The cabin he grew up in had been there for a long time before he was born, built by someone who pretended to be callous for two people who could recognize his act for what it truly was. When Blaze lived there not much changed at all, but at one point he had to wonder if it was still the same cabin. The cedar wood faded and rotted, at many points pieces were removed and replaced to the point where Blaze wondered if it was even the same cabin. Did the change of materials eventually make it an entirely new structure? Did the components make the whole or was it the soul of the original that gave it its identity? The answers would not come.
When Blaze was four, his parents were dragged away, by men dressed in flashy white uniforms with a large splotch of red. Thus, he was left in an empty cabin of memories in near complete solitude for a year. His routine was simple: wake up, get dressed and ready for the day, harvest ripe fruits, harvest ripe vegetables, do Mom's chores, do Dad's chores, get washed up, and go to sleep. Never leave the cabin.
Never go off on your own, they said it time and time again. When they were still present their word held more weight but they were gone. So, by the fifth winter of his life, Blaze took a step outside the safe zone knowing that if he had to spend one more second in it he might not really live either way, not really.
Blaze was nine. ——————————————————————————-
I'm compelled to say beforehand that he died at thirty. Twenty of those years were full of self-inflicted misery and the last ten were spent trying to make up for the aforementioned twenty.
Impressive the first time you hear it, and anymore than that makes it pathetic.
And you know, I could summarize the whole thing for you the same way I could just tell you a man was miserable. But tell me, what's more interesting? Telling you the man was miserable or describing the look in his eyes while watching a beetle squirm on its back resisting its impending death. Disgust, resentment, but more than anything, jealousy.
The description makes it all the more fun too.
—————————————————-
"Keep me on track, Vega." I say.
—————————————————-
My parents named me after a force they thought brought as much destruction as I did just by being born. I wouldn't know if that was true, but it didn't need to be true to feel like it was—
•———————————•——————————•
"Get on with the poetics, Evan." She says.
•———————————•——————————•
When a child is born from a leading family of a division (or really between any couple of high importance) it is cause for grand celebrations, but not for one. All well loved children had annual celebrations to commemorate the day in which they exited the conceptual stage and entered existence, but not Blaze. The bigger tragedy was that the date wasn't cursed either, the reason for the lack of a dedicated day being so small and innocuous. They simply forgot the original date.
Like a trivial bad memory. No sooner than the thought came was it brushed off with clear denials and sweet assurances Blaze always accepted. Of course he would. No child ever wants to believe themselves the bane of their parents existence. Though, given the lives they lived, it was hard to believe he could be.
There wasn't much Blaze could say about his parents. Alma Lunis and Kosto Pantera seemed normal to him back then because he hadn't known better, but looking back comparatively they were strange, that is, when they were around. These factors combined and the result of which was Blaze, having read more books than even his father did at his age, did not really understand the root of why some stories were fiction and others were realistic-fiction. Regardless, even growing up clueless he could recognize that the term "important" was especially applicable to his parents.
Unfortunately, importance outside of a home creates absence inside it. When the time came that they had to leave for good. The way they left was seared into his memory as the worst moment of his life.
Chained, beaten, and dragged away with his mother's last words to him being instructions on how to hide away and a rushed "I love you" at the end. His mother had been kneeling with him to his left. Alma's hair (usually pinkish-red with varying shades of gray, brown, and white) was made a mess having been stained scarlet in places, her meadow green eyes were lined red swelling from crying, and her light skin was littered with discolored marks.
Blaze's father knelt to his right. The cloth of his father's cloak claimed the area around him while almost hiding his broad body in its shadows with the help of the rest of his black clothes; turtle neck, gloves, and black combat pants. Though he looked intimidating, the man was nothing if not collected, even when battered, his expression was no different than usual. No curved inclination of the lips or wrinkling on the face from displeasure, just a straight line of his mouth, and tired eyes. The last words he heard directed to him by his father were a scolding to keep still and "obey until forced to do otherwise." This in response to Blaze pestering him for answers on what he could do to stop the intruders from hurting them anymore. Long stray bangs cascaded over his face creating a shadow covering intense maroon eyes and a crooked nose.
