Spirit Animals: The War For The White Bloom

Wojtek

Wojtek was sitting with his tea cups, cleaning them, for they had to be put back in the cupboard. His arms, unusually big for a man in his early twenties, did the task efficiently. 

The small cottage, well in the forests, was a perfect place for him to live. Far enough from the main population to stay obscured. At least his past wouldn't hunt him out here. Or, so he believed.

The woods were also peaceful to look at for long hours. They helped sustain him, for he sourced his food and firewood from there, and he was grateful for the silence. 

Wojtek, satisfied with his last cup's cleanliness, wiped it to put it back on the tray. 

The Universe, for some reason, seemed to dislike the way he had been drowning in noiselessness, peacefully, against the way it had built humans. Humans, afterall, were supposed to be the noise that brightened up the dull and gloom of the Erdas of plants and animals. Humans put the fun, the pun, the noble, the ignoble, the crude, the rude, the cruel and the beautiful in the place they called Erdas. They called things names, described them with adjectives, all according to their own perspective. They created all the cacophony. The fact that this man was born a human but was living a quiet and almost un-humanly life and cutting out the outside world, did not make sense to the Universe.

And learned people say, when something doesn't make sense to the Universe, it tries to make sense out of it by doing something senseless. Makes sense? Maybe not. But that's what they say. 

Suddenly,  a shrill, sharp shriek, cutting through his veil of silence, startled Wojtek. 

Learned people say that when the Universe decides to change something, it gives its omens. 

Silence was breached again, this time by the crash in his own hand. His cup had shattered, the material not able to withstand the sudden pressure exerted on it by the hand that held it. 

Wojtek would notice, later, that the quietness wasn't the only thing torn — the ceramic shards had ripped into his palm — but the wound was too minor. It barely registered; he was too busy struggling not to sink in his own rage. 

He stared at the broken cup in his hand. It was his favorite one. Anger rose in him. His palm almost scrunched into a fist. 

The Universe was pleased with itself. Almost.

Deep breaths forced the bubbling feeling down, and Wojtek pacified himself. 

It was just a cup anyway.  

He took a deep breath, took the tray, and prepared to go into his home. 

The Universe couldn't have lost, could it? 

Before entering, he paused, as the thought of who had caused the sound swam into the surface of his conscious human mind. 

His mind was human, and his brain was rational. He couldn't believe random learned people and just give up thinking of the scream that had almost gotten him to let loose his wrath. The scream was painful, and to Wojtek, a man of high intuitional understanding, it was as if it was produced by someone young and possibly, terrified. 

A few years back, his first instinct would have been to rush to check on the matter. Curiosity was, after all, one of his most visible traits. He had always wanted to learn more about the world.

Stop. It's not your job to poke your nose into everyone's business. 

He scolded himself, hoping that the rebellious instinct in him would slink away.

The wind, blowing peacefully through his hair, helped push the thoughts away. He bowed to allow his massive self enter the doorway.

CRASHH!