((Same as the last chapter, this is something I had to write in class from a bunch of prompts.))
The flood enters and he is helpless, ripped from his island and plunging in the dark. It's memory, a great roaring river, and it pounds through his mind.
He succumbs.
This time, the memories are not his.
There is a girl alone and grieving, a woman but with a child's panic in her eyes. No, he hears, and then he is gone, shreds of consciousness tossed into hers. Her father is gone, and her mother – they took them both. It can't be right, she insists to herself, but it is.
Her scream echoes, but the humming silence returns. It is tense, but nothing is going to happen. They're gone. It will stay, the silence – she knows. She knows and she can feel it and it's tingling around her fingers and her toes.
She waits, and they become numb. The rest of her body follows. Her eyes close, and she sees nothing but darkness. She feels nothing but the thousand pins, like tangible static. She hears nothing but the ominous, looming silence.
Then he is ripped away and the river drags him on, his cry lost among the memories of thousands. He feels all their pain and all their joy. He clings to the joy. It's the only way he can bear the rest.
Now he is flame, devouring, leaving his black footsteps. They fight but their struggles are pointless. He is many as he is one, and he is everywhere. He brings calm and light, and he is hope. He brings heat, passion-fire and gentle warmth. He is left in the ash, and he is born in the coal they burn. No one will ever vanquish him, all of him, for he is everywhere. He takes lives, but without him they cannot survive.
Now he is standing among the sheep, and his dog is at his heels, and the river relinquishes him to his own life.
