Note: I originally wrote Variant One, but later edited it for another purpose to create Variant Two. You will notice that the beginnings are very similar, but bear with me.
The graveyard carried with it the sculpted melancholy of a weeping angel as solemnly proceeding mist crept across the ground like some kind funeral procession for great monarch. An air of memory and bittersweet loss swirled across the unattended resting places. A richly and somberly carved arch held out comforting and inviting arms to the sole approaching figure.
The melancholy figure was clad in a cloak darker than midnight with the smallest glints of winter stars sewn in the enveloping fabric. Gloved fingers gently handled a swooning orchid that was doubtless a remembrance for one long departed. Softly leathered boots walked a path of thought through the graves that they remembered, carrying their warmly sad master to a place he knew well. A small, graceful headstone that sheltered a smaller, more innocent grave as they watched past bouquets fall to dust like they. The two homes of eternal sleep were inconsequential among the older gravestones forgotten by time and tears, but carried so many broken days and fears for their mourning visitor.
The quiet figure came to a stop in front of the forgotten sight, then fell quietly to his knees in an almost repentant pose. The black gloves quietly swept the unfeeling offerings and apologies of other dark days to the side to clear a small place on the gray stone. The orchid was reverantly placed on the bare stone, as a hint of a bitter smile graced the face of the mourner.
He reached up, taking his hood away and revealing a young, haggard face lined with worry and perhaps some anger. His green eyes were melancholy as the brownie knelt in front of the graves of his wife and son. His smile was reminiscent and sad, and he spoke softly to the grave in a voice laden with memories and promises.
"Orchid was always your favorite. I could never understand, it seemed to be weak and fragile in comparison to the roses I favored. But you loved that, didn't you?" He laughed quietly, a bittersweet sound. "Always protecting the weak and innocent, even in your choice of flowers."
His gloved hands picked up a discarded memory, almost thoughtfully. "I think I understand now. Wanting to protect someone at all costs." His voice grew quieter. "I should've been there. I should've been stronger, Aufni." He twisted the stem in his hands, spinning the blossom with a far off expression. "Makja's death... I keep dreaming of that moment. When I killed him among the daisies. Your stricken expression... How did you forgive me?"
The flower snapped in his hands like the innocent neck of one who couldn't run in time. "I can't do this without you, Aufni. Every morning I wake up and look over to see you. But you aren't there... and I have to remind myself you never will be." He took a deep breath, then let it out in a grief-laden sigh. "I'll keep getting up, though. For you. It's what you would want." A shivering wind slipped over him, and he could almost hear her smile and her voice as he had last known it.
"That's my Oihsj."
He turned his head upwards, into fog and forgiveness. "I miss you." The wind brushed his cheek once more, then danced away through the fog to other adventures. The brownie was left alone with himself, and the graves of those who had already passed through the wind. He looked back down at the delicate grave, and ran his fingers over his wife's name. With regretting eyes, he turned to the smaller, petulant stone. Tears pricked his conscience, and he reached into his pocket. Out came a child's toy, a small horse made from bits of criss-crossed wire and two glass spheres for eyes. It was set next to the orchid, on the name etched into stone and memory. Makja. Grief in eyes and smile on face, Oihsj finally brought himself back to his feet and away from the taunting siren call of oblivion.
Had he looked back as he crossed the threshold, he might have seen figures in the mist. A woman clutching a flower close to her chest, the tears in her eyes a mirror to her husband's as she tightly held the hand of her only son as he picked up the toy left for him. The two watched with sad, forgiving eyes as life moved on without the forgotten and step by step, they grew to be nothing but a dream.
A squeezed hand, a whispered "say goodbye to Daddy", a child's hand waving goodbye as he and his mother turned back to oblivion and away from a world where fire choked hope and daisies carried scarlet drops of dream.
Away from a world that would soon forget its heroes.
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Random Stories
FantasyI occasionally write random short stories or exerpts from novels I might never write, so might as well post them here for y'all!
