On a Semi Unrelated Note, but not Really Because this is my Blog…

October 2, 2008

I wrote something…

“The Sacrifice” – By OSTBear

          He can feel her warmth as he gently presses his hand against her, an illogical fear that she might break under his touch. He runs his hand over the smooth and almost soft surface, amazed at her vibrance even in this dark, damp, and humid place. He realizes as he moves his hand along her side that this appendage is leading him on, urging him to continue to her entrance. His body yearns for the feel of her underneath him and in his nose and beneath his eyes. The knuckles on his hand turn white as they grip her, preparing to enter her embrace once more.
          “If you step foot on that ship,” a voice, strong and ancient, echoes from his left, “you’ll never want to leave.” A man, much like the first but with more time folded into his skin, smiles stepping forward ever so slowly into the faint light of the lamp hanging from above. “And what would Alicia think?”
          He grins a mournful grin and releases the railing, taking a step back. “I miss it Dad. I miss it so much I can hear her calling me some times.” His voice begins to tremble and his body begins to quiver as he releases the railing of the gangway. It’s been like this for a while now; the medicine men call it ‘redeeming’ when the body aches so much for something that it shakes. But this redeeming is normally reserved for the weed, not for this.
          “She calls to me too,” the older man bows his head, and leaning heavily on his cane, “good times, bad, it doesn’t matter. Adrianna sings her song and I long to feel her warmth and the wind in my hair.”
          “Men like us were never meant to live on solid ground.” He sighs moving toward his father offering his arm. His father takes it without protest, something he used to give plenty of. Always independent and the source of strength for others; after the fall that obliterated his knee he found it difficult to adjust to relying on his friends rather than having them rely on him.
          “Perhaps not, but we were always meant to be men who serve the people. They have asked us to remain with our feet firmly planted on the ground.”
          “Then they ask too much of us Father.” The statement, full of irony, personifies their woe. To ask a man forged by adventure and danger and the four corners of the world to give that up is the same as asking an average man to take it on. Every day they feel the burden, and every day it kills them a little more. “I long to teach my son of our family and what it means to be born into it. It is all I have ever thought about since he came into this world, all that I ever wanted for him, and now the people insist I must deny myself of this? Deny my son of his heritage?”
          “I remember,” his father, ever conscious of his son’s emotional pitch, tries to calm him. “I remember when you first started to build the Tyconderosa. You were always dreaming, even when you were barely old enough to stay on your feet you were dreaming. It didn’t change after you built her either; faster, higher, more maneuverable your ship didn’t go a month without some kind of modification. People view us as masters of the gun, the sword, and the sky but they almost never remember that we created and maintained our sky chariots. You were the best engineer our family had ever seen, but in some ways I think that did you a disservice.”
          “How so?”
          “I can remember when you redesigned the engines on Adrianna. Wasn’t more than five minutes after they were installed in the ship that you were on to the next thing to be improved.” His father laughs to himself.
          “I don’t understand father.”
          “You could never sit still for long enough to enjoy anything you had done. It was always off to the next thing, never any time taken for the present, for the world around you. Always the future. Always what could be never what has been or what is.” He looks admonished as his father attempts to pass on this wisdom, which brings a smile to his father’s face.
          “I’m… I’m sorry-”
          “My son.” His father stops and turns his son towards him holding him by the upper arms. “I am ever so proud of you. Being mindful of the future is not the worst thing a man could do. Your family will forever be served by it. But it is important son that you take the time to enjoy what you have in front of you once in a while.” He embraces his son then, and the boy feels his father’s love.
          “James? Edward? Are you down here?” Drucilla Nemo calls down after her husband and son.
          “We’ll be up in a moment.” Edward calls back with a smile.
          “Well hurry, supper’s getting cold!” James smiles at the sound of his mother’s voice, thick with love much like his father’s.
          “Come then Captain Nemo, we wouldn’t want supper to get cold.” James smiles offering his arm to his father.
 He takes his son’s arm and smiles warmly, “No Captain Nemo, we most certainly would not.”

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