Sun and Scar

Fire

The sun burns brighter than any other star in the sky, especially on a night like tonight where
those deep and raging blood orange flames dance wildly with their golden tendrils, preforming
the most intoxicating and alluring performance, a catastrophic and beautiful act of defiance, of
overwhelming beauty, of pain, of fear, of hatred. On a night like tonight, those raging,
uncontrollable flames dance harshly against the quiet emptiness of the night sky, a sky so black
you could barely make out the silhouettes of the people shackled there, to the fire. The sun burns
brighter than any other star in the sky, the sun also screams the loudest.
Begging, Pleading, Sobbing, Screaming, the flames grew louder as the women, men, and
children burn upon those stakes. Their last words echoing in my head, getting louder and louder
as the flames grow higher and higher, neighbours I have known and friends I have lost. A man
beside me drags his child away from the ferocity of the spectacle, attempting an escape into the
darkness like most of those unfortunate enough to be a witness of such brutality. Guards bearing
the sun symbol of the royal empire strike those who attempt to flee, forcing the rest to watch
helplessly as their friends and loved ones are eaten by the flames.
I watch the fire reach its hungry arms towards Rochelle, a huntress and Shepard; she once
helped me care for a dying sparrow, nothing more than roadkill on the verge of passing, a bird so
far gone that David laughed at me when I cried for its health, yet Rochelle helped me clean it,
helped me dress the wound on the white belly of the brown feathered avian. She was kind, she
was smart, she was brave, and now she screams in fear above the stage, tied to that stake, as
flames claim her lower half. She shrieks, she shrieks like that helpless sparrow flown too close
too close to the treeline too fast to escape that hawk, a natural cycle I so desperately wanted to
interrupt, that sparrow that Rochelle once saved on my behalf. Rochelle screams now for help as
I once did for that sparrow, except no one answers her call now, and her death is not a natural
cycle of life.
David laughed at me for my compassion for a dying bird, now all he can do is scream
like Rochelle, like Tan, like Soi, like Marianne, like every poor soul tied to the stake tonight.
Tied to the stake because they are unnatural, demonic, dangerous, caught in an endless storm of
suffering as the royal guards stand indifferent to the pain, watching the chaos unravel in front of
them as if they were nothing but props, disposable objects, entities devoid of humanity, humanity
that those leeches lacked themselves, those royal dogs, those monsters.
Amidst the almost incomprehensible yelling a voice calls out to me, it’s familiar, they
know me, they know me the most. I can’t understand her. I feel a deep and irreversible
hollowness fill my chest, my heart aches, who is she? I feel a hand grip onto my upper arm, my
father pulls me away from the flames, I look at his face and am that hollowness in my chest is
filled with grief; he’s looking at the woman in the centre of the stakes, an expression I have
never seen him make plastered across his face like a portrait painted by the most cruel and
sadistic artist. I have never seen him in so much pain before, I have never seen him look so
desperate, like some villain took a hold of his heart and held it dangling off the edge of white
cliffs above the deep, dark belly of the sea.
ARUNA! She calls to me from the centre stake and in the darkness the flames give off just
enough light to illuminate her figure, just barely I can make out her features, despite that I can
tell she is beautiful. With long, wavy brown hair and striking green eyes she resembles me, in my
memories she is ferocious, she is caring, and she is selfless. Dad always said I took after my
mother, “Stubborn, both of you.”
SEB! SEBASTIAN! TAKE ARUNA AND LEAVE ME! RUN! The flames creep up to her
legs, I suddenly become aware that many of the other stakes have stopped screaming.
My father moves as if to refuse, ATHENA-!
SEBASTIAN PLEASE! The desperation in her voice tears a hole into my chest, my
mother is never desperate, my mother never cries, she’s the strongest person I know.
MOM! The voice comes from me this time. I’m scared, tears roll down my face and I
make no effort to wipe them away. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU ALWAYS, DONT FORGET THAT! Her voice is coarse and
she is yelling, but her words are sweet and soft like morning fog glistening on a leaf, “She’s like
a cold breeze on a sweltering hot summer day,” the memory of my father’s face washes in,
bright and beaming with light watching my mother plant dragon-snaps in our quant little garden
as the sun beats down onto her, a dramatic and horrific opposition to the face he is making now.
I LOVE YOU! My father looks at a royal guard to the left of us, I’M SORRY. Tears free
themselves from his eyes and pour down his face, he doesn’t bother to wipe them away.
Kneeling down, he grabs me and holds me against his chest, looking at my mother one last time
amongst the flames before pushing his way through the crowd, carrying the face of a man who
had lost it all, somebody had held his heart over the looming white cliffs to the east and let it
drop into the deepest, darkest sea of misery. I take one last look at my forsaken mother, a look I
yearn to make last for an eternity, but the moment passes and we vanish into the depth of the
crowd. Her words echo in my mind.
I LOVE YOU ALWAYS.
RUN.
 Sun and Scar

Alémere