Unsound

Chance.

Sometimes we are caught unawares by it. Sometimes it is what we hope for - and sometimes it is what we've dreamt of. Sometimes, a chance is an opportunity. And sometimes it is the lapse in which we lay down our heads in defeat, knowing we have yet to be beaten.

But it is when a chance strikes you - when all else is hushed away and the spindling wheel begins to turn by itself; when the impossible begins to come into play, when chance becomes a puppeteer; the strings the tenuous ground upon which each hoof would rest in the blackness of the stage - an audience of two, puppet and master dancing in the darkness and the ropes.

Fire. It had haunted my dreams, my wakening thoughts and wonderings. It had burnished the pages of my mind, it's warmth ever present. Yet in a book it can be hard to observe the paper; only the bold lettering hooks the eye, drawing from the texture - the slight ripple of time-worn texts or the indentations in the shape of the pages combined, the landscape of breath-thin rivulets, each a story, a page in a chapter.

Yet words could never have described fire. It was cannibalistic, intense and refined as was the tip of the knife, yet spun and enraptured the eye like the dance of a child. It sang with the simplicity of youthful promise, yet a single tongue withheld the wisdom of a tome within its ever-rippling folds of luminescent warmth.

It came to my attention that I was now leant, my flank lain upon the floor and my shoulder pressed meatily against the pallid plaster wall. My hooves laid, supportive of my sagging figure before me.

My mind surged with warmth, with a ferocious distance and a fixating, alluring childlike innocence as I raised my muzzle to the candle, now above me. It burnt. My gaze seemed to spur it onwards, my heart drumming in my chest as the flames heightened and quickened.

Aside from the fury of the blaze, my attention was drawn to a drizzle of embers fallen from the candle. They spun airily, little lanterns as they drifted down to the floor.

A small, thin rug occupied the hallway. It was long and slender, it's width but a strip down the timber alley, it's long-faded red hues riddled with dust and moth-bitten. As the embers fell upon it, it caught alight - the colours caught, dancing and rippling. I could hear it, a sweet, white whine in my ears, it's pitch blinding in its brilliance as I reached forwards to touch it. To be at one with home. To reconcile with the flames.

My vision flickered, blotched black as my skin caught aflame, my flesh blackening and curling to the stench of burning hair. My awareness faltered, my mind wreathed in agony as I fell, the floor sinking into the dark as my eyes closed.

And all was quiet.

Smoke billowed from the windows, the wood glowing a pure, unaltered crimson at the edges as the flames tore at the walls, the beds and desks, the carpet ablaze. She was stumbling towards the kitchen, her lungs gasping for air and her eyes boiling with pressure. It had been calming, relieving, even - to watch as the lamp had caught alight to her eye, the warmth welcome upon her skin. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to caress it, but she knew it would not be wise. And how she had struggled to mute the flames when the torch had fallen, her little hooves stomping, but to no avail - the fire only wanted to draw closer to her touch, the flames licking painfully near, nipping at her flanks and chin.

She did so in silence, her little muzzle raised, her wide eyes fearful as her little friend; her creation had grown huge and wild, tearing at her home, insatiable in its excitement. She had cantered toward the door, longing for the cool; the breeze upon her smoke-blackened skin. She screamed as a beam of the building tore loose, still blazing as it clamped her hind leg beneath the ruin. The flesh had melted, warped, the broken bone within a relief as she lost all feeling in her limb. Her eyelids began to droop, her attempts to drag herself forwards becoming weaker as a beige figure galloped around the corner, his hooves thunder as he skidded to a halt at her side, dragging her from the brace. With the pressure released, she began to feel pain like no other. Her vision faltered, black spots fizzling in her sight as she succumbed to the exhaustion, pages sinking into the ink.

"You're going to be fine, Lime. C'mon girl... C'mon..."

I gasped, my lungs seemingly filled with hot coals as I inhaled. My throat felt scabbed, my flesh bound in bandages, naked of both fur and skin. I gazed down towards my muzzle, only to see the ivory of yet more binds. Blotches and stains of red seeped between the sheets of material, the bandages soiled in blood and char.

My eyes felt like gravel marbles in their sockets. On an attempt to open my left, I felt a stab of panic as it refused to do so. It burned ferociously, as did the rest of my corpse. There was so little left of me it seemed I had been peeled inside out.

"...She might not recover...and if she does...wait and see...awakened again. We can't be...no longer safe...burn."

Voices melted and merged into one another as I groaned; the sound seemed alien to my own tongue as I tried to heave myself upright, only to collapse, quivering.

"...give me something... let's hope... no more..."

