Herald
10.18.09
Your Herald has come a long way to arrive at this doorstep. However, he remembers little, if nothing. What of his childhood, his falling, his rebirth, the sacrifice made to him to make him what he is today? There's no immediate sign of a past, just a future before him.
What are his thoughts on his situation? Where does he go from here? Does he have any idea of his past or himself, even the sketchiest details?
In Which There is a Beginning
When the snow fell around him for the first time in a long time, he shuddered, taking in a breath that seemed foreign like the snow, tearing through his lungs like so many pointed needles. He breathed again. Air passed through him haltingly as if unsure of where to go in the vast newness of his body. If he stopped, it hurt, the cold burning like fire within him until those wispy puffs of air forced their way out and found a steady rhythm once again.
Silence seemed to cling to the place where he lay, seeping into the very snow that cushioned his body and made him cold. He could hear nothing but his own labored breathing and a strange echo that reverberated deep inside of him. A beating heart his sluggish mind supplied in a curious eagerness. Somehow though, the thought seemed wrong. A heart? He tried desperately to understand the meaning of this, but his focus trickled away like the snow melting on his skin.
He tried to think of something easier, anything to help him remember. Remember what, he didn’t know, only feeling that there was something that he should know. His name? He tried to think, tried to pull the characters of his own name to mind. There was only blindingly hot pain and he cried out, the white of the world turning inward until it he was he who was white, who was nothing. He screamed again, the sound hoarse, this time bringing with it the taste of copper to the back of his tongue and more heat.
Splayed as his body was across the snow like some dirty smudge, he couldn’t bring his numb limbs to move. Not even the smallest of twitches. There was only pain and cold and fire. He hadn’t even opened his eyes, to weak to peel back the lashes frozen to his pale cheeks.
How long he lay in the silence of the white world, he wasn’t sure. There was nothing beyond him, no past or future, only a present that seemed to have halted like a pair of rusted cogs. He wondered over his fate and the unfamiliar ache of a body that wasn‘t his own. It wasn’t until the crunching of boots reached his ears that his mind ceased its frantic, pitiful circles.
He listened now, the debilitating silence shattered by a gentle voice that was muffled by the now falling snow. He didn’t understand the voice above him. The words were heavy and thick to him, lacking a forgotten elegance. Why? The question suddenly raged through him, boiling to the surface, threatening to explode. WHY! His mind raged at him. Why, why, why?
“Why?” Asked a confused voice, alight with worry. “You’ll get sick.” After that, white turned into blessed black, enfolding him into an unfeeling blanket of forgetful oblivion.
