Queen of the Hurricane; Storm (hurricaneborn) wrote in x_2012, @ 2011-01-31 12:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | storm, x-23 |
Who: Storm OTA
Where: Memorial Garden
When: Midmorning Jan 31
What: Storm goes to talk to Harrison about their last project.
The great Storm of the week before had left her exhausted to her bones. So much so that she stayed most of the day abed that Saturday then Sunday she dragged about as though lost in her own thoughts. Horror was a good way to describe what she felt, watching others die or disappear or simply knowing they were no longer there in some way only possible in some kind of dream. It was as if everything she had ever worked for had gone up in smoke without so much as a fight to keep it.
Though she knew there had been a fight. It felt like, at least to her, that they'd lost. What they were doing was holding off the inevitable, trying to stop the tide with their hands or empty the ocean with a bucket. Yet in that dream she kept on fighting, it was the only thing she had left, a final act of defiance.
But what was it truly worth? If they all ended, what difference did one more fight make?
It made a world of difference. Legends were often born of blood. Legends were the stuff on which hope could be fed. Even if they all died, someone would tell the story of them and thus others would find a way to keep going. What more could she ask for, or hope for?
That helped bring a smile to her face. It was enough to insure she was still walking around. Her steps directed her outside, to look at the world she helped to sustain, a world made of people who lived, breathed, laughed, and cried all in the same space. They shared hopes and through those hopes they would one day bring peace, even if it meant the ultimate sacrifice.
Outside the world continued on as it had for the years before man, then since man's coming, and as it would undoubtedly continue in some fashion after man was gone. The wind blew lightly through her hair, the sky called her name softly bidding her fly, and even the ground beneath her feet seemed to push away the thoughts of destruction disturbing her sleep. When one considered the true reality, that man was only a visitor on the face of the world, it was hard to be quite as bothered by the idea of man being destroyed. Knowing the strength of the human spirit, however trapped it might be in a mortal shell, and it was impossible for hope to die.
Harrison's grave didn't need tending when she approached it. For that, she was glad. Not because it did not need tending, but because she could imagine the disquiet it would give his somewhat fastidious gardener's spirit if it did.
"I miss you." It was a quiet admittance meant for him only. "I miss your spirit. I miss your laugh. I miss you, but I am also glad you are not here for things to come."
Then she sat down at the foot of his grave and started to plan, talking in a low voice what she would do with the flower beds of the Haven. It had been the last project they meant to discuss. Even if he wasn't there to give his input, she still wanted to share it with him.