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 Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 12:34 pm
She had a moral dislike, Nalira, to human emotion. Memory and suppression were equally as painful, but unlike the former had found a place in her life.
It was the eve of September and, like every year before it, Nalira once more found herself kept to her mother's unmarked grave, or rather, that the grave had kept to her; it had kept her from effectually being on this day -- from being anything more than another mourning soul lost and never found. It took hold of her again and again with a hand that had coarsened over time but never loosened, and again and again she had attempted to empty herself of it, willed rage, but it was quickly becoming obvious that her life could never really be emptied; it was still ruled by a pale ghost, by a sovereign presence that refused to take leave.
And she had done so many things in this world - almost all but the one she had always wished upon: she had never, ever forgotten. She had tried to put into her existence something, anything that might take its place but had failed to make more than a stain on the pavement and an absent home. Her inability to forget had driven her forth without mercy, and her goals remained far from reached. People were dying, and dying, and dying and they had no service, no honour, no place. All sound of them ceased, all sense of them failed and every one of them apologized with their last whispering breath. She felt it was the reason for her existence, that if she stopped then so too would her life. She had asked so little.
And then she turned into the sun drenched streets, into the faceless crowd knowing that next year she would return, knowing that nothing will change and yet logically, everything will.
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Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 1:07 pm
It was not often, even in Gaia, that a young woman was seen riding through the streets on horseback. The hustle and bustle of the people on the street didn't seem to phase the blond haired gypsy, fingers curled into the star laced mane. The sun was setting which helped with the aching of her skin - it couldn't be helped, however. Aiden had been stuck with the two sets of twins all day. Three of them were sick with the flu and one was suffering from a broken arm from falling out of a tree. Being the eldest of the five children, she'd been commanded to go forth and shop.
...And she was not going to be able to wait until nightfall, nor was she going to ride her bike full with groceries. Why, when she had a perfectly good pack mule? There was no reason for her to be more miserable than she had to be if she had to go out into the heat.
Altair did not seem pleased. Several plastic bags were hanging from his wings - those that would not fit in the saddlebags that Khalindra had attached to him.
I feel like a common a**.
"You ARE an a**." She said with a fond smile, patting his neck.
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