Once, Alma told Blaze he and Kosto looked alike. The resemblances Blaze could point out stopped at skin color and sharp facial features. Their skin was tan, their noses thin, their eyes were monolid and slimmed at the corners with the covering eyelids being more darkly pigmented than the rest of their bodies, and their longer dirty blond, was spiky. However Blaze's irises were green with more of an almond shape, his hair had less blond to dark fading, his body while similarly sharp at the edges appeared slimmer, smaller, more dull than his fathers clear cut-edges. Close to being feminine. The most vital difference was in personality because (according to his mother) he "felt emotions with his face."
If that was the case he must've been making an awful face while watching the events unfold. Even though he tried so hard for the opposite because the last thing the intruders deserved to see were the effects of their venom affecting him. That bit of stubbornness he really had gotten from his father. On the way out the leader of the group, with greying hair, frown lines, gold in his eyes and the rims of his darkening robes turned back and grinned.
"You're lucky," he said. "But I'll be back for you too."
There was a lingering unease when the danger cleared leaving silence paired with a startling numbness. The boy observed the mess left in the wake of the incident and he held his breath. Blaze didn't cry or even react for that matter, by the grace of his mind's subconscious denial of reality, he remained composed. In the back of his mind remained hope that it was a dream and that his parents' return was almost inevitable. This was far from the first time he was left alone, and if he had any virtue it would be that of prolonged calm.
But calm has its limits.
A year or two passed stretching the limits as far as they could go. They weren't coming back. He now acknowledged this as fact. Acceptance brought with it the sudden realization that denial tried to shield him from. All of a sudden, Blaze truly was alone, what's more—for the first time in his relatively short life—he felt the part.
When was the last time he spoke? When was the last time he saw another person? And it went without saying that trying to recall the last time he left the safe zone (before the month his parents were taken) was completely hopeless. The memory dwindled to faded colors and blobs. The boy tried to picture his parents—their faces looked smudged if not completely wrong. Blaze walked to the edge of the safe zone, it wasn't something he could see as much as he could feel, akin to a bubble he had to walk through. The energy drew one in and had them more inclined to stay in then to let them walk free as a safety feature perhaps.
The place would hold children afterall.
ABLAZE
By Velitzia
For myself and (more than likely) no one else because if I'm going to d
The cabin he grew up in had been there for a long time before he was born, built by someone who pretended to be callous for two people who could recognize his act for what it truly was. When Blaze lived there not much changed at all, but at one point he had to wonder if it was still the same cabin. The cedar wood faded and rotted, at many points pieces were removed and replaced to the point where Blaze wondered if it was even the same cabin. Did the change of materials eventually make it an entirely new structure? Did the components make the whole or was it the soul of the original that gave it its identity? The answers would not come.
When Blaze was four, his parents were dragged away, by men dressed in flashy white uniforms with a large splotch of red. Thus, he was left in an empty cabin of memories in near complete solitude for a year. His routine was simple: wake up, get dressed and ready for the day, harvest ripe fruits, harvest ripe vegetables, do Mom's chores, do Dad's chores, get washed up, and go to sleep. Never leave the cabin.
Never go off on your own, they said it time and time again. When they were still present their word held more weight but they were gone. So, by the fifth winter of his life, Blaze took a step outside the safe zone knowing that if he had to spend one more second in it he might not really live either way, not really.
Blaze was nine. ——————————————————————————-
I'm compelled to say beforehand that he died at thirty. Twenty of those years were full of self-inflicted misery and the last ten were spent trying to make up for the aforementioned twenty.
Impressive the first time you hear it, and anymore than that makes it pathetic.
And you know, I could summarize the whole thing for you the same way I could just tell you a man was miserable. But tell me, what's more interesting? Telling you the man was miserable or describing the look in his eyes while watching a beetle squirm on its back resisting its impending death. Disgust, resentment, but more than anything, jealousy.
The description makes it all the more fun too.
—————————————————-
"Keep me on track, Vega." I say.
—————————————————-
My parents named me after a force they thought brought as much destruction as I did just by being born. I wouldn't know if that was true, but it didn't need to be true to feel like it was—
•———————————•——————————•
"Get on with the poetics, Evan." She says.
•———————————•——————————•
When a child is born from a leading family of a division (or really between any couple of high importance) it is cause for grand celebrations, but not for one. All well loved children had annual celebrations to commemorate the day in which they exited the conceptual stage and entered existence, but not Blaze. The bigger tragedy was that the date wasn't cursed either, the reason for the lack of a dedicated day being so small and innocuous. They simply forgot the original date.
