Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 6 ~ Flamingo's Song (GF)

Garlic had learned, yet again, three more things pertaining to his current plights, plights both thrown at him and plights he set upon his own shoulders; they weighed him down like a sack filled with gold ingots - stolen. Two kinds of weights would sit there: physical weight, and the weight that people naturally tended to feel when they did something bad, or at least something meant to feel guilty about. Garlic's first bit of knowledge he'd gained had been that he felt beyond guilty. Why, he didn't know, he only knew there was a feeling like a dull knife twisting about in his chest, slow enough to where he could barely even notice it was there. But again, it was a knife, and unless you weren't human, you'd notice something so dangerous sticking out of your body.

So that weight sat upon his shoulders, the angel on one side and the devil on the other, both of them unrelenting with their suggestions and demands. The only difference between wishes was the way it was worded. He walked without aim through the forestry, shoulders slumped and feet shuffling on their merry way, taking him to some unknown land. He was tired. If he could lay back and cover his face from the sun with his hair, he would, but there were two issues with that, one of them simply being that he couldn't stop himself from moving. If he stopped, he told himself, then he'd be condemned to that same place for the remainder of his life, unable to move from that place. He'd shackle himself there with vines, he'd chain his ankles with roots.

That led him into his second new bit of knowledge, a piece he'd rather not linger on. Out of a newfound habit he reminded himself - constantly sweeping his hand back and forth over what once was a length of cascading (tangled) black hair. Now it barely peeked over the tips of his ears. A few times, he'd passed by clear ponds that reflected his face right back at him whenever he took the time out of his endless walk to get a drink. He'd look in and see a tan face smudged with dirt and blood long dried, and hollow cheeks with sharp cheekbones ready to slice through the skin of enemies. With nothing there to frame his face, there was nothing there to remind him that he was Garlic Felucia, the most fabulous tribute there ever was. He didn't see Garlic Felucia, the only tribute that truly accepted death but continued to fight until every bone in his body was aching, until every vein throbbed with exhaustion. He didn't know why he fought, he just did. And each time he looked at himself, he didn't see himself.

He saw someone else, someone unkind, someone violent. He saw a stranger. A stranger with no real options, led around by an invisible leash. This stranger went along with every tug and whistle, obeyed every call and chime. The only explanation he could think of for this behavior was the possibility of snapping the cables at some point. He watched the ropes fray and the wires unwind. It was all a matter of when the weight would pull it all apart - for some reason, he hoped the weight upon his shoulders was the weight that would do him in.

Finally, the third thing he'd learned was that he had no idea where he was going, but was that really anything new? A better way to put it would be to say he had no idea where he was going and for once he didn't care where he was. His boots kicked up powdery dirt and pebbles along the trail he followed. Weeping willows dipped their arms down to land a comforting brush on his arm, but he didn't think to thank them. Large, oversized flowers swayed mournfully beside one another, resting up on the trunks of the willow trees and capsizing in on their half-withered selves. Vibrant oranges faded into wrinkled browns. Lilac purples broke off into ashy gray.

The same sounds came from each of them: a gentle "shush" that floated on the breeze chilling Garlic's back. Sometimes they switched it up and said "keep quiet" or "watch your mouth" whenever he started to mutter to himself without knowing it. And each time, he obliged. I wouldn't wanna disturb them. I am sorta intruding, aren't I?

Even though he'd never had a say in the matter of being dropped in on territory that wasn't his, he felt he had reason to feel bad about disrupting the lives of those creatures already inhabiting the place. Sort of like back in the district. Even though he made off like he didn't care for the glares and sighs that occurred whenever he passed through neighbourhood after neighbourhood, he really did, and he was too tired to hide it anymore.