"Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye... it also includes the inner pictures of the soul." MUNCH, Edward
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...Lalala lalala, lala la la la...
...Lalala lalala, lala la la la...
...Lalala lalala, lala la la la...
...Lalala lalala, lala la la la...
...La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa...
I'm not the only one there, I know.
You're within me, and I am with you. Many like you are within they, others like your mother. If you could look at their chests as I do. As a country has a space to be filled in by houses, and houses have rooms, and rooms have furnitures, and furnitures have decorations, everything is meant to be filled in, or else, remains empty. But even the empty has something gathered with, like a balloon is filled in by air, so there is no excuse for such emptiness to exist. Well, even when I get fed up, and stuff my stomach, I still feel empty. Not that I am truly empty, but it is because I feel such. To feel empty, and to be empty are unrelated, as much as to feel alive is different from to be alive. You, me, Bart, Jack, Daniel, Clyde... they all are alive, yet what does that mean?
While I am buying some food for Jack and me, your father and other fathers are fighting against the enemy, or at least, pretending to. Pretentions, feelings... we all fight against someone, or something. Against the hunger, I struggle for me and Jack to be alive, while your father struggle for us to be alive as well. I'm glad that you, at least, is alive. I hope you share of this same live you are fighting to remain like this as you grown up. Many like you, unfortunately, don't live for too long as you do. Mostly they are rejected because they don't have the same as you do, or what their mother has or doesn't have, or had with other of his sons.
One of my brothers was rejected by mother, before it even opened its eyes, before it felt the warmth of mother, before mother had given his a birth. I still don't know if it was a brother, or a sister. He, or she, had no name, or a life anymore, unlike father, who had a name, and even went carrying on of such to the bottom of the grave he felt, like a leaf felt on the field the day before his hole was already dug. It was also buried like his father, but instead on the garden, a place where life grows up attached to the dead ones, like this land of a rain that keeps falling as many lifes that had begun there. Mother had planned a life to his, a life without father, but with their both lifes gone, her plans, our plans felt like a sort of waste. A sort of, because in the end, mother and I learned since then that life is funny, but not ha ha... funny.
...To feel pain, or to feel sad? We both shed a tear, as we shed in many days, that become a year; another year, unlike the one we thought to be what we expected to. Another day, and instead of playing with another brother, mother made me another doll. Not another doll, another tear shed. They say only animals feel pain, whereas humans feel sad, feel joy, try to fill in the other by his same joy. Your father filled me in by his joy, and I felt joy, and after a few days without his joy, I felt you. You become my joy, as much as that doll become the same, for me, and mother. She had made it on her own, like many times, but that time was unlike others.
This joy they share may be a proof men like your father left that we are not alone. Thought, why would I? Why would we, if some of us already had a son? Children... the more you have, more prospere your life becomes. By creating new life, you relief yours. So did mother, by making of such rag doll, such child never finished, unlike that doll and each thread that composed its whole. That doll even had a ribbon tied to its tail, like the one in mine and many tails around here, and green buttons sewed alike the eyes and clothes of many of my siblings. Yet, the only remaining thing for it was a name. I never came up with such, but mother did, and so Karellen was given in to me, a gift from mother to daughter.
Of all the dolls made by mother, that one is still with me. Jack used to play with Karellen when he was younger, a little toddler that Karellen was once supposed to be. Jack looked almost exactly as the doll, except my son was the living one. Karellen had its button eyes opened, while Jack learned to open both on his own; the doll had no mouth, Jack tried to eat or put anything on its reach inside the mouth of his, even the doll, whom he had bitten an eye off, almost did, if it wasn't for the strong thread tied within each hole of that one button.
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If Jack tore that eye apart and had swallowed it, and if there wasn't anyone there either, certainly we wouldn't know for sure if he would be alive until now. Luckily, that button was engulfed by its saliva and only, as Bart had told me when I came back after another of those days. I was so tired, that I didn't even looked at, or holded of my infant with my arms. That was the result of another hunting, against those Ironites, who can fly as a dragon and breath fire like one as well. Jumping from roof to another roof, still feeling of the pain brought by my first son in the chest, holding of the spear with both hands, or only at those leaps, where I usually ended up striking the skull of it, with the tip of my spear or with my feet, either effective, or used to be. If I wasn't there, many lifes would be gone, but if Bart wasn't there, Jack and only would be gone...
