Tales of Time

Flower Petals and Tears

Life comes in the form of flower petals.
Intermittent and ever-falling as they swirl in the winds of fate.
Like the bodies that drop in his wake; disintegrating into ash once they hit the cold floors of that damned palace. Which, in turn, follow the calm guide of the breeze’s outstretched hand. Blinded by a desire, a wish to reach something perpetually unattainable.
Obsessed and filled to the brim with malignant greed, which spilled as did his tears.
Mourning the loss of life, he so mercilessly stole away.
Tears the color of a void-like ink, staining the floors still covered in those stupid petals. They were leaves, really. But the thought of these soft, blade-shaped pieces of flora being delicate shards of an equally fragile plant made him feel relaxed. Made him feel a sort of comfort, peace, and harmony within himself. For some reason.
Or maybe it was because it reminded him of someone he so desperately wished to see again.
Someone who made him reach up to the ceiling of that cold cell he used to call home, expecting something to reach back. It was, of course, ridiculous. The thought of a divine being holding their hand out to him like a painting from the Renaissance was definitely a waste of precious time. Nevertheless, he knew that stopping this insatiable need for something more would only make him tumble faster into this endless pit he had already dug.
A pitch-black hole of absolute nothingness.
Like closing your eyes and drifting off into a much-needed slumber.
However, sleep was off the table. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a good rest. For that obscure image of her lingered, living rent-free in his head. His sister.
Resonating.
Her voice was now a faint echo in that guiding breeze.
Her visage was a faint fog ramming into his train of thought for a mere moment; merging with the ever-consistent puffs of smoke as it vanished completely.
Her presence was nothing more than a ghostly shadow trailing behind as he walked.
Was she ever here to begin with?
Nonetheless, he knew otherwise.
Because if he didn’t, he’d surely be absolutely insane.
And he wasn’t insane, right?
Whatever, that didn’t matter. Everything had gone perfectly according to plan, and that was the most important thing. A plan that he had frantically thought up when catching that last corpse from hitting the floor—-from disintegrating like the others. That corpse was now a friendly reminder of all his failures. Of how he failed her.
Wrongs he could have righted if he was just swift enough to slice the wind with a blade. Shatter the sky with a stare. Or maybe even quake the terra with the snap of a finger.
And yet, now that he finally took the time to pause. To truly think about the weight of his actions. The ashes have already long since melded into those silent headstones. Littering the empty fields like an army of well-trained soldiers. Statue still and forced to reside in a location utterly foreign to them. Never to return home.
Every stone had been ornately carved, patterns lining their edges and sides with much precision and grace. Labels nicely etched upon every plaque’s smooth face. Names.
Looking from rock to rock, he heaved a solemn sigh before walking up to each monument. Gingerly setting down small bouquets of gorgeous flowers. Tiny bundles of life for death’s welcoming embrace.
This is what they deserved; it was the least he could do, he thought. But deep down, it wasn’t enough to atone for his despicable sins. It never was.
Pathetically, those tar tears returned like a nightmare. His gaze fell upon the last headstone, standing ever tall upon that barren hill. The poisoned liquid cascaded down his face, sprinkling the blossoms with cursed sorrow. As the substance hit its target, the flowers withered away, crumbling into the same ash that once blanketed this landscape. His doing. Everything was his doing.
But with all that has been said and done, he didn’t dare face the one person he so desperately wished to see once more.
The same person who was there but never here.
A memory long forgotten then reawakened once more.
The cursed cycle always repeats.
He didn’t even realize the grass at his knees or his hands digging into the moist dirt below. He didn’t realize how close he had gotten to the grave before staring directly into the letters engraved into the polished surface. He didn’t realize the pouring rain pelting him like bullets on a good day.
He did this for her.
A thought that was his single drive; his everlasting fuel.
However, flower petals never stopped once they hit rock bottom. No, they continued down a path of unknown wherever the gales took them. A one-way trip where nothing is foreseen, rather foretold through choice.
His choices defined him as not a flower petal but a seed.
The seed of a beautiful flower destined to become a tree.
Sprouting branches of his own making that never ended and only began. And with every broken branch, only birthed more trees. An ever-insatiable hunger driven by blind ambition and a hopeless thirst for closure.
He never did this for her.
No, he did this for himself.

Once the petals stopped falling, so did the tears.
All that remained was the still figure of a stone statue, weathered and worn from time.
He had accepted his inevitable fate. Standing tall amongst the fallen souls of those he had once slaughtered.
It was now his job to guide these lost apparitions, taking them to places where they would find eternal happiness. Their timeless guardian.
He didn’t have to steal.
He could now protect
Protect them.
Protect her.
Protect himself.
Like flower petals in the breeze; he was no longer a tree but the breeze itself. And the petals were remnants of what he once was.
Reminders that even a person like him could do better.