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Crevan - not at all unlike a wild fox - cautiously stalked through the littered underbrush in some backwoods area of a nameless island in the Indigo Chain. His course leather boots stepped carefully amongst the fallen leaves as he avoided sticks that he dared not test for sound. The heavy rains this morning left the grounds saturated and speckled, combined with the misty drizzled each divot and crevasse was filled to the brim with rainwater. No matter the lightness of which he stepped, his pure weight sunk him slightly, and upon pulling his boot away the print left behind was immediately taken over by a small flood.
As if the tropical island couldn't get enough water, Crevan came across a river next. He heard the steady beat of moving water, shushing and sobbing gently.
The realization that a creek couldn't cry came - to his embarrassment - after a generous time of listening to the sounds of sorrow.
The young man, about 6 foot tall, with long salt and pepper hair that fell freely past his shoulders, approached the stream with a morbid sense of curiosity. He was dressed in leathers and cloth, all some shade of dark and rutty that did well to help the youth blend into the background. His eyes narrowed as they probed the banks for the source of quieted sadness. If he hadn’t been so interested, however, Crevan might have missed the glint from a jewel buried deep within the muck.
The river had swelled during the raining season and carved part of the side out from under a nearby rope and plank bridge. In the gloomy forecast of thickly clouded skies that threatened to downpour, or depending on how you viewed life at that moment - promised, the foreigner’s lustrous silver eyes fell upon an atmospherically appropriate scene. There in the hollowed out bank lay a young girl’s body as she wept into the pillow of mud. He heard her struggle to keep from wailing out despite the level of seclusion she'd dug herself in.
Neona has felt an array of things in her life…
While most thirteen-year-olds are more than willing to volunteer their claims to heartbreak and betrayal, very rarely do they know it in the truest sense. Not every nine-year-old knows the pain of abandonment, Neona surely hadn’t. Of course, that was before the truth of reality struck her in the face with a fierce back hand. She vaguely still hoped for her mother’s return.
Yet, every time she revisited the memory of her mom’s leaving, the clarity of the situation became increasingly obvious. The quake in her voice as she promised a young child she would return when her business is finished. The defeated look in her tear-brimmed eyes as she smiled weakly at her daughter to instill false confidence. Also the smallest hint of remorse that trickled through her mask of tortured courage as she offered up the trinket of a bracelet with simple but gaudy glass beads as some mild gesture of peace in the future.\
How could her mother do this to her?
As tears smeared the lightly caked dirty on her bruised cheeks, the young girl’s vision blurred, and she screamed angrily down at the memory of her mother with the knowledge of the present. “NO! I HATE YOU!”
Despite the fury behind the rash words, they cut deep into her own battered heart...
As if the tropical island couldn't get enough water, Crevan came across a river next. He heard the steady beat of moving water, shushing and sobbing gently.
The realization that a creek couldn't cry came - to his embarrassment - after a generous time of listening to the sounds of sorrow.
The young man, about 6 foot tall, with long salt and pepper hair that fell freely past his shoulders, approached the stream with a morbid sense of curiosity. He was dressed in leathers and cloth, all some shade of dark and rutty that did well to help the youth blend into the background. His eyes narrowed as they probed the banks for the source of quieted sadness. If he hadn’t been so interested, however, Crevan might have missed the glint from a jewel buried deep within the muck.
The river had swelled during the raining season and carved part of the side out from under a nearby rope and plank bridge. In the gloomy forecast of thickly clouded skies that threatened to downpour, or depending on how you viewed life at that moment - promised, the foreigner’s lustrous silver eyes fell upon an atmospherically appropriate scene. There in the hollowed out bank lay a young girl’s body as she wept into the pillow of mud. He heard her struggle to keep from wailing out despite the level of seclusion she'd dug herself in.
~*+*~
Neona has felt an array of things in her life…
While most thirteen-year-olds are more than willing to volunteer their claims to heartbreak and betrayal, very rarely do they know it in the truest sense. Not every nine-year-old knows the pain of abandonment, Neona surely hadn’t. Of course, that was before the truth of reality struck her in the face with a fierce back hand. She vaguely still hoped for her mother’s return.
Yet, every time she revisited the memory of her mom’s leaving, the clarity of the situation became increasingly obvious. The quake in her voice as she promised a young child she would return when her business is finished. The defeated look in her tear-brimmed eyes as she smiled weakly at her daughter to instill false confidence. Also the smallest hint of remorse that trickled through her mask of tortured courage as she offered up the trinket of a bracelet with simple but gaudy glass beads as some mild gesture of peace in the future.\
How could her mother do this to her?
As tears smeared the lightly caked dirty on her bruised cheeks, the young girl’s vision blurred, and she screamed angrily down at the memory of her mother with the knowledge of the present. “NO! I HATE YOU!”
Despite the fury behind the rash words, they cut deep into her own battered heart...