What? Those are shivers, and only. They come with winter, like those heathers. Look how they grown up, in the snow, in the rain, in the storm, they are everywhere. Theresa, your aunt, loves them all. She loves everything, and more of everything. She had gotten so many affairs, and ended up with only one, unlike the petals of heathers she took away from the soil they were raised, to fill in the glass of water. Same heathers taken in her hands on her marriage, scaterred on top of same bed where her children had been given in to this world, a place where the rain washes clean the moss garden. A sanctuary for the souls awaiting to be born, for many, winter means white, and white often means winter; while white is the beginning of all colors, winter is the closure for then all, into a same white. I am currently heading to the market, so I can buy more food supplies, for you, me and Jack as well. Not only me, but others like me as well...fish...fish...To think I used to walk around these streets wearing that Dragoon outfit, being knew by the red of the coat, and the spear I once holded with this hand...His spear...yummy...
Now I am just another one belonging to this place, even my clothes pretend to say it so...what do you want...apples...Radishs...These women wear of this same cloth as mine, though they don't seem to share of my same name...what do you want?...Names and clothes don't fit together, unless they do in some occasions. Was I knew by these people because of the outift and wings I once wore in my body and head? Maybe yes, but shouldn't I say no?...What do you want?...My neighbors know me, with or without the Dragoon attached on my outfit, red as the blood of our family...What do you want?...Apples! Apples!...Radishs! Radishs!...Mild and Green...
...What do you want?... What are you afraid of?...
— Bread.
— How many, my dear?
...Taste the fish! So yummy!... What about a pennyroyal tea? ...
...Afraid?... Yummy!...
— Enough to fill in this chest, please.
...Radishs! Radishs! ...sure its a relaxing tea, my lady...
...Hmm! The scent may be bad, but tastes good!...
...Afraid?...
...So, because I am a Crescent that I am knew? Far more gossips surrounds my surname than legends to be told. You can eat a radish as much as you can eat people, though the later is a crime. Far more, it's a sin, like when we become Dragoon Knigths. We couldn't be what men were, this until Joanna, founder of the Crescent clan, came in to do the agreement. Besides a statue given after her demise, they created an order of female knights, knew by Leviathan Knights, whereas the male become the Bahamut Knights. I am a Leviathan Knight, or used to be, this before you came in.
Not that I don't like you, in fact, I like children, yet I never had the time to take care of Jack. If I truly liked his, then this job would be done, and that is a sacrifice I must not commit. I can't live for the sake of only one, though, he is me as well. Me, and Bart too. How I wish for your father to come back soon. I wish he could be here now, but that is just a wish, of an only person. Me, Jack and others of us think the same. Even you may be tired of this wait, but don't worry. Just don't. You are too young to be upset, and too young to share of a hair that keeps falling like the rain.
— So how are you doing, Lenneth? – unlike the man standing at the back of the counter, like many around the market, someone asked how do I feel, or how is my day. On these times, when we are on our own, they must show us some kind of compassion for what we had been throught. To think they are the few ones who stood there... so, about the voice I heard, my dear, it was such voice coming from my back. I didn't know who it was, but certainly she knew me. It wasn't a relative of mine, or Bart's, but sure knew me, like this.
Near my back, there's a woman standing in there. She is like any other Burmecian I knew, this in the first layer. She's not a single woman, thought she seems to be alone, but she ain't or doesn't look like a common figure with another look, a far depth one, yet not enough to estabilish her personality. Prominent details are the basket she's carrying in the left arm, and a little infant on the another. Her face and eyes open wide, a hand softly touching the chest, and a reaction of relief, a brief one, in a single breath, that repeats with time. I can see the trepidation of the legs, the same ones felt by me after Jack came from me. She should had been in bed by now, but she keeps standing like this, even wounded by a knife, feeling such pains, as I do feel a kind of compassion, maybe less than her pain, but at least I feel something, so familiar, yet so near of me.
