11-19-2008, 01:25 AM
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Private.
It hadn’t been that long, but the concept of time was starting to lapse for him. Days and hours were meaningless, and sometimes eternity occurred in mere minutes. He judged time by cigarettes and sunlight, and often woke in the dark and knew only that it was late, or perhaps early. Everything slowed down in the winter. Even the sunlight seemed to slow, trickling down through the trees and filling the world in heavy-white haze that often was more blinding then he could imagine. Perhaps this was what Laruku saw, in his blind haven, each time he shut his eyes.
Ahren saw other things. He saw fire. Except when he opened his eyes, the fire was still there. He remembered then, what had happened. Going to the city, finding the kerosene. Stumbling in the snow and falling hard once, cutting his arm against the concrete. His head was pulsing too, and he was aware it had been bleeding. He must have struck it falling. He remembered coming back here, to this empty world, and dousing the buildings. He remembered striking the match and throwing it into the slick, sweet-smelling liquid.
Now there were only flames. It was hot enough that where he stood, just outside of the live zone, the heat blew back his hair and melted the snow as it fell. He had no doubt the smoke would draw someone, but it didn’t matter. Perhaps this would confirm that he had started that fire over the mountain, though he had not been chosen for that task.
Secretly, he wished he had been.
It hadn’t been that long, but the concept of time was starting to lapse for him. Days and hours were meaningless, and sometimes eternity occurred in mere minutes. He judged time by cigarettes and sunlight, and often woke in the dark and knew only that it was late, or perhaps early. Everything slowed down in the winter. Even the sunlight seemed to slow, trickling down through the trees and filling the world in heavy-white haze that often was more blinding then he could imagine. Perhaps this was what Laruku saw, in his blind haven, each time he shut his eyes.
Ahren saw other things. He saw fire. Except when he opened his eyes, the fire was still there. He remembered then, what had happened. Going to the city, finding the kerosene. Stumbling in the snow and falling hard once, cutting his arm against the concrete. His head was pulsing too, and he was aware it had been bleeding. He must have struck it falling. He remembered coming back here, to this empty world, and dousing the buildings. He remembered striking the match and throwing it into the slick, sweet-smelling liquid.
Now there were only flames. It was hot enough that where he stood, just outside of the live zone, the heat blew back his hair and melted the snow as it fell. He had no doubt the smoke would draw someone, but it didn’t matter. Perhaps this would confirm that he had started that fire over the mountain, though he had not been chosen for that task.
Secretly, he wished he had been.