Like a trivial bad memory. No sooner than the thought came was it brushed off with clear denials and sweet assurances Blaze always accepted. Of course he would. No child ever wants to believe themselves the bane of their parents existence. Though, given the lives they lived, it was hard to believe he could be.
There wasn't much Blaze could say about his parents. Alma Lunis and Kosto Pantera seemed normal to him back then because he hadn't known better, but looking back comparatively they were strange, that is, when they were around. These factors combined and the result of which was Blaze, having read more books than even his father did at his age, did not really understand the root of why some stories were fiction and others were realistic-fiction. Regardless, even growing up clueless he could recognize that the term "important" was especially applicable to his parents.
Unfortunately, importance outside of a home creates absence inside it. When the time came that they had to leave for good. The way they left was seared into his memory as the worst moment of his life.
Chained, beaten, and dragged away with his mother's last words to him being instructions on how to hide away and a rushed "I love you" at the end. His mother had been kneeling with him to his left. Alma's hair (usually pinkish-red with varying shades of gray, brown, and white) was made a mess having been stained scarlet in places, her meadow green eyes were lined red swelling from crying, and her light skin was littered with discolored marks.
Blaze's father knelt to his right. The cloth of his father's cloak claimed the area around him while almost hiding his broad body in its shadows with the help of the rest of his black clothes; turtle neck, gloves, and black combat pants. Though he looked intimidating, the man was nothing if not collected, even when battered, his expression was no different than usual. No curved inclination of the lips or wrinkling on the face from displeasure, just a straight line of his mouth, and tired eyes. The last words he heard directed to him by his father were a scolding to keep still and "obey until forced to do otherwise." This in response to Blaze pestering him for answers on what he could do to stop the intruders from hurting them anymore. Long stray bangs cascaded over his face creating a shadow covering intense maroon eyes and a crooked nose.
Once, Alma told Blaze he and Kosto looked alike. The resemblances Blaze could point out stopped at skin color and sharp facial features. Their skin was tan, their noses thin, their eyes were monolid and slimmed at the corners with the covering eyelids being more darkly pigmented than the rest of their bodies, and their longer dirty blond, was spiky. However Blaze's irises were green with more of an almond shape, his hair had less blond to dark fading, his body while similarly sharp at the edges appeared slimmer, smaller, more dull than his fathers clear cut-edges. Close to being feminine. The most vital difference was in personality because (according to his mother) he "felt emotions with his face."
If that was the case he must've been making an awful face while watching the events unfold. Even though he tried so hard for the opposite because the last thing the intruders deserved to see were the effects of their venom affecting him. That bit of stubbornness he really had gotten from his father. On the way out the leader of the group, with greying hair, frown lines, gold in his eyes and the rims of his darkening robes turned back and grinned.
"You're lucky," he said. "But I'll be back for you too."
There was a lingering unease when the danger cleared leaving silence paired with a startling numbness. The boy observed the mess left in the wake of the incident and he held his breath. Blaze didn't cry or even react for that matter, by the grace of his mind's subconscious denial of reality, he remained composed. In the back of his mind remained hope that it was a dream and that his parents' return was almost inevitable. This was far from the first time he was left alone, and if he had any virtue it would be that of prolonged calm.
But calm has its limits.
A year or two passed stretching the limits as far as they could go. They weren't coming back. He now acknowledged this as fact. Acceptance brought with it the sudden realization that denial tried to shield him from. All of a sudden, Blaze truly was alone, what's more—for the first time in his relatively short life—he felt the part.
When was the last time he spoke? When was the last time he saw another person? And it went without saying that trying to recall the last time he left the safe zone (before the month his parents were taken) was completely hopeless. The memory dwindled to faded colors and blobs. The boy tried to picture his parents—their faces looked smudged if not completely wrong. Blaze walked to the edge of the safe zone, it wasn't something he could see as much as he could feel, akin to a bubble he had to walk through. The energy drew one in and had them more inclined to stay in then to let them walk free as a safety feature perhaps.
The place would hold children afterall.
ABLAZE
By Velitzia
For myself and (more than likely) no one else because if I'm going I might as well write this.