— Hi – I said. It was pretty basic to say only a single greeting like this. If I, at least, knew her... Now, I should tell her how do I fell, and I must be truthful to her, and myself – I feel fine – sometimes I do, to be fair. Today seems to be the day I shall feel fine, since early morning. Jack once again had no complains about the breakfast and lunch, though he said to me that there was no milk.
That wasn't a complain, since I also had been complaining to myself about it as well. At least, there'll be bread for tomorrow, this if those I had gotten in this basket don't get hard as a rock. They still use to do, ever since those days. I lost one of my teeth when I ate one of these breads; fortunately, it was a milk-tooth, so another grew on its place months after. Now, wasn't I talking to that lady there? Yes, I was. I said a 'hi' earlier, didn't I? She is buying some bread as well, as much as I had done before her.
— Excuse me, but what is your name? – I asked the essential question to that woman I talked with. On an instant, her answer came.
— My name is Sophia – she said, clever as before. She listened to me, even backwards of me, I know she did. It's wrong to not keep listening to others when they do need of your attention, my dear.
But I know you are listening to me, aren't you? You may be sleeping by now, like that newborn kept wrapped in those pieces of clothes, comfortably wiggling such little ears, small like yours. I remember the days I used to walk with Jack around the town on a same way. Only a few times I did it so, because of my duty as a Dragoon. Sometimes, I would hold his with my outfit on, as he used to touch my hair instead of the cold escutcheon hanging on my chest, which I had quite a hard time to take it out to feed his. If Jack could, at least, know of the efforts I had to be able to be his mother and a knight at same time...
— What is his name? – I asked to Sophia, still standing next to me. She already filled in the basket with the breads, as we walked to somewhere else in the market. This place is full of people, prices and lies, but there's also good people of heart, and people who also sell hearts, however.
— Sixty – she said – Sixty Highwind – and later added his, or her surname. I didn't know if it was a boy or a girl, but sounded like a boy's name. Such a name, don't you think? I have a name for you too, though Bart also had gotten a name for you too. I wonder if you'll be a boy or a girl, well, only time will tell, when I hold you into my arms, the same for your father, this if he makes the way back to home, please. Well, of all the people of this market, this woman knews who am I. She spoke 'Lenneth', and only. Such formality could be only heard from my husband, or a few relatives, who also call me by Crescent. Maybe she forgot I was a Crescent, or didn't insisted to tell such. I admit that I'm a bit tired of being called by my surname, and only. When I used to wear the Dragoon helm, together with the entirety of my outfit, that mattered, but now it seems so... so... formal.
Yuck. There are 'Sirs', 'Dukes', 'Kings', 'Queens'... had any of them got mad because of such formality? They are still people, so why shouldn't we pretend they are people, to often call them by their names, instead of 'King Something', why not just 'Something'? However, that's just my opinion. They are proud to be called this way. It's a matter of recognition, since the names of a few are kept, while others are forgotten. Not that I am proud of being a Crescent, sure I am, but I am more than a Dragoon Knight, or more than a female, more than the lady in red, more than the white hair beauty, more than a single mother. I want more, but I don't know the enough; I have limits, but I don't accept such. I was born with this name and blood, and I need to accept of such, because without them... I am nothing. Nothing but someone like mother, taught to raise children ever since I used to play with Karellen, or since Jack used to play with his.
— You used to be a Dragoon Knight, don't you? – Sophia asked to me. Coldly, I took a deep breath, a breath of distress, followed by words of sincerity, or kinda of.
— Yes. I used to be – I promptly answered, looking down with the eyes. No, it's not your fault, my dear, I know it isn't. I am glad that you made your appearance with such evidence. What I once thought to be a disease was nothing more than a new life, the seed that hatched from the love of me and your father. After all the lives I and my spear had taken away with a single hit, you had been striking me in the back, with a pain belonging to same spear, that I am glad to feel, somehow. They can see you plenty by now, instead of what used to be my misery. They now pay attention to yours, instead of my face, my hair, and my clothes.
— Really? – surprised, Sophia briefly spoke. She was one of those persons that used to recognize me as a Dragoon Knight, or so I thought – A Dragoon is always a Dragoon, no matter the situation, ain't I right?
