Silent and Dark. Still, as if it is dead.
It is the forest. A sad green with no movement. Pine trees gloomily watch me as I walk by.
There it goes again. Rustling. Sounds of large animals. No. Sounds of falling death. No. Sounds of new life.
Snow. White. Restless, but still. It is not alive. Is it?
Movement again. Frozen still. Crash! Crash! Crash!
Rested. No movement.
Trees sway back and forth. Wind is picking up.
I fall. White water washes across my face. A puddle? No. A Pond.
The center is still frozen. The rest has melted.
Wind picks up even stronger. I embrace it. I take it in my lungs. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Hold.
I close my eyes. One second. Two seconds. Three Seconds. Four Seconds. Stop!
Exhale!
I open my eyes. I am in the center of the pond.
I take off my jacket. Blood stained. My blood.
I take off my shirt. More blood. This time not my blood, but my blood and someone else's.
I inhale one more time. This time there will not be an exhale. That final breath was sweet and crisp.
My gift, my wings. Feathers look beyond the light shimmering like metal on my back.
Still holding my breath I draw my blade and close my eyes.
Slice. Slice. Tears drip down my face. Blood drips down my back.
I feel the life leave my wings. They start to dissolve.
The snow melts. It begins to rain. Blue. Green. Purple. White. Black. Red. Yellow. Orange.
The new world. My sacrifice.
From my feet the world grew. Vines sprouted and expand from my feet like locomotives.
The frozen center I once was standing on turns to mud and rockets above the scenery. I watch my sacrifice.
Every rain drop produces a new tree. Each a new kind. Some with spirals, others straight, puff balls, leaves. The pines which were gloom now as happy as the new born baby's parents.
Conflict arises. The beast arises from his resting place. Drenched and angry.
A cross on his claws, science on his teeth. It runs toward me. I stand firm.
The blade in my hands I stab it blind. Into the brain.
I open my eyes and see nothing. Here is beauty, at the cost my wings and my eyes, and I am not allowed to see it or fly to experience it. I am frozen to this spot so others do not repeat me. I am the birth of new and the death of old.
By Wade Kimble
