Snake of Fire

Men Of Silver

A moment, a time. Everyone wishes for such a thing, crawling to the floor and clasping their hands together in bated breath. Waiting for someone to answer them. Silence. Silence wisps over their head in a taunting manner as if waiting for a break in the air of utmost awkwardness. Aspen, a girl of lofty height, though she did not know the exact measurements, couldn't help but grin at the absurd hope that so many held in a being that was unknown and hardly existent in her mind. Hardly. She was taught at a young age, that God, was to be prayed to in a ritual-like fashion each evening. However, Aspen had neglected that prospect long ago, along with the memories of her relatives that threatened to spill from her mind and shake her. She shook her head and ruffled her hand through her plaited, wavy hair. In a fit of sudden hysteria, Aspen had willed herself to dye her once blonde locks to a dull blue. Why she had chosen such a lifeless color was an idea she could not fathom; however, she left it as it was and began the process of redying it every year.

A gruff voice, one she had come to recognize and respond to with eagerness, spoke up, "Contemplating again, aren't we?"

Elliot Holm.

"Contemplating seems like such a philosophical word, doesn't it?"

Aspen couldn't help but let out a squeak of joy as Elliot placed a comforting hand on the small of her back, rubbing circles into it. Elliot laughed, removing his hand from Aspen's back, much to her disappointment. The space where his hand had moments ago laid felt, dare she say, desolate.

"You rarely ever come over this way? What's the important matter?"

The cozy air froze as if covered by a thick layer of ice. Aspen grasped the edge of her worn-down shirt and shuffled closer, wanting to hear the words Elliot was hesitant to say.

"The Men of Silver are back."