(no subject)
Challenge: [088] Tomorrow
Title: Cradle
Word Count: 555
Rating: PG for foul language.
Notes: It's a bit long, but I think it was necessary to convey what I was going for; then again, I tend to be heavy-handed. So, um yah. Enjoy! Oh, and I must send a big thank you to
lindskaba, whose drabble, Secret, inspired this. =D
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! -- forgot to put that in. x3 *fails*
The Light breathes. In and out of everything, person or creature, plant or animal, beautiful or ugly, lava neon sign gummi ship lamp post heart soul being entity. Everything. In and out, in and out. Its search is over. The Heart of Worlds sighs.
It has finally Chosen.
The Dark is strong, It knows. Its Chosen is strong, as well. He--it is a boy, a boy this time because physicality is essential, he must be strong of body, made of nails--is swaddled in blankets, brought by the nurse to his mother. White hair and pale eyes that puzzle the parents, it is his birthmark as Light's Chosen child. When the Dark comes a-calling it is he who will hold it back.
But the Light, benevolent as It is, cannot solve the human variable. Its Chosen is a human, always a human because humans have supple, malleable souls and tender hearts and are not wise, easy to manipulate. For Order or Chaos.
The father begins accusing. He is not Its Chosen, It cannot push him back. Darkness has no such constraints. The Chosen is too young yet for the Key. Light watches, and It waits. The mark is a blessing, but humans are so blind.
This isn't my baby! Whose baby is it, huh? You slut!
It's not, I didn't--
He hits her. You whore! You filthy whore!
Anger. Resentment. Violence. Chaos. Light's choice is ruined by Darkness. This one will not do.
Everything had been so carefully prepared: the world (tiny strip of paradise), the friends (wholesome, active), the home (sturdy, warm) and the parents (a loving couple, young, if a little hesitant but that would pass).
Darkness had come creeping in, and now the Divine Work is ruined.
Light must pick another champion. But this one, not as good, not as strong, not marked--maybe that's a good thing. No more time.
The Second Chosen is born, and he is plain and unremarkable, and grows up plain and unremarkable. He and the First Chosen become friends; it is the First Chosen that takes up the sword first, becomes the leader. So much lost. The Princess joins them.
They do not know. Oh, how they do not know. So much. No more time. Darkness comes a-calling! One-two, one-two, quickly boy, on your feet!
Stained-glass test of Doors and fake Dark, is he ready? The Light's Chosen must be strong, must be resilient. It is not amazing, it is not, perhaps, all that was hoped for. But it will do.
He has been nurtured and grown like a flower from the seed. Three children, making a raft, special all of them, one of Order, one of Chaos, and one in-between to keep them anchored.
The Dark will come with the falling of the next sun. It has already left its mark. The Dark's Own has already come, laid his feet in Eden's white sand. A trail like a snake.
Tomorrow it begins truly: a storm of Darkness will wipe Destiny Islands from existence. The light-marked child is already lost. Do not follow him, Sora. The Light will get him back, eventually.
In his bed, alone, Sora weeps, inexplicably, knowing in the depths of his luminous soul that his life is ending, and the Heart of his world cradles him to sleep with dreams of turtledoves.
Title: Cradle
Word Count: 555
Rating: PG for foul language.
Notes: It's a bit long, but I think it was necessary to convey what I was going for; then again, I tend to be heavy-handed. So, um yah. Enjoy! Oh, and I must send a big thank you to
lindskaba, whose drabble, Secret, inspired this. =D
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! -- forgot to put that in. x3 *fails*
The Light breathes. In and out of everything, person or creature, plant or animal, beautiful or ugly, lava neon sign gummi ship lamp post heart soul being entity. Everything. In and out, in and out. Its search is over. The Heart of Worlds sighs.
It has finally Chosen.
The Dark is strong, It knows. Its Chosen is strong, as well. He--it is a boy, a boy this time because physicality is essential, he must be strong of body, made of nails--is swaddled in blankets, brought by the nurse to his mother. White hair and pale eyes that puzzle the parents, it is his birthmark as Light's Chosen child. When the Dark comes a-calling it is he who will hold it back.
But the Light, benevolent as It is, cannot solve the human variable. Its Chosen is a human, always a human because humans have supple, malleable souls and tender hearts and are not wise, easy to manipulate. For Order or Chaos.
The father begins accusing. He is not Its Chosen, It cannot push him back. Darkness has no such constraints. The Chosen is too young yet for the Key. Light watches, and It waits. The mark is a blessing, but humans are so blind.
This isn't my baby! Whose baby is it, huh? You slut!
It's not, I didn't--
He hits her. You whore! You filthy whore!
Anger. Resentment. Violence. Chaos. Light's choice is ruined by Darkness. This one will not do.
Everything had been so carefully prepared: the world (tiny strip of paradise), the friends (wholesome, active), the home (sturdy, warm) and the parents (a loving couple, young, if a little hesitant but that would pass).
Darkness had come creeping in, and now the Divine Work is ruined.
Light must pick another champion. But this one, not as good, not as strong, not marked--maybe that's a good thing. No more time.
The Second Chosen is born, and he is plain and unremarkable, and grows up plain and unremarkable. He and the First Chosen become friends; it is the First Chosen that takes up the sword first, becomes the leader. So much lost. The Princess joins them.
They do not know. Oh, how they do not know. So much. No more time. Darkness comes a-calling! One-two, one-two, quickly boy, on your feet!
Stained-glass test of Doors and fake Dark, is he ready? The Light's Chosen must be strong, must be resilient. It is not amazing, it is not, perhaps, all that was hoped for. But it will do.
He has been nurtured and grown like a flower from the seed. Three children, making a raft, special all of them, one of Order, one of Chaos, and one in-between to keep them anchored.
The Dark will come with the falling of the next sun. It has already left its mark. The Dark's Own has already come, laid his feet in Eden's white sand. A trail like a snake.
Tomorrow it begins truly: a storm of Darkness will wipe Destiny Islands from existence. The light-marked child is already lost. Do not follow him, Sora. The Light will get him back, eventually.
In his bed, alone, Sora weeps, inexplicably, knowing in the depths of his luminous soul that his life is ending, and the Heart of his world cradles him to sleep with dreams of turtledoves.