Have you heard of the myths?
Of the child born in the flames.
His mother was praying for him
As she was thrown into the fire.
She cursed and wailed and cried
But her efforts were futile,
As no one would step in
For fear of what would happen if they did.
She cried out
For her unborn son,
She screamed
As the flames engulfed her whole.
They say as the fires died down,
The sizzling and crackling of the flames
Gave way to a baby's cry
Covered in soot and ash.
His eyes were open wide,
Deep purple in the setting sun.
He was wailing loudly in the chill,
The villagers crowded around.
Blasphemous,
Troubled,
Unholy
They threw the words at him,
Turbulent and frequent.
Until a woman picked him up
And his cries ended abruptly.
He never wailed again.
'We cannot kill a child,'
The mother said,
Looking down at the baby
Stroking his head gently.
'All children are innocent,
We have no evidence
That he is cursed,' she said.
The elders shuffled to the side
People grumbled,
Waiting.
They decided he would stay.
Now, they say,
He grew up.
He went from a silent baby
To a quiet boy.
From a quiet boy
To a reclusive teen
Who claimed the fire and winds
Were his brothers.
Now wait, you ask,
Are you going to spoil his ending?
Of course not.
That's for later,
So now we move on.
We move on to the child
Who watched the centuries go by.
He came in a squalor,
The wind whipping
Ocean pounding
The beach sand flying
Sky howling
He woke the island up
With his cries
As he staggered into its jungle
The day after,
Hands wiping at his eyes
Brown hair a mess.
The village woke to a toddler
Stumbling into their midst.
He was accepted almost immediately.
His life was easy,
Living in his home
With all the village as his family
The ocean two steps away.
He showed them his power one day
They laughed and hugged him
Called him a blessing.
He grew tall, lanky and tanned
And watched
As centuries passed before him,
Old families died
New ones were born,
Although he grieved for them,
He moved on.
But never forgot.
This boy's first best friend
Was that of thoughts.
Of protection.
The child made of wishes
He forgot.
Or was forgotten often,
But always came back
However much it hurt to leave
Again and again.
They say he comes when needed,
That if you ask nicely
And wish very hard,
He'll come and help.
They say he's made of stardust and trust,
Protection and the spirits of past.
He holds the key to bravery,
The secret to confidence,
The solution to sadness.
They also say he makes a very good paella if given the chance.
They go on and say,
Watch out,
Don't step on that flower.
Don't squash the bee
Don't cut down the tree
Or you will see
The child taken in by the forest
She'll come,
Lost to the forest
When her family broke apart.
She'll come
And exact revenge
Because the forest adapts.
It changes and grows
But it will always retake
What was taken from it.
She'll come in
All her five foot even glory
And knock you down,
The plants listening to her every word
Obeying
Because she is their daughter now,
She is their friend.
She is the little girl that stumbled,
Bloody kneed
Broken
Into their home
And soon became part of it,
Like any vine or seed.
And they say
As you are broken by the plants,
The mess is cleaned up
By the man pitied by the wind
And watched the others grow,
Who was there for everything,
Who is the fire's brother
The water's friend,
The forest's father
Who lets you trust in him
Who lets you grow
Change and adapt.
They say he died, first.
He died in the mountains
He lay,
The cold consuming him
As he fought and fought
To try and stay,
Finally, the wind gave its condolence.
He watched the others grow,
They say,
He brought them together
When the time was right.
They say he was the catalyst.
And that's when the myth ends
And the truth begins.
