wu
He wasn’t quite certain if he would be deemed fortunate or not. He wasn’t neglected, per say- it was simply the way of life. You birth, you raise, and you let go. It was the ‘let go’ part that Wu was struggling with. It was the listlessness of not knowing where he fit in, where he belonged, what he should do. Should the anger be roiling inside of him that so soon his mother and father would be ready and willing to procreate again? Should he just be satisfied that he had made it out alive, weaned and willing? How do you quell anger with justification? How do you balance between knowing what is right, and what you want?
Wu wasn’t sure if he knew the fairies- but he felt them in the marrow of his bones. Something was there- even if he could not put a finger to it. A tickle in his throat, a sneeze in the depths of his lungs, a calling to the afterlife and equally strong begging toward the flora beneath him. It felt like a tear in his already unstructured life- living and dead, the dark and the light. Where did the faeries want him to be? Why was he placed here just to grow and grieve and destroy or culture everything in between?
Why are there never answers when he asks?
And then - her smile. A sunlight stretching across his feeble attempts of turning death into life. She is a mirror of the sky- golden eyed and untainted; something that has never seen a black day. She is a wonder in the tragic death below him. She is a sight to see. She is sipping tea from the petals of his creations, her lips a delicate rosebud on the tip of his unseasoned flowers. She is such innocence in the sight of insolence, and he is besmirched in the ever-enveloping darkness of her skin. How can something so beautiful hatch from something so dark?
Her delicate head dips toward the tragic mess of his magic- and he almost wants to shy away from the thing he created from the gaps in his lackluster life. But she.. appreciates it? Sees it for more than what it is- and perhaps is even in wonderment of the small splash of color in the curling brown earth beneath them. He looks at her, the last of the yellow hues fading away, the magic gone.
“I wasn’t really sure that I could do that, either. I think I’m learning.” She mentions glaciers - something he knew little of, but had heard whispers of those towering icy behemoths. He was quite sure they were made of ice - but the lass looked to be dark in hue. Until, that is, he sees the wisp of glimmer coming from her nose. ‘’You can make… magic? What is it?’’ The word ice, or snow - is almost foreign to him - something he had rarely seen. It is more like magic to him. “I’m Wu. That’s all my mother ever called me… Where is your mother? Did she leave you too?”
Wu wasn’t sure if he knew the fairies- but he felt them in the marrow of his bones. Something was there- even if he could not put a finger to it. A tickle in his throat, a sneeze in the depths of his lungs, a calling to the afterlife and equally strong begging toward the flora beneath him. It felt like a tear in his already unstructured life- living and dead, the dark and the light. Where did the faeries want him to be? Why was he placed here just to grow and grieve and destroy or culture everything in between?
Why are there never answers when he asks?
And then - her smile. A sunlight stretching across his feeble attempts of turning death into life. She is a mirror of the sky- golden eyed and untainted; something that has never seen a black day. She is a wonder in the tragic death below him. She is a sight to see. She is sipping tea from the petals of his creations, her lips a delicate rosebud on the tip of his unseasoned flowers. She is such innocence in the sight of insolence, and he is besmirched in the ever-enveloping darkness of her skin. How can something so beautiful hatch from something so dark?
Her delicate head dips toward the tragic mess of his magic- and he almost wants to shy away from the thing he created from the gaps in his lackluster life. But she.. appreciates it? Sees it for more than what it is- and perhaps is even in wonderment of the small splash of color in the curling brown earth beneath them. He looks at her, the last of the yellow hues fading away, the magic gone.
“I wasn’t really sure that I could do that, either. I think I’m learning.” She mentions glaciers - something he knew little of, but had heard whispers of those towering icy behemoths. He was quite sure they were made of ice - but the lass looked to be dark in hue. Until, that is, he sees the wisp of glimmer coming from her nose. ‘’You can make… magic? What is it?’’ The word ice, or snow - is almost foreign to him - something he had rarely seen. It is more like magic to him. “I’m Wu. That’s all my mother ever called me… Where is your mother? Did she leave you too?”
@[Roselin] .. this was written over three days. so sorry if it's all over the place.