21:59
It was like a red dye, bonded to my skin. No amount of water could wash it off. It sunk within the seams of my clothes and soaked it. But it wouldn't come off.
I scrubbed until the skin turned raw, swollen — a deep, palpable red. But it didn't come off.
I looked into the mirror, he stared back at me. That man. The evil. The Id while I was the superego. I am.
There was a knock on the door to the bathroom and a soft voice followed, "Orin! Are you okay inside there?"
I opened the door with a soft, failing smile — one that trembled between heartbeats.
I washed my hands again. Still red. Still not mine. Then—
A voice pulled me back from the porcelain basin.
"Do you-Do you remember the time it all changed. The war stopped." she asked
I nodded, "It was my last memory,"
She looked down, before looking up again her eyes first.
"Then I'll tell you. A story…"
She sat opposite me, watching closely as I sipped my tea. "There were two children, born from mounds of white phosphorus. One seeked simplicity, and peace. While one craved truth and knowledge. They were one of the same, however two separate pieces of one person–split into two. The first child stayed within the mounds of white phosphorus, he built his home there, and eventually He shaped the mounds into plains. From plains, he grew forests. And he turned the dirt into animals. Wolves, birds, rabbits. A multitude.
However the other seeked something deeper. Truth. He had walked for years looking for this truth, something beyond the mounds of white phosphorus, he had found other children much like himself. They were whole. He had seen few adults. But it was not what he searched for. And when he searched, he had found a cave. In the cave made from burning ash. From white phosphorus. Within the cave there was a bush of sticks and leaves. The bush was burning. He had never seen anything like it before. It was bright as day, and full of colour. The only colours he had seen were white and blue and orange. It was like a second sun. He took it for himself and used it. And with it he made people out of clay. And imbued the clay with the flame itself. And each of the people had a name."
It was one split into two, the spirit of creativity and the spirit of knowledge. Hollow when alone.
I looked down at my watch. Few gears turning. Some water had splashed on it without me realizing. Hollow. That's the feeling, displaced with no place in the world. Searching endlessly for what I'm missing. Maybe the memories won't fill up this void. But the people around me.
When she finished, we didn't speak. Not out of awkwardness — but reverence, perhaps. As if the story had spoken enough.
Suddenly the candles which brightened the room ceased. Their flames faded to smoke. With the dark there was one still lit in her hand stood upon a bronze plate.
The candle burned silently, its wax forming pure, pale tears that slid down its length. They cooled upon contact with the metal plate below, hardening into irregular white petals. Nothing moved but the slow drip—steady, inevitable, like the passage of time itself.
"22:14" I muttered to myself
I'd been lost within my watch so much so that. I'd even forgotten to check the time.
Then the remaining fire faded.
"Lux." She murmured into the darkness
In her hand a ball of fire hovered, flickering and shifting. She held out her other hand and it jumped from hand to hand. It was beautiful.
As I looked towards her, her eyes were no longer grey, they were full of red, the flame reflected within her eyes.
"What is this?" I muttered in astonishment, but a part of me pulled away. The fear of fire.
"This is truth, burned clean. This is The Requiem." She responded
"If you really want to understand… I'll teach you. But you'll have to remember things you'd rather forget."
"And eventually… Let go."
The flames faded, a thin veil of smoke, clouding into the ceiling.
Even when the light died, the truth still burned somewhere behind her eyes