The Storm Lamb

Clear Sky

The sonic boom wasn't as loud as the thunder but the black snow repulsed swiftly from the trajectory. The trail was the void, and the partings in the black snow and rain, a glow that illuminated the cloud. Those who heard it, turned, watching at the source of the sound and light, breathless, waiting and consumed with fear. The snow kept falling nonetheless, a few amongst the evacuating crowd clutched their chest as they collapsed, dying while the ever mounting pressure in their chest cloud their mind with pure fear and despair, only if she could see them now, only if she could see how useless her sacrifice is if it were all to be for nothing. 

The vision of her eyes blurred and as her heart sped up to compensate for the previous loss of function to fulfill its paramount task. The quickness of her breathing increased proportionally to the beating of her still heart, she fell onto her knees as she held up her numbed and trembling hand, her grey eyes shifting and looking deep into the veins she bit. It was leaking profusely and she needed her father to ease the bleeding. She looked around her for her father, a smile utterly devoid of happiness, relief and emptied of all positive elements crossed her lips as her eyes teared up. 

Auburn was once her name. She was supposed to be a subtle bright color that filled the land with gentle fierceness, altruism, love, and compassion, ideally everything that is good. Yet she was none of these things. A girl she still was, young and inexperienced. A possible explanation of her stupidity and weakness, Martin had said, she will grow up one day, the words echoed in her mind while faintness drowns her.

She slowly stood up, her one hand hanging loose and dripping as Eli rush forward fumbling for the needles while coughing out blood, watching her bleed out wasn't what he was about to let happen. Tomas saw the cloud stirred as he can't tell which sacrifice the Sun had taken. 

The chieftain's face was pale but bright, his body was only starting to turn cold. The impression during his dying grace was having saved the city, as the short sword pierced him, that's not the only of what he thought, fear of course had occupied his mind, what man would not fear his death? But to fear death and to embrace it was different. 

He had to wrestle his mentality, seize it by the throat and strangled it until it gave in, with that of the many lives he was going to save, he can reject the sum total of his existence. The subtraction and addition of all the events in his life, his cowardices at the many meeting with adversities, all to save his skin. It gave no meaning to his life. To comprehend the lives of the people he was going to save through this, he remembered the scripture and the lamb that walked into the Storm alone as every other lambs and sheep watched in disbelief. He was that lamb now. 

It was not him that clear it but as long as he felt that it was him as he ventured into the abyss, it was fine. That satisfied smile was the most disgusting thing she saw today. His death was in vain, just like all the deaths here, all the excess of death, fulfilling but ultimately resulting and meaning nothing, she was jealous of their bliss and the simplicity in which they cast their beliefs and thoughts upon. Sacrifice. Die. Live as a legacy. The one who let the city live. It was audacious how her father had called her thoughts shallow when theirs are equally so. If not more. 

She watches him with fierce eyes from a distance as her legs wobbled unstably, blood still steadily letting, the wind blew at her lightly and her legs gave in, she fell forward weightlessly, there was almost no sound as her soulless body hit the ground. Her eyelids refused to be closed as her dull grey eyes observed the black flakes settling gently on her blood, dissolving into nothingness. Small drops of water came from above, replacing the burning black snow, it no longer gently settles onto one's skin, caressing it with cold and heat, sinking into the pores so as to softly kill them. Rain replace the flakes as they swiftly fell from the cloud, the rain was ready to sketch the world in its usual grey color.  

The blood grew thinner as she watched the rain continued to dilute it. She saw a thousand ripples crashing together in the red pool, almost like watching the physical manifestation of her mind, she can smell and taste the iron. It was in all her hope that she does not become delirious again, but then, what real difference could that make? Whatever her conscious thoughts wouldn't reveal, her actions always will and the delirium just lifts the veil. Maybe she should hope that she becomes delirious again, it would seem the archivist, Eli, nosy as he is would certainly, and gladly record her honesty.  

The pain was forgotten as she stared listlessly at the ripples of rain in her blood.