Shattered
Consciousnesses
by
Michael
Woodard
I
Bleach
just ran. He heard something rustle in the leaves behind him up above
and he looked frantically over his shoulder. It wasn't the darkling
following him this time. It was the vulture. It had left its prizes
up in the tree where it had landed earlier. He dared not look back
again. The soldiers had found him in his camp!
He
was certain he heard the crash of hooves on the ground speeding
towards him. Visions of the dead soldier atop his now skeletal horse
came to mind and he couldn't shake them off.
If
not his former friend whom he had buried; only to have the man rise
from his own grave to haunt him later in that village far from the
mountain's peak... surely Death himself rode at his back.
A
wet pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulder and uprose the panic
level again. Amy was also back from her watery grave to claim his
soul! He tried to run but the clutching grasp kept him in one spot.
He
looked back and no one was there.
The
talons of the vulture sunk into the meat of his back and threw him to
the ground. Then before he could get a grab at it, it had flown away
with a large part of his cape in its arms. His special cape.
He
cried and in his sudden despair and he realized he was lost. Laying
upon his face, he began to throw a tantrum. His fists and feet banged
in the dust as he bawled like a much younger child.
Oh,
grow up! Came
a voice in his head. He heard it but not with his ears for it had no
sound. But it rasped in his mind. Don't
you humans spend enough time as babies in your cradles?
“I'm
not a baby,” he said aloud, falling still. No longer crying.
Cradles
of Sin they be. Sins against the Greater World of Nature you live in.
The
voice seemed to come from the vulture. Friendless
you are... twice a runaway.
“You
laugh like that crow had laughed,” Bleach remarked, turning onto
his back to look up at his tormentor. “Before my brother had killed
it.” Then he remembered the burning casket.
Before
he could begin to weep again, the image in his head shattered like a
pane of glass. It was replaced by a spark of white light.
If
I were a predator, so easily would I have sunk my beak or talons into
your neck and drank your blood, said
the vulture in a casual remark.
“Well
you did attack me, didn't you?” Bleach wanted to know.
“Only
because my wings were getting tired from following you.” Not
surprisingly, the vulture had chosen a tall gravestone to perch from.
A
shadowy figure landed next to Bleach. On its waist there was a
scabbard and belt for the dagger. Upon its head it wore the steel
helmet. The rest of its features were cloaked. He could not tell how
tall this latest arrival was.
Before
he could address this person, it spoke. “So a scavenger complains
about the chase for you? Indeed. I have been chasing you even
further... grandson.”
“Grampah?
Am I dead now?” He climbed to his feet and almost fell. Grampah was
clean-shaven and was missing his glasses, but he still recognized
him.
The
figure grabbed his elbow to steady him. “You look older.” He
laughed. “In fact you look older than me at this moment.”
Bleach
felt his face and found his beard was still there. And then he found
out that his hair was a tangled mess as well. “Why am I old?”
“You
wished to be older. Older and wiser. But you wished too hard and your
age got too far ahead of you. And your wisdom has dimmed.” Grampah
mused for a second. “You also have grown more than a little insane
since I last saw you.”
