He began his life taking from the land, relying on nobody but himself to see to his survival. He explored such beautiful things so young: The way those southerly sands shifted like beige waves in the great desert oceans, shimmering and glittering little imaginary gemstones with the aid of that scorching sun which made your tongue go dry and throat go hoarse if you didn’t drink enough water. Or how the east ebbed and flowed with her endless plains, those gentle declivities never seeming to end, only to shift in it’s inclines and dives into the earth.
He ended his life taking from man, trusting them. He explored such beautiful things so long ago. The way the city toiled with treachery now filled him with bittersweet memories, wondering if the rose tinted glasses had truly been on for so long. Shimmering and glittering imaginary coins that claimed to buy enough water to douse the sun always fell short of their promises. Gentle words that whispered reassurances as they plotted for their own gain. The scales weighed, shifting only as fingers pressed down, diving the balance in favor of another.
A rush of blood to the head. He felt it leak down him as he panted, sweat and sinew lining his visage as his chest continued to breath in and out, adrenaline dying as he stood next to the corpses of two beasts which breathed terrible fire, charring the land about him. What took five men to kill one of Alec did so singularly with two. Was this not a sign? Surely it was. Those cowards had not the guts, had not his burning will. He was to be a great slayer amongst men, accepting no payment aside from the glory of battle. How noble of him, he thought to himself, grinning ear to ear as he began to find in his victory hubris.
It burned. He felt it wrap around his head as the flames charred flesh and maimed him, the crossbow bolt erupting into forsaken flames activated by a rush of blood to the head. Traitors, cowards, fools deluded by their own sense of grandeur believing themselves higher than what they swore to: hubris. They looked over him with a sneer, the beings which Alec would have tossed coins as payment to now tying him up, carrying him off. It took the work of five to fell him, one small victory in his defeat. He at least, did not fall singularly.
“Oh, Alec!” The man grunted, the woman gasped, hands gripped onto flesh as the bones sparked with electricity. Gentle words and sweet whispered nothings filled the air as man and woman met. Oh it was such a pleasant burning passion, that act of union. He found it utterly encapsulating, perhaps the one pleasure he could allow himself too. It wasn’t a drug, but it offered euphoria. It was worth all the mina in the world, but there was no price put on such a thing. And so did love and lust mix as the sweat poured down, with a rush of blood to the head. And so he fell into it, like a sweet daydream, or midday fever.
“Oh Alec!” How many times had he heard that? The man grunted, the woman gasped, the hands gripping onto meat that held no feeling as the years wore on, his sensation being lost from the pounds of flesh removed from his body. They still came to him with their lustful looks, not minding the metal appendages and ugly wounds which despite having healed left their mark on the man like how wine stains the teeth. It was a drug, certainly. It felt less and less, craved more and more. Did he love them? Did it matter? It was a drug and he needed it's relief, however painful the morning after would be. And so he fell into it, like a mundane nightmare, or burning fever.
A child he was, carried in the arms of souls which were more knowing, infinitely more wiser than he. He looked up. Lucky to be alive, luckier still to not have lost limbs- all this luck that eluded men stuck to him like flies on spread honey- perhaps it was GOD, he wondered, that creator which had formed him from flesh like one sculpted clay gifting unto him a lesser divinity- destined for greatness. Destiny, Alec thought, was something he could live with.
He carried him in his arms, cradling a broken form of a young boy that when looked at he only saw himself. Honor and hope and all good things as stated to be by GOD, crushed by bad luck. It eluded him there, letting another being live. The bone turned to meat as the flies stuck to the body like spread honey, and Alec wept at how lucky he was. Lucky to be alive, luckier still to have survived without a scratch whilst he looked on at this child that had died. How bittersweet. He did not feel lucky.
He was a father. He looked down upon them as he beamed with pride, knowing that they’d go farther than he ever would. He would give them advantage, providing them his knowledge, his tools, his flesh and blood was here before him, birthed from a woman he loved so dearly. It was a perfect munality. He celebrated good fortune and vast wealth in a farmhouse, for a time taking up the plow and laying down the blade, at the behest of a woman who deemed it so. And life went on, and life was good if but for awhile, his story seeming to just begin with them.
He was a sinner. Was it wrong? Surely not. A father was to love their sons more than life itself, and he had certainly proven that as the noose tightened around his neck. He loved them, his sons. His burning suns which light up charred skies. He would not live to see it, but they would. In a rush of blood to the head did he hit her, frenzied by the thought of his suns being extinguished from his life, their light ripped from his grip by a woman he loved. He felt sick, the betrayal went farther than any blade or bite would. His flesh and blood was there before him, a hand of meat and one of metal laying on the base of the gallows, cut off by a man whom loved that woman less than he. He knew it was less. He knew. And as he heard the crank of a lever, he knew that the story had only just begun. Why must it end so abruptly? And life went on as he saw her eyes. He wondered if -
The crack of a neck. The meat hung.
So it goes.