The Burden of Satisfaction

…A Nature Promising

     Standing alone on a desert plateau, is the walled city of Baustas. Oh, how it has come to be feared by the Savages outside. This place of sanctuary, this castle, blessed by the ascendant will of the world’s last Savior, is a home bearing one eternal constant. Night after night, something visits, beaming down a reflective insignia of vague red shapes, creating a vibrant haze in the light of that Savior’s red compromise. Drawn down amongst the stars, each of their trillions of colors hidden, sheathed, hiding the natural prismatic clarity of the sky said to have once been, the moon bears the symbol of a daunting show of force, acting as a factual, unchanging presence above the paradise; the promised consequence of a reality that could never possibly be understood.
     When the moon is shadowed, the stars create little red blips in the air, dotted on black space, and piercing dark orange clouds. The high walls that surround Baustas on all sides draw the watcher’s view upward, creating what feels like a magnified spectacle in the giant lunar sphere. A claustrophobic frame for sure, but somewhat serene for those who have lived beneath its protection forever.
     For the few who claim to see beyond it, however; for those who dream of a greater purpose, it is a source of torment. It hangs there, serving as a reminder, that even the building blocks of what is, pay servitude to the one way that life is to proceed. But that way, consequence or otherwise, comes with a promise indeed, as while the moon still shines red, another way can yet be found, a journey to be traveled, to bring the heavens’ hidden colors down to reemerge, and be revealed to a world that needs nothing more than to see them.
     Tonight, the persistent dreamers bear a grave test, while those who delight in the familiarity of this home will be left to rot; with their childhood games of ideological tug-of-war left to a standstill, as in this moment of outright need, the stars and the moon have gone… disappearing into a layer of war-born smoke that has been let loose over the city. 
     There was never any meaning to the word Baustas. It was made up…
     Upon the Baustian center’s rooftops, two blades: one ancient, and one of foreign steel, scrape together and light up the dense ash, roused in battle. Surrounding it are beastly shadows that seek the warriors inside, flying up and down the tall structure’s height. The wielders of these storied weapons emit lights of strange colors, that laser out like fireworks, in rays that can be seen even through the hell that engulfs the streets below.
     …In the flame doused and life-ending warmth of a counterfeit cathedral turned terrorizing mausoleum, the girl playing a fool drinks the blood of her own history, by driving her fist through the soul of one who’s mind only longed for study, but never did live long enough to see it. She carries the weight of her new brothers, and he pulled with him the burden of a life already over.
     But of course, you of all people would know that already. The word was only brought to life after you were entangled in our dream, “Tallsoul.”
     …And a wolf’s flimsy world decays before his eyes. To live by his oath, it is but the only way he can be now. A patriot, in service of strength, not good, nor evil. Far, far from righteousness. Alongside his master, he stands at the peak of the tower, forced to continue out the meaning of his protection. All for the plan, all in his agreement. Even now, he will make the choice to bear their eternal brand, as he is still a dog, first and foremost.
     After all, you yet play the perfect part in crafting the tale of our new world, oh Chosen One.
     This new world, already exhausted of it’s life. Some may even come to question if life, was intended in it at all. 
     One already does. A boy, the very one that wished for it, jealous of a different self, one that wouldn’t be so free as he got to live. One that wouldn’t have to craft a meaning of his own. One who would fit a role.    Here, his dreams and nightmares come true. May it crumble, and fall into the waters below.
     Adam. Forever resentful of Baustas… of paradise, cries alone, the last thread tying him to ground, snapped loose, under the cleaving force of the city itself. Still, he dreams. In fact, dreaming, is about all that he can do.