12-07-2017, 10:05 PM
Gunsynd
(last night i got high
as your expectations)
He had decided to remain. What had gone into that decision was still unclear. Every day was a waking nightmare - ghosts of memories around every corner. Who knew that ghosts could cause so much pain?
He could easily disappear once more and become one with the atmosphere for however long it suited him. He had done so innumerable times and wasted many a year in such a way. Maybe, if he waited long enough, his memories would return and all would be well. Maybe not. Or he could try and simply outlive all that claimed to know him or of his past. It would be a simple trick were it not for the numerous immortals that infested Beqanna’s shores. Ultimately, it was his stubbornness that won out. He did not want to wait and hide – that sounded much too dull.
So instead he has decided to remain, but not in the way he has been thus far. No, hiding in the shadows in fear of his pain and constant struggle was not his style. He would recreate himself. Why had it not occurred to him before?
For one final time he allows himself to fall apart. His atoms mix with the land around him – swirling in the ebb of the river, blowing in the breeze, dripping off a blade of grass. He enjoys the dynamic stillness, the vacant completeness of being. A moment passes in this way (or is it an hour? A day?) and then he begins…
The stallion appears from thin air fully formed and as if he had always been there. A handsome flea-bitten grey, toned muscles and angular features. Not as tall, or as heavy as he had been but still a respectable size. His mane and tail flow free of his signature mats, his usually dark eyes are now a crystalline blue. His scent has been wiped clean by his time deconstructed and now he smells of little more than the riverbank. He is reborn.