her body, I felt her spasms, I saw her head explode as she fell to the ground, twitching. It took me a moment to realize it was me who had brought down the wrath of god on her. I never felt more powerful.

The next day I dreamt of a pit.

I was at the bottom. The air smelt sickly of coal, tar, and burning flesh. Rubble of stone and splintered wood obscured the path between me and the surface so thoroughly I could only make out several thin beams of sunlight from above. I was sweaty, I couldn't feel my leg, my left arm had been shredded of most of its skin and my head pounded at me relentlessly, so viciously I could hardly think.

As I began to climb, other visions clouded my mind. I was back on the surface. I saw roaring spheres of fire rocketing towards a grand castle. I heard men screaming and the sound of metal clashing. I heard the repetition of my own breath as I sprinted towards my goal, arrows whizzing by me and gurgling death cries dominating my ears. I didn't see the murder hole in front of me until I had begun tumbling down it.

I didn't want to die like this. I refused to die like this. I spit out a glob of blood and picked up an axe with the clenched fist of a dismembered hand attached to it. I was going to climb my way out of this pit. It was then I heard the groan. An unholy sound, I looked up and saw a tidal wave of dust, a hailstorm of stone. A tower had collapsed. It had collapsed over my pit. I was sealed---

 

 

Artimec's wrist paused mid sentence, he stared at the papyrus he'd been writing on for the last hour as if it had suddenly revealed some form of dark intent to him. The sleepless rings under his eyes darkened as his frail fingers clenched around his work, creasing the once smooth sheet. Gritting his teeth with grim resolve, he clenched his fist and crushed his precious papyrus with a resounding 'crinkle', tossing his newest failure into the corner of the room carelessly.

 

The room was situated in a giant birch tree, but the living space itself was tiny. A single candle sitting on the worn mahogany desk kept the room dimly lit, it's flickering enticing shadows to dance along the walls.

 

The sunken eyes of the old wood elf fluttered shut as his palms came to rest on his cheeks, hunching over in his seat. He'd hoped that writing these memories down would finally expel them from his mind. He'd hoped that by confronting them, he would conquer them.

 

He retreated to his shabby woolen cot and sat cross legged on its surface, letting his unkempt and wild red hair obscure his marred facial features. He inhaled and exhaled with even precision. Meditation was a good way for the elf to keep himself sane. It didn't make his visions go away permanently of course, they would always be back, but it gave him peace of mind, if only for a short while.

 

Why keep struggling?

 

Artimec's eye twitched, he didn't betray his meditational pose. It was the voice. A little sound bite in his mind that nagged at him. Berated him. Judged him.

 

It's your life. You don't owe anyone anything.

 

That's not true. It'd be selfish to the people who care for me.

 

No one cares for you anymore. Even if they did, who are they to make that decision for you?

 

People still care for me.

 

Really now? Like who?

 

...Nienna.

 

She tolerates you, why do you think she refuses to teach you her magic? She doesn't trust you.

 

Pebble.

 

The prodigal daughter. And what happens to her after the druii have gotten through to her mind?

 

Artimec's ears drooped, he tensed up, then forced himself to relax in his meditative pose as a futile attempt to purge his mind from these thoughts.

 

Come now, your other daughter is a frozen corpse left behind on a flooded continent. Your son has always seen you as a deadbeat. Isabella, she saw you as a brother, but you wanted more, you ruined your chance to be close to her in ANY way with your selfishness. And Mayilu...

 

A snarl escapes Artimec's lips, his elven ears pinning against his head, his previously splayed palms clench into angry fists as he tenses up like a board once more.

 

Don't bring up Mayilu.

 

You haven't been very good to her.

 

I'm done talking to you.

 

Anger and guilt spend a lot of time in each other's company.

 

Artimec opened his eyes and rose to his feet, a desperate wild look in his eyes. His pupils were akin to that of a cornered deer. He forced himself to take three deep breaths. Inhale... Exhale...

 

"Maybe a walk will help clear my mind." he murmurs aloud to himself. He walked to his door and slowly pushed it open, a feeble creaking heard from its hinges.

 

It was the wee hours of dawn, the dim orange gleam of the rising sun shone through the thick canopy of Lin'ame's tree homes in thin beams. By all accounts a beautiful morning, but Art had lost the ability to appreciate such things long ago. He remembered something his father once told him.

 

"A good day is when you go to bed with less problems than you woke up with. I've yet to live a good day."

 

On that note, he stepped forth into the outside world and embracing the rising sun, hoping for a good day.

[Glyc 234]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.