— Yes, you are. But you see–
— Can you do a favour for me? – she interruped what I was about to say. I don't remember, but I was about to say something about pregnancy, which may be a wonderful experience for many, yet a dangerous game for same ones. Prior, it's fine, then the fun stops with the pukes, the scent of lenghts, the... what was it? Oh, that's fine. I am about to do a favour for this Sophia, why not? Before I ask to her what should I do, she raises that basket, full of food taken in from the market, from where we once went, and now we are heading to our homes. I guess bread, cereals and those fruits and truffles are enough for today, though I still need some milk, or else there'll be no chai or what Jack intends to do with such. I shall hold tight the ear of his if trouble happens, but that would be a waste of time, since Jack had done nothing wrong or questionable or relatable to bad behavior lately. He keeps quiet as usual, like he once did.
I own Bart and the amount of gils he left, just in case the unnexpected happened, like it had weeks ago. With his, and other males too, like Sophia's husband too. He doesn't even know of its sixty son, as much as Bart doesn't even know that I am not sick, or deranged. I do feel fine, yet I don't, because Bart doesn't know how do I feel, neither Jack, who doesn't believe in me, just obeys. He needs to, for some reason, maybe because I am the only one left to take care of his, the one who stood with his father mostly than any other, besides himself. I may be Lennie to his, but still I am a Lenneth, in a way.
So, the favour Sophia asked for me was to take her, kinda, heavy basket and hold it until we reached her home. That sure was an easy task, in theory, but practice fooled me again. Now I had to keep carrying on both baskets, counting yours as well, afraid of breaking the column apart, but that was an overreaction of my body, and memories of those times I trained to become a Dragoon Knight. This reminded of the day I had to wear heavier armor as usual, and climb a mountain path to defeat some Grand Dragons, left there by the highest skilled Knights who had immobilized them with the extract of opiates. Though they left many scars on my back, by each time I defeated one of them, I had to wear a pair of rings attached on their body, and then I had to kill another, wear its rings, and another, wear the rings, until my limbs could support. The maximum allowed quantity of rings is equivalent to the strenght of 24 men.
Such hellish challenge that led the life of many into a skull collapsed by the weight of the rings can't be compared to this task of lifting this kind woman's basket and mine, with both hands, in the way back home of ours. We live at the countryside as well, it's such relaxing place, more than the town, maybe even like inside there, my dear. Listen... the rain follow us as well, always had ever since we were born. While I hold of these baskets, Sophia still hold of the infant with both arms by now. She doesn't want to let him go, and why would she? I understand it. I did let Jack go, and I'm sure I won't let you go, since besides Jack, you are the only one there for me to take care of, or to be taken care back in the old days. These and those days, already gone, unlike your father. He may be far away, but only in lenghts stretching these lands, as the sky remains the same leaking ceiling of always.
Finally, whew!... There is Sophia's house, which seems quite a lot alike mine. These structures share of a same shape, of a bell, and same people living in there. Kids, as usual, awaited for their parents or relatives to come back, so they can eat, keep playing with no worries, or talk with the adults, to satisfy their curiosity. Currently, there was none of them, as it seemed to be. Only Sixty was there with Sophia, who carefully opened the door, to allow her and me to come inside. As we stepped from the round marbles of outside to went through the room, once dark but now seem with the candles lit upon the walls that lead from that room to the kitchen on the right, clearly illuminated by the window, as I left those baskets on the table, what a relief... I thought, this until a figure came running downstairs. Those steps, now heard alike the common pitter-patter of a child's legs, belonged to one of Sophia's sons.
— Mommy! – he exclaimed of surprise, as he came running like before, to give a hug, a brief and soft one, on Sophia's legs, who still trembled, but that didn't mattered, as before.
— Where are your brothers, Fratley? – Sophia asked to that infant. Fratley... do I recall such name? Maybe I do.
— They are playing in the field, mommy... – he said, and kept saying, with that characteristic voice belonging to a child like his, and Jack, though my son's voice varies in a certain tone, unlike this younger one. This Fratley... yes, he is one of Jack's friends, I presume. Something I noticed from his is that he swings the knees to the front and back, back and forth, and so repeats. He also looked upon his mother, and me as well. With an only eye often being targeted onto me, as he kept talking with his mom, and her all ears to his, yet she was paying more attention to the baby in her arms than the one who already learned to talk, and how does he talk, for someone of his height. We are both taller than his, yet far different people by design, like him as well.
