Flames

My friend, again you return,?
To a land that you vowed to leave forever?
Perhaps this time, to bring an end
To the tragic story that was penned.

He strode ahead, through the thick underbrush of dumbapple trees, and Banora White shrubs, onto a cliff overlooking the old town. The wind moaned a mournful, high pitched howl, and behind him, the rustling and creaking of the trees could be heard. Faintly, very faintly. Soft, but yet, ever-present; unavoidable; inevitable. It lay just within his hearing, scything through his mind, agonizing, its source unidentifiable. Perturbed, he sat, and looked down.

Along with the wind came a sight he had attempted to evade for many years now. A quaint old village, small and petite, with small wisps of smoke wafting above it. One of the last of its kind, it stood, defiantly, in the small clearing before him. It had been awhile, but it looked the same, unchanged, unaffected by the passing of time. He stood, abruptly. It may be unchanged, but he was no longer the same person he used to be. Fire filled his mind, and ice gathered in his heart.

No. He was most definitely not the same.

Two long years had past since he last stepped into the village. Two long years since he left this place, left the indignities it had thrown at him, and sworn never to return. Two long years, he had bided his time, waited, ever so patiently. But no more. It was time. It was most definitely time.

He tread his way along the path, looking ahead, seeing the village, silent, and ever so foreboding,  grow larger before him. He looked about him, at the dumbapple trees overlooking the path, and the ravens perched upon the branches. As he walked, the ravens looked on, beady yellow eyes trained upon his every move. A raven crowed, a tragic cry morphing rapidly into the moan of the wind.

He shivered. How he hated these thing. Waving his hand, he yelled "Begone!" Insolent things. How he wanted to kill then, to burn the flock, one by one. He shrugged mentally. Not now, he had more important things on his agenda. This affront can wait.

Striding through the village, he glared at the gawking villages. Ruddy bumkins. So what if he decided to return? What was it to them? He knew they were staring, so he glared right back. He swept past one of the old oil deposits only used by villages such as these. One of those stupid old fashioned things part of this old fashioned village. Downright stupid. pointless, idiotic waste of space. Not to mention fire hazard.

He stopped, at the door of the house directly beside the oil deposit, turning to face the old woman that had just come out of the house. While stooped, and aged, she still kept herself immaculately groomed, clutching at the last vestiges of pride and dignity. Peering up at his face, she spoke, quietly, "So, you are back, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am, and for good reason."

She turned to the onlooking crowd, "Its just a visit, from my... son. I'll be fine", turning to him, she continued " Let's talk inside". He laughed, without mirth. "As you say.... mother" he spat. She walked through the doorway, and the door shut, with a muffled, fatalistic, thump.

To a distant observer, there would be no way to see what was happening within. The dark damp cottage had little in the way of windows, the few of those were covered with dark cretonne drapes. If one paid close enough attention, one might have heard the soft murmur of conversation, tense, and hushed.

The atmosphere in the cottage was static, each comment passed brought out a spark of anger and resentment. It wasnt long before the conversation grew louder, more intense, and the him yelling in fury and frustration, and her following with a terse and short retaliation. The door flew open, and he came stomping out, shouting.

"Its all your fault, that I'm like that!  If you had been more careful, more caring, and less of a conceited egocentric nut, all would be well!"

A soft reply, conciliatory.

"I don't need your concern! Its too late! Its 20 years too late!" She stretched out her hand, reaching out to him, but he slapped it away. "Go away! I don't need your false sympathy, or your hypocrisy!" He slammed the door shut, in her face.

She sank back down onto the chair, placing her head between her hands, warm tears streaming down her face. She wanted to scream, to shout, just like him, to lose control of herself like he was doing. But she couldn't. She had her dignity, and her honour. Her frame shook as she wavered, on the brink of an emotional breakdown, the sheer force of her will holding her back. She couldn't lose control of herself. Not even now. But did he think she wanted to? Did he think she had a choice? She didn't, not then, not now. Did he think her unaffected, and not hurt by the happenings of the past. She was! Even more so than he. Guilt rushed up to her heart, trammelling and stoppering up the access of other emotions. Her head clouded, and her frame wilted.

She reached over wrapping her hands around the knife on the utensils rack. Slowly, gradually, she placed the knife on her wrist, and sliced. The blood rushed out of the severed artery, warm, emotional, and unburdened, it poured out onto the table. Free and unrestrained by the confines of her frame, her blood splashed across the surface, and dripped down the sides of the table, onto the floor. Gillian closed her eyes, as life left her, and the last thought that inched, sluggishly, across her rapidly fading mind was: I'm sorry, Angeal.

In a frenzy of rage and anger, he sprinted back up the path, back to the cliff that overlooked the village. Hand trembling with frustrating, he took out the detonator from his pocket, and detonated the package lying in the oil deposit. The explosion ignited a large portion of the village, and the hungry flame licked at the remainder, devouring all that was in sight.

Screams and shouts came from the houses, as the villagers scrambled to extinguish the fire, but to no avail. The ravens took off, squawking in surprise and indignation, a dark flock obscuring the sun.

The ravens faded into the distance, a dark spot slowly growing smaller and smaller. They were unscathed, with the exception of two ravens. Smoking, and wings charred, the two ravens plummetted from the sky, flapping its wings rapidly, but without avil. Slowly, they tumbled from the sky, crashing on the floor, dead.

He watched the ravens fall from the sky , but felt no joy. Sweeping his long hair aside, he placed his palm on his scarred face. On the twenty year old burn scar tissues that covered more than half his countenance. The features that got him branded a freaker, delinquant and criminal. The features created by his mother, by leaving his cot beside the flames. He closed his eyes. Retribution. At last. How long he had waited for that moment.

Slowly, he turned around, his back facing the flames that engulfed the village behind him. Eyes shut, Angeal leapt, gracefully, off the cliff, into the flames. A silent spark, finally extinguished.

The flames began to die down, as the fuel slowly ran out. All but one of the dumbapples had been burnt, and the final one hung, smoking, on a charred branch, as flames slowly consumed it from within. Burnt out, hollowed, and drained of all moisture, the dumbapple slowly fell to the floor. Upon impact, the dumbapple disintegrated, joining the ashes on the floor.

With a final majestic groan, the dumbapple tree followed suit. Burnt, and weary of fighting, the tree collapsed, disintegrating, and joining the dumbapples ashes on the burnt clearing floor.

The fire burnt itself out, eventually. The proud quaint village, was no more, burnt into nothing but wifts of smoke rising into the sky, joining the clouds above, finally free.

At last, free.

Slowly, it begun to rain.

Ash to ashes, and dust to dust. What begun in flames ended in flames. Angeal was finally home, and at last, he, was free.

My friend, do you fly away now?
To a world that abhors you and I?
All that awaits you is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow