#untilipassout

"A place to experience the true survival of the fittest!" or at least that's what advertisements and pundits claimed when the lock down began. If fact, you could still make out those bygone slogans, almost hidden by the soot and slime created by the touted progress. Holo ads vainly attempted to cover up these despondent heralds; they must have been put up a long time ago, when people still pretended to give a damn. Stairs, well those still existed in a few places, cover by some new dispersal awning which did an admirable job of keeping the stairs dry. It seemed to do this to all liquids though, taking all of the coffee from my dispenser; left a metallic taste in my mouth too.

There was no way to tell what was getting mixed into the rain today, as people dashed from overhang to overhang, trying not to get. It seemed like they wanted to avoid the dispersal shields too. Their choice to avoid the rain seemed sound, as it formed into serpentine puddles which wove their way over shoes, down legs, and up sheer inclines.That was apparently progress, or an accident, didn't really matter nowadays.

A smile which might have been able to be interpreted as apologetic graced my lips as I stepped into a building, letting a few of the serpenty puddles glide into the building. The doorman didn't seem to buy it, but he allowed me to enter the foyer. "If you don't have an appointment you can go stand in the rain outside," the secretary said, eyes not leaving her computer screen. "I do have an appointment with the Boss."

Where is the point at which our will evaporates, not subjugated to a higher power, but bound to another? When actions and words previously held as heinous roll from the tongue and body as an extension of another.

Miranda never warned me about this, but then again I doubt she would have wanted me to realize such an option was imminent. She is the fire which purges away both the pure and impure, leaving only the worthy and the true in her wake. I now bear the censer.

Even before I bound myself to her and her cause I had been informed of this impending responsibility. The corruption she had been exposed to far exceed the amount necessary to kill twenty men and, as such, her days were numbered. This was only natural, she explained, just as a fire will eventually run out of fuel, sputter, and die, so must she. In fact, the blood on her hands demanded it.

Nothing was sacred in her quest. I had seen her torture innocent men and women, sacrifice hostages for one good shot, and double cross any and everyone, myself included, all in the name of destroying evil. Those who claimed that she simply replaced one evil with another, an oppressor's blade with hers gave pause a the inevitability and speed at which death dragged her into its grasp. Her goal was to be the fire, to purge and die, leaving ashes to nourish the coming spring.

I am now the fire. I know not when the realization occurred. The very reasons that her fire so appalled me, causing me to cut its blaze short began to haunt me. I had believed that enough destruction had been wrought. I  had believed that enough innocents had suffered and died for her quest. I had believed that she had made a difference. I had.

The rapes, the murders, the kidnappings, extortion, bribery, theft, assault, addiction, abuse whirled around me, mocking her actions and the sacrifices she, and others had given. The world was not purged. It still reeked with sickness and decay.

My master began to whisper to me, in the tormented maelstrom she taunted me, mocked me, showed me every error and flaw I made in the name of mercy.

Six weeks ago I went digging. Her hands still grasped her blades as tightly as ever as I tore them from her cold fingers.

My master still speaks to me, whispering her siren song of a heat which will purge the corruption from the world. I can simply obey, drawn as a moth to a flame by the cold of the world. Just as my master before me I will be consumed by the blaze.

Whelp yet another post down. I apologize for the time I took off, Torchlight and Diablo II consumed a few of my evenings. Once again I'm sure the grammar is atrocious and I thank you for the time you gave up wading through it.

Until I take your time from you again,

"School's a drag."

"Oh come on Emile. It's not that bad and if you actually applied yourself you could learn something.

"Sure, sure"

"Well this is my stop. Seeya at school tomorrow."

"Yeah seeya." A hand waved halfheartedly as the short brunette walked down the street.

"Oh," she turned, looking back at the tousled, slouching figure. "We've got a History test on Wednesday. Don't forget to study!"

"Yeah, yeah." the boy swatted the air in front of him, attempting to bat away the call to be responsible. "Whatever." He turned and continued down the street, disappearing behind the fence.

"I swear he's never going to learn," the girl muttered to herself as she continued on her way.

Emile was a good kid, but he'd been slower to talk and read than most and, as such had placed in the lower tiers of classes. He'd accepted the labels of id'jit, fool, and slow, becoming that which people regarded him as for no reason other than laziness. Well no other reasons that she could ascertain.

Finally, with college applications imminent, a teacher had recognized the potential that Emile possessed and approached her about tutoring the boy. There really wasn't that much to do after school with sports slowly being weeded out in favor of more and more academic support so she accepted, mainly out of boredom. The tutorign sessions had become longer and longer at the teacher's request and a purple-red sunset greeted the remainder of her walk home. He really just did not want to work, if only--

"Ms. Richards?" An urbane voice shook her form her thoughts. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk a young man beckoned her over. "Do hurry, you're late."

"What? Did I forget an appointment for Father's work?" Something rose in her mind 'flee.' The shadow the man cast was no darker than hers and a genuine smile played on his lips yet the rabbit within her stirred.

A hand was on her shoulder, its firm weight encouraging her not to worry, to trust. Long orange hair cascaded over the woman's shoulders and her green eyes burned with uncomfortable intensity as she steered the girl towards the suit.

"That's not a natural color," the girl remarked, eying the woman's hair. 'Flee! Flee!' "What sort of dye did you use?"

"Aww Hawke she's such a cutie" the woman cooed, "I like her."

"Ambrosia you haven't met her yet," the man sternly replied. "Now miss I must inform you that you are quite late. My associate and I rarely have this much trouble finding someone with a spark as great as yours."

'Flee. The rabbit senses the hawk above. It feels the talons cutting the air above it. It is not time to run, not yet. The hawk sees it, but it cannot strike, not yet. Wait just a bit longer'

"Unfortunately m'am I must inform you that your time is up. Events must continue on the ordained path and a spark such as yourself represents to great of a potential. Please understand and accept my apologies." He swept forward in an ornate bow, knowing eyes touching hers. Pitch black on bright blue.

'FLEE! The rabbbit bolts, knowing that the talons already possess its ;ife. A desperate, futile gesture of life attempting to break through the ties that bind. Sudden, crushing jolt. Pain, ice cold floods the prey.....and then it is gone.'

"It's sad."

"Why is that Ambrosia?"

"the brightest sparks always taste the nicest, but the world is so much darker after they leave. It's very sad isn't it Hawke."

"Yes my dear, but then again, the world must turn."

Woot! First dialogue of the blog! And the first terrible rhyme. Thsi is my new envisioning of a story I wrote back in high school and dthe only one I finished in those four years that wasn't for a grade. If memory serves, it originated from an odd dream, but now I'm blathering. As always apologies for the poor grammar.

Until the next time you donate me your free time,