The first thing I did when I got home was leave everything on the platform of my Master's wagon, well the gifts and other stuff that was "His" though everything is His, some of the His I knew where to put away! I just dragged ass to the slave wagon curling my fingers around the chains, and fell asleep.
I can't remember the last time I slept so hard. I felt as if I just laid across the lush fur carpets, not bothering to pull out the sleeping furs or blankets. I just needed to feel the cool links of chains at my skin, and the sound of the breeze against the leather and bone canvas.
My dreams were like bubbles just floating around in my little world I get lost in when I sleep. I am a dreamer. My dreams were made of fantasies, memories and even dreams of reality. I have never had a nightmare in my life. Even when Mother died, I didn't feel lost. Entirely. I had Big Red to snuggle against, and Blushes to keep those memories alive. Death is something scared to us. I found it is as strong here. It can be sad, but its not for mourning. Its a rejoice, not so much life ending, but of it just going into another realm of natural order. Flesh was just the first step of our path, to die was what was necessary, to continue to truly live. I have come up with my own theories and thoughts on death, but those things were not as exciting to think about, as my dreams. Right now, in the mist of bubbles just bouncing all over, I saw flashes of me and Big Red as children in the warm season running through fields of flowers and grains. We had our long red hair just pulled back in green ribbons to match our green little velvet dresses. Even in my dream I heard the childish giggles, and I saw the small toddler of Von trying to keep up with us. I watched the three children rub golden petals against each other's cheeks and stains at flesh as they rolled against the grassy hills tickling each other. Reaching out to grab this vision I wanted to keep it there, as it was daring to float up above my head, it popped at my finger tips, like a burst of shimmer once a cool hammer hits the white of metal on the anvil. I had to keep my hands bound behind the small of my back in a tight curl at my slender wrist. I watched myself run to the center of the festival with long streamers of ribbons in my hands to trail after me. I had to see the tossing of the Runes. People would just cheer and be happy. Runes were blessings, magical and gave luck. I watched them dance across the ground with gentle clicks of knocking against each other. They pressed down settling and the designs were beautiful. I didn't need them read to know, they would just make me feel better, seeing them in their own patterns before me. It was like everything else froze as I watched the last stone leave its airborne toss and land against the dust in a great thunder of edges rounded before it fell to its rested position.
Destiny found in the past, to be carried to the future.
Destiny.
Yes, I had to have it. I had to give it away. I was so angry. Just so mad about every bit of the past being torn away from me like a clawed fist ripping away chunks of what was...me from my body. Huge holes gapping, bleeding, as the flesh was just tossed to the side as a simple gesture of..what was then, means nothing now. Get over it Red. You feel safe and then the memories just are nothing more then masses of torn flesh on the ground, staining it with the goo of me still wanting to paste it back in. Once its gone, it never fits again. I think that is what happened the night I lost everything like small painted green pebbles in the grass. I wanted to scramble to find them, all of them, press them back against my heart. Reality was, just let them fall, and use those stone paths to keep walking across.
I needed more stones.
I had to have them, I had to create a path to walk against to keep going.
I felt bad for scaring Catch I think. That was the last moment we spent together that night. Before the need festered and the confusion. I get it now. I do. Like watching builders construct a stone wall. Each piece was there, one had to create the way to work it into its place. You couldn't change the stone, for it would lose its beauty, its original foundation that was the reason it was picked.
I wanted to give a bit of what I believed in. I was lost in creation of my stones. Scratching the surfaces with another broken stone, rubbing in some of those dried paints into the forms to soak into the porous marks. All this anger in me, was only over being unable to figure out what to do with these memories, lessons, times in my life. I had to build that cobble stone path, that would be my future. Form it under each step, though now it would only be dirt and grass that was under my feet. No one would see this path but me. No one would understand it, but me. Only I could build it.
Forgiven, but never forgotten. My stones would show me, there as so much more out there, it was time to let go of the grounded tree I was trying to climb afraid to move and keeping, just waiting to be saved and refusing to move on.
I won't be afraid, no one could save me, but me. I was afraid to walk alone, until I looked up and saw the form of those who never left, offering me a hand, to take that step forward.
Oh yes. I was ready to shove a stone into a few places. Damn it, I was going to make it.
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