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Securing the last knot around his waist, he ran a hand easily through his hair, disturbing it more than straightening it as the act was meant to do. Looking down at the figure slumbering on the bed, he gave a soft, humourless smile as he ghosted a finger lightly over the creamy white skin. A jolt of energy shot up his finger where his finger graced against its warmth, a feeling that caused him to jerk back. Closing his eyes to let the brief shudder run through his body, he turned away from the bed before opening them again. He could feel the resultant energy from that night’s activities coursing through his blood, making his already sharp senses even more sensitive. He had to go.
Stepping out of the small hut located near the outskirts of the little village he had been passing through out of desperation, he paused as a familiar fragrance caught his nose, bringing an unwitting smile to his lips. Closing his eyes once more, he inhaled deeply, allowing the sweet smell to fill his senses, sating him in a way that none of his night-time indulgences never could. Another soft sigh later, and a slight tilting of his head, brought his now focused gaze onto the source of his smile as he slowly approached it. Bending down to pick up an unfortunate branch that someone had broken off, the striking young man brought it to his nose and inhaled. The strong scent still present on the flowers caught hold of his mind and clung on, pulling out the memory of the first time he had been gifted by its sweet scent. The first time he had dreamt about it.
Even though it had been over four years ago, it was not a night that he could easily forget, especially not with the dream that had plagued him that night and for several nights after. How could he forget a voice like that? A voice so tender and soft ¨C a voice that had wrapped itself around him like the caress of a gentle wind, capturing effortlessly his thoughts, and even his heart. The voice that brought along with it the sweet and gentle smell of cherry blossoms floating about him, surrounding him in their calming scent. In his dream, he had almost been able to see the little pink flowers flying around him in the darkness that also accompanied that dream, almost unfailingly persistent and just as soothing. It had almost brought tears to his eyes the next day, when he had woken up alone under the bright sunlight leaking through his curtains. He could still remember however, the rush that had followed that moment as his newly heightened senses registered. The delight it had been to breathe in the fresh air and have that first mug of tea in the morning. Could still remember the guarded expressions on his family’s faces as he stepped out of his room in to greet them as he always did. The refusal of his foster mother to look him in the eye as her husband spoke to him in a guarded tone. He could still remember the warning had been delivered in the end by that somber voice: Follow what path you should so choose, but remember, in the end, no matter what you do or where you are, you will have to choose. And when you do, choose wisely.
He still remembered the days that followed. The hatred and fear that surrounded him as people began to notice the changes, as his powers began manifesting itself and taking control of his actions, his mind. The days spent hiding away from those he had grown up with and called friends. The nights he had spent waiting for sleep to claim him and for that voice to once again come and soothe him. And it did. At least it had, for a while. But that had changed as well. As the days turned into weeks, the voice had become less soothing. It had become more urgent and had begun to sound almost desperate. It was then that he had realized that he could not hold back much longer. He had to leave now or he would do something he’d regret. He had to disappear before it was too late. And so, he left. Under the cover of night, he had fled from the village that had been his home for the better part of the last sixteen years, leaving behind everything with the hope of finding it again, in a different form.
Lowering his arm, a set of suspiciously bright eyes slid open slowly as he continued to stare at the delicate pink flowers in his hand, his gaze still distant in thought. When he had left the village, the dreams had stopped. The voice had left with it and had not touched him again. But despite this, that urgency and desperation had never left him. It clings to the back of his mind till this day, urging him on. Pushing him forward towards an unknown destination with the promise of being reunited with it. A promise that he had clung to as he traveled from village to village, searching for something he could not yet identify. Something he would continue to search for as long as he lived. A resolve he had come accept to long ago.
And then, just as the moon began to set upon the little village, he drew his mind back to the present again. It was time to go.
 D i c h o t i c · Sun Jul 06, 2008 @ 12:56am · 0 Comments |
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