— ...Fratley – by the instant Sophia interrupted his, after speaking of his name, Fratley had stopped the conversation. He stood quiet, looking at his mother, and only, though his limbs still kept moving, unlike that gaze only directed to his mother, barely blocked by a shards of his long hair, coming from underneath the green cap each boy like him does wear. So he stood in there, awaiting for what seemed to be an order, as usual it seemed to be. I know it, because Jack also share of this same way to deal with my orders, since he already knows when I should give one to his. When I speak of Jack's name, on a same tone Sophia spoke of Fratley's, there is a pressage on the way the name is spoken, as they promptly know what to do next, all by experience. To wear proper clothes, to come to the table for dinner, to get in bed to sleep... these kids already know what to do, and usually they stand quiet, because they haven't achieved such experience.
— Yes, mommy? – he asked. Besides standing in there, looking fixed at mother's eyes, Fratley also asked a single question to his mother. He had no idea of what to do, but ask to the one who told the name of his, on that tone, which other children would be able to decipher easily, as I did already. But Fratley is still young to attain coordenation for what he is supposed to do.
— You said your brothers went to the field, so why don't you call them to come here now?
— Yes, mommy – Fratley said, promptly turning his back and running away from our sight. But before he coult step on, he turned backwards, now looking up to me, with both eyes gazing as much as I – Hey, mommy... Who is this other lady over there?
— Well, this one here is Lenneth – said Sophia, talking to Fratley, yet cuddling of the little one in her arms – You should thank her for being able to help me come back to home, my dear.
— Oh... – he looked towards me, like a sunflower revolving to the nearest ounce of light. For a moment, his face expressed such gratitude, less than what he intended to do, but yet he had found a way to show such – Thanks, Lenneth – he said, as he waved the little hand of his, brief as the smirk given to me, and from me to his as well. So he ran away from the kitchen, to the door, and outside, until the vision of his fainted away fron our sight.
— He sure is a nice kid, isn't it? – Sophia asked me, with a rhetorical look on her eyes – The others are good kids too, though they may age from a time to another... but that's their nature, that once belonged to us as well. Such a pain, yet they are nice with each other, as much as we do. Maybe we'll see one and another soon, don't we, Lenneth? – as I picked up my chest, I decided to left Sophia's house, not before I could say a goodbye to her.
— Yes. Sooner than you think. Bye.
— May Bahamut shall grant you strenght.
Now, before we head to home at least, I need to borrow some milk for me, and Jack. I am a gallon of milk already, but this is only reserved for yours. Once it belonged to Jack, but now he had grown up, and had acquired a taste for other things, and born with some as well. We are guiden by such forces to meet friends, marry each other, have children, all for a sense of security, similar to the one we had while inside the womb, as much as you do by now. But soon, you'll get out of there, but don't worry. When your descent comes, there will be those who won't let you fall, as they hold you close, sharing of the heat, a sense of heat you currently are living with. Besides heat, I'll offer you safety in those arms.
Safety can be found in a gun, in these claws, or at the tip of many javelins, sharp as the jaws of the dragons killed by those. It may be just an instinct, but dragons do kill to find safety for their own species, as much as we do for the sake of our species as well. I used to kill, but now I am breeding of new life, your life. I once breed of Jack's life too, but this time, it feels that I am so close to yours, this is unlike what I felt for Jack, before his birth. There is a first time for everything, or so they say, and a sense of first that only happens once.
You can speak a world, futile for us who already spoke of many, but you'll never feel once again how special such word sounded, only for the first time, and only; you can eat a bowl of soup, either like it or not, and even if you grown up and learn to like such taste, you will never feel the same strange sensation of such flavour being introduced in your mouth, to be swallowed deep into your throat; you can feel the rain running throught your skin, but as soon as you keep walking below it, you lose the sensation of being bothered about it, or what you felt for the first time rain touched upon your nose. You can love a person too, be kissed by they lips, same ones who spoke of your name, be caressed by they hands, be guided by the candle in the darkest of the narrow paths, but either if it was you or they who threw away the keys, even if you meet with another person, you'll always remind of his, or her, for the first time and for what seems to be an eternity.459Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIEz88XouFe
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