01-08-2018, 08:22 AM
 how many times can i break 'till i shatter?
over the line, can't define what i'm after Syntribos has nightmares, often. He dreams of the father he never met showing up suddenly and beating him to a bloody pulp. He sees the unblinking, dead eyes of his mother gazing up at him in disappointment. He feels the hot breath of strangers at his back, chasing him away from their established cliques, never allowing him close enough to become a part of anything fulfilling. But the worst isn't a frightful illusion that fades behind his eyelids whenever he awakens. It's a memory. He was but a colt of nine months when he learned what his place in this world truly is. He remembers how he could hear them whispering. An oxymoron if he'd ever heard of one. Loudly, they whispered. Whether they thought they were being discreet enough, or simply didn't care if he heard, Syn couldn't have been certain. But their voices drifted easily over the grassy knoll, so he listened. "Oh, it's his fault, to be sure. She barely eats or sleeps, she doesn't talk to anyone anymore. In fact, I think the last word she spoke was when she named the little bastard the day of his birth. The poor dear. Barely three summers old and she had motherhood thrust upon her so brutally." The mare's low tones were memorable. Scratchy, maternal, but in a way that made you feel she must be the strict disciplinarian type. Another mare spoke then, nasal and grating to the ears. "Yes, she's fallen into such a depression. I worry she won't be with us much longer if she keeps this up. But who knows, she used to always be so feisty. And that name she gave her colt!" A menacing cackle. "Brilliant. I'm surprised she had it in her, to be honest." "Why? What does it mean?" This voice was high and soft, a younger mare. Possibly even one his mother used to play with while growing up, before her youth had been stolen from her. The scratchy-voiced mare spoke up again. "Remember the storíes passed on to us by our ancestors, the one about the great stallion who worked hard to protect his herd, and so his numbers grew into the hundreds? If you'll recall, the entire herd was eventually wiped out, because of something a malevolent spirit did." Syn had felt chills creep up his spine then. He'd heard many tales of the great stallion, even that his herd eventually disappeared. But he had never heard how it happened. He crept forward, ears pricked. The mare resumed her story. "The spirit grew attached to the great stallion, after observing his deeds of courage and strength. Some would say it was love, others would call it possessiveness. The spirit disguised itself as a beautiful mare to lure him away from sight. Once it had brought the great stallion far enough away, it told him that it wished to lead the herd beside him, as his second. But the great stallion already had a lead mare who was loyal and good, so he refused. The spirit revealed itself then in a fury and demanded the great stallion battle with it, and that if it won it would become the new lead mare forever, through all his future generations that lead. But if the great stallion won, he could keep his lead mare, and the spirit would never bother him again. The great stallion showed no fear. He accepted." The young mare gasped. "So what happened? Who won?" She asked, as if she had heard the same question that had vibrated with curiosity in Syn's mind. "Scouts from the herd discovered him later, after he had been gone for longer than usual. It seemed that almost every bone in the great stallion's body had been shattered. And with that, it was as if the herd had shattered as well. First in spirit. Then one by one, they left, were stolen away, or were killed off until there were none. Oddly enough, the spirit had never tried to lead the herd after the stallion's death. In fact, it disappeared, never heard of or glimpsed again. Some say the spirit hadn't meant to kill the one it loved, and so it ran off in remorse. Others say it meant to kill him from the beginning, in order to watch the herd die slowly without their leader. No one knows for sure, but it's a fitting name either way." "Wait, so did she name her colt after the great stallion or the spirit?" The nasal voice snorted, throwing herself back into the conversation. "Why, the shatterer, of course. Syntribos." Syn could remember the sudden collapse of his lungs, then. It had been as though all the air was sucked from them. He had to fight for his breath to return to him. When it had, he turned and ran, ran, ran. Skin itching and stretched too tight over burning muscle and achy bone. He hadn't been sure where he was going until he had spotted his mother just ahead, lying in her usual spot by an old oak tree, the sunset casting her in a soft pink glow. He could see her eyes were glazed and unfocused as ever. She had paid no mind to his panting as he came to a stop beside her. "Mother..." He'd gasped out, heart squeezing in hurt and fear. "Mother, is it true? You named me after the shatterer spirit?" For the first time since Syn could remember, when his mother had turned to him the cloudiness of her eyes had cleared for but a moment, recognition in their depths. "It is what you are. We can spend our lives denying the truth, or we can accept it. You came into existence by shattering the lives of those around you. You are Syntribos. Curse, gift, inevitable life-shatterer." Her look began to grow distant again. "You were born into a brittle shell of a world. What will you shatter next, my son?" He could remember the feeling of confusion, shame, and despair well. His mother rarely recognized him, let alone felt the urge to respond to his questions or ramblings. But to reply in such a way... it had cut him deeply. He knew she was broken as a result of his birth, but he'd never realized just how extensive the damage was. Not that any of it had mattered much in the long run. In the morning she was gone; absconded under the cover of night. It was days later, some older colts wandering too far from the herd's territory, that they found her. She was only bits and pieces, and bones that had been shattered by the jaws of a beast. Syn had thought it only fitting that what was left of her body ended up matching what was left of her mind. He had to force the memory of the great stallion and the shatterer spirit tale from his thoughts when they attempted to create a parallel. He was not a malevolent spirit. He did not lure away and murder his mother. But the others all openly glared at him as if he had. So he had left the next night. Somehow he'd known he would end up just like her if he stayed. And he wasn't about to let his life shatter when it had only just begun. His time with the band of bachelors he'd joined up with later on as a yearling had been enlightening in many ways. But that came to a swift end after two shaky years, when the lead stallion saw fit to let Syn know very clearly that he'd overstayed his welcome. He bears the scar of that message still, a jagged mark on his left cheek, just under his eye. He got lucky in the placement of the wound. He could have easily been blinded. Still, he can't say he hates it entirely. He's already somewhat on the small side--particularly for a fully-grown stallion--and of slighter build. From far away he could pass as a stocky mare. He feels the scar makes him look a bit tougher. Like he's survived some intense scrapes, emerged a victor. No one needs to know the truth of the situation surrounding how he got it. Let them think he fought off a ravenous wolf. Gods know he'd never actually prevail in a real battle. After he'd been chased away, he'd wandered alone for months. And just when he had begun to give up on living, certain he would never see another living soul again, here he is. This place is unlike any he's ever seen before in his travels. Despite the bite of winter, it is beautiful. The snow glistens almost ethereally, sunlight reflecting off just enough crystal snowflakes to create a lair of sparkles across the ground. A few evergreens dot the landscape's outskirts with rich, contrasting color. Syn sucks in a breath, and the air is fresh and crisp, and with it brings the scent of other equines. He sees them. A group here, a pair over there, even a few loners like himself, foraging through the snow peacefully in search of a snack. He contemplates calling out. But he knows nothing of the laws or social constructs that govern this place, and he does not think he will survive being cast out a third time. He tucks his chin to his chest, a mix of wariness and the sudden onset of timidity. He presses his eyes shut, tries to ignore the insidious whispers of his mind telling him he doesn't belong. Life-shatterer, they say, All you do is shatter. You do not belong here. You are not wanted... never wanted. He sighs. Then, a mutter, "If not here, then where do I belong?" Is there even anywhere left, he wonders. let me make my own pattern
all that it takes is some time but i'm shattered |
((sorry this is soooo long! i promise it won't be quite this bad every time! i just wanted a bit of origin story in there, ya'know?))
