The Breaker

Cicatrix manet
 
 
 
He is our greatest triumph, the embodimentof the hopes of an entire world, the hero of justice we have been waiting for all this while, the only man who can defeat the Tyrant.
 
No....not a man.
 
I can only stare dumbfounded as a saga worthy of being hailed in a thousand songs unfolds before my very eyes. I will describe it, for that is what I do...that is my gift in the scheme of things.
 
And alas that is all I am good for.
 
Their muscles coil and harden like cords of liquid metal, I say liquid metal for no steel I know of no matter how bright or true can bend like that, and no rope I know of be it made from the leaves of mimbar or the blades of shuta grass can compare to this strength. Their arms are locked in, two titanic vices wrenching and straining every single moment to bend the other to it’s will. It is like seeing a mountain clash with the endless sea. Their eyes smoulder and glow in the twilight, steam rises from their massive frames. Their own sweat, turned vapour by the very therma within. I cower behind my cover, a rock which might as well be frail vellum for the protection it affords. I can scarcely contain myself from crying out and bolting away from the place like all have done. Every instinct in my body screams to get away. Every fibre of my mind reinforces my will to stay and see this through to the end.
 

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The Hex

He was bewitched. Her face echoed around the corner of his vision. Always there but never clear. He could not remember her face. Was that strange? That he could not remember her face?

But he remembered her eyes. Oh those eyes. What fool could forget those eyes. And her lips, and the way she felt when she was close to him. But he cannot remember her face. People gaze at him wondering if he is crazy. He has been wandering the streets for quite a while. Wandering without a destination. Without a purpose. He has been wandering because he can see her, Everytime he loses focus in his sight.

But as soon as he tries to catch a glance and the light of reason shines in his eyes. She is gone.

All that is left. Is a lingering memory. The acknowledgment
of a great loss. Hinting on a great sorrow too yawning and abysmal to be remembered as anything more than a nightmare. It is not important. Although the existence of this void within him is important. For that is one reason among many as to why he must know her face.

For he knows he once loved her.

And he is afraid he loves her still. He remembers the dance
they danced together, under happier skies and days gone by of color. He remember her laughter, and the chimes of bells, and stars endlessly shrouding  a night in the wilderness. They were together that night. That he remembers for sure. In the faint currents of the thin air still rest the (...)

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