Reality Wept

 

Our second Fantasy Selection  for the day!

fogThe sun bled its final hurrah across the wind swept grass as a dark mist began to form immediately over the horizon. It encroached ever onward, seeking he who held the strings of reality in his vault.

“They’ve returned!” said Fitzroy. A small boy obsessed with playing at manhood, Fitzroy was prone to exaggeration. This was not one of those times.

“Dammit, not now. Too soon,” Macobe said.

He watched Fitzroy run back and forth between the two doors in the cottage. Each time he grabbed the heavy slab of wood across the door to make sure it was solid.

“Fool boy, you can’t lift those, what good are you doing? Now get out of the way, I need to go outside.”

Fitzroy ran to his room as Macobe gently lifted his fingers, sending the plank of wood flying off of the door from the other side of the room. He stepped outside and the cold winds that always seemed to precede the mist blew his robes back. Macobe felt his arms tense involuntarily and a prickle ran down the back of his neck as he looked at the creature. Behind it was the absence of life. Of existence. Entropy. It was simply a white slate.

He held up both arms and a surge of blue energy cascaded forth from his body, meeting the mist well before it had reached his domicile. How many times had he fought this thing back? How many times had he alone been responsible for repainting reality as best he could remember it?

Occasionally he would forget a city or a people. Atlantis was a large mistake, he acknowledged that. Yet it was a thankless job. His knees buckled for a moment and he cursed under his breath.

“Not today, creature, you tell your Master that today will be no different than the last time, or the time before that!”

He lurched forward, and used the strength in his legs to once more stand upright. In doing so, the heat of the blue light spread even further outward. The darkness retreated. Macobe pushed forward. This would go exactly as the previous attempts had gone. The enemy would poke and prod his defenses, but in the end, find him equal to the task that the universe had given him.

Using all of his might, he pulled his arms to him, and shoved as hard as he could. The energy that was an extension of him hit the darkness hard. He leaned in to the devourer now and quickly approached the point where the mist would retreat. Except now, the darkness stopped pushing back. Macobe fell forward and like an angry serpent, the darkness raised its head and struck at him, ungaurded.

Macobe let out a scream as the power cursed through his body, ripping him asunder, atom by atom. He felt the hatred of the mist course through his veins until he could no longer separate his thoughts from the spitting disdain it had for all life. He had failed. He had manned his post since before the dawn of time, and now, he had failed.

In the distance he heard a high pitched sobbing sound, a child mourning loss. Then the darkness was gone. In its place was a vibrant tangerine ring of power far brighter than anything Macobe had ever seen. He looked back to see the source. It was Fitzroy, his eyes swimming in tears, but now a curious smile on his face. He was proud of himself. Macobe sat upright, sure his legs were still too unsteady for him to stand. He looked at the child, now slowly walking to him.

“It’s about time, boy.”

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