I felt something tighten around my head, drawing a painful gasp from my lungs as my vision went dark. The bandage felt cold against my forehead, stinging as water trickled down my flesh.

My eyes fluttered weakly as I lay splayed upon the table; the surgeon examining my leg fell back upon his seat, his eyes plucking across Sir's features sullenly.

"We're talking about bits here, Indigenous." His brow creased in concern.

"How much."

"Now, I can't make any allowances-"

"How much."

The doctor swallowed, shifting in his seat.

"Five thousand bits."

There was a sharp intake of breath, Sir's eyes widening ever so slightly.

"You know I don't have that kind of money."

"I'm sorry Sir, but-"

"Forget it. We can't stay here anyway. Not with our hellspawn."

"Sir?-"

"Thank you for your time."

"Sir, I strongly advise!-"

A firm hoof slung me over his back, the fresh air buffering me as I was carried from the doctors surgery, into the sun, the heat and scalding light....

I heard the hoofsteps retreat from my bedside, mewling pathetically as I strained against my binds. A blanket had been lain over me and secured to the sides of the table - loose enough to avoid aggravating my wounds, tight enough to cling to my figure and allow me no escape in my weakened state. The blindfold still felt damp to my skin, and the faint trace of smoke lingered in the air. I twitched my ear, my hooves agonising as if between tightened braces. My chest heaved for breath as I slipped away once more...

"... He can be their value. Their model. It will be the story they'll remember and find meaning in."

"He will destroy them."

"Then tell me what this is." Seethed a tight-lipped reply. "I see nothing but dust. Dust, dirt and more dirt."

"They will be harmless here."

"Harmless." Cloudy Quartz snorted, her voice cracking. "And what of Pinka? She'll grow in this hellhole too? Our daughter?"

"... Yes."

"Indiginous?"

"Yes?"

"Go buck yourself."

I woke in a cold sweat. My eye blinked rapidly, my chest heaving and my legs twitching. My heart thrummed in my ears as my terror-eyed stare caught upon a figure perched by my bedside, a benevolent smile complimenting her features.

My twin.

She seemed so different now than she had been a month ago, when she had strode with a steadfast arrogance; now, she was but a ghost, at peace with all but herself. Unsound. I stiffened as she tugged the blanket aside in her teeth, releasing it with a knowing smile, before turning and walking up the stairs.

I lay, still and silent, the stale drafts cool as I turned the book over in my mind; the text now insignificant compared to the charred edges of the paper. They had been burnt before.

I came to my decision.

I rolled towards the lip of the table, my front limbs dangling down. Cautiously, I slipped down, wincing as I collapsed on the floor, my limbs crumpling. I raised my head with effort, beginning to crawl forwards on my knees. My flesh grated against the rims of wood, my tongue bleeding between my teeth to hold back the cries as my eye wetted and leaked upon my cheeks. I crawled beneath the portrait of Sisyphus, the eternal labourer, and knew that he had forgotten an option.

Eventually, I reached the steps. Blood smeared my trail in a path of drying gore, and my underside was raw and puckered. Curling my lip, I struck out for the first step, my knee hooking the edge as I dragged myself up. Blood and scabs were ripped clean, my tongue now bleeding freely as I arched my neck in pain. Again, I rose to another step, again my teeth bit in agony.

As my hoof grated the top step, I heaved one final time. My corpse lurched, stiffened and pulled myself over the rim, onto the floor above. I collapsed, my lungs hoarse and my underbelly burning.

(Not far to go now not far to go)

I raised my head, closing my eye for a brief moment of respite. A final moment of peace, before I opened it once more, blazing pale, frore indigo. Gritting my teeth, I jerked one leg beneath me, then another, hobbling as would a spider given only half of each limb, I rose, unsteady and sallow. I swayed, before staggering forwards. There was no sound. The only percussions seemed distant and clouded as I hobbled into my room. Marble was not there. I took a moment to breathe the scent of wood and sweat - the place where I had slept for the last ten years. Home. It was odd - I had not imagined that I would have grown so close, so sentimental to a room designed as my confinement.

Staggering towards the window, I nudged it open with a bloody muzzle, leaving smears on the pane. I paused to watch my reflection. My hair was nonexistent; my fur had been burnt away and my features torn by the fire, unrecognisably blackened and twisted. An eyelid had been singed away, the eye beneath melded, burnished and milky.

And so I come to stand here now. Dust catches in my throat and lungs, and my breath hitches. The sun scrabbles for a hold at the peaks of the mountains. It never could quite hold on though.

It never would.

My forelegs buckle, my spine arching as I topple forwards.

Down, down I fall.

The valley was purged in darkness.