Chatterbox: Inkwell

STORY : Fire Song

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All I have in life is a snipet of song. I have
nothing else in the world but the clothes on my back and the song. It is the
beat of my life, more so than even my heartbeat. My heartbeat is soft and
constant, but this song pulses, same and unchanging yet ever fresh and new. My
head bobs in time too unheard music, my heart thumps in time as I sprint into
the market.

        
The drummers play a continuous rhythm, the Emperor’s heartbeat. I’ll
never dance in time with it, I whisper, staring at the red-cloaked slaves, hair
in perfect buns, spin and twirl the same rhythm they do day and night.
Beautiful slaves they may be, brocade dresses and jewels a-gleaming, but their
strained smiles and exhausted posture tell the truth. I hurry past, my ebony
hair streaming out behind me on the wind.              

           I
slip past the tangle of stalls selling miniature marble statues of the Emperor,
the bustle of peasants haggling over dry, tasteless Shry and exchanging coins
stamped with the Emperor’s head for dull brown clothes stamped with the
Emperor’s symbol. As I pass, muddy cloak swirling around me like water, a
merchant calls, “ Sugah ! The Emperor’s favorite food ! Come get it fresh! “

        I
run on. Past the shrine where they worship him, the Emperor. Past the miserable
huts where the Guard live. I’ll run forever if I can. I’ll run forever with the
wind in my hair and the song in my heart and the words of joy in my mouth and
courage in my lungs. My feet will sting in their black slippers and the
tattered leggings  will shred to bits
around my pumping legs, but I’ll never dance in time with the endless nothing
of that sound of his heart, all over Shygar .

      And
then I run into a one of the Guard. His dull copper armor shines, his sword is
sharp and gleaming, and satisfaction is in his gaze as he surves the lie that
he lives. He glances down. His eyes are blue, kind but brave and true. A single
tear trickles out of my eye. He’ll never know, never understand that his
greatest triumphs are but fleeting fleeting dreams. I push myself away from
him, running again, running like the wind.

                     “ Wait ! “ he calls. As
the wind swirls my hair up in knots, I spin, crying, “ I will never stop, never
! “ and on I run. My feet pump to the rhythm of my song. It rushes like fire
through my blood , living fire that is hotter than dragon’s fire. I run right
through the market, charging right up over the short wall with out hesitation.
I run and run and run. I dart and dash with undying energy. The song waxes, and
I feel the energy build within myself. I cannot help myself. I race over to the
nearest drummer and pull the drum away. I close my eyes. The music flows from
me, from the bottom of my heart. Shining, it pours out my mouth, in streams of
silvery air. I cannot hold it in. It swirls. My hands race across the drum,
tapping and beating . The air around me swirls my hair, I don’t bother to hold
it back. I tilt back to the sky and sing. Around me, a crowd gathers.

         They whirl, swirling, leaping, for
there’s fire in their veins and a snipet of song in their heart. 

What do you think ?