From: Stana Hierspiel <darkannex@yahoo.com>
Date:Sun, 11 Jul 1999 19:05:51 -0700 (PDT)             
Subject: Cry

Stana drifted from the festivities, the endless stream of humanity and
laughter that mocked and did not care. She left the stares and
whispers, the pointed fingers and the deference. Or was it fear?
She left, and never wanted to return.

The night sky was getting clearer away from the lights of the banquet,
and she squinted up, trying to find something familiar. But these were
not her stars.

Tears welled in her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, shimmering in the
starshine.  This was not her world.  And she was being asked to die for
it.

Oh they said it nicely, wrapped in the flowery phrases and courtly
speech. They praised her role in the prophecy and told her she was a
"Chosen One." And she did not tell them that it was always the "Chosen"
that were the first to fall. Martyrs were ever so more convenient dead.


She kicked off her shoes and let her feet swish through the cool grass
as she walked. Her back turned to the party behind and she told herself
that she didn't need anyone. She told herself, and almost believed.

Walking silently through the hilly country courtyard, she yelped as a
sudden sting in her foot pierced her thoughts. Bending down she lifted
a Rose Briar from its tangle of roots.  Bitter was the pain in her
foot, bitter were the thoughts in her head.

Not her stars, not her flowers, not her world.  There was no rose like
this at home. Midnight blue with a sky fringe and a white heart.  It
bloomed profusely most of the year, but not this part of it.

There was a reddish glow over the horizon of this hill, and she walked
there, not knowing where else to stray.

"Lady?"

Stana twirled, alarmed that there was someone so close, then quickly
composed herself. It was the Queen and the General.

"Majesty," she said quietly.

"You honor us, Chosen." The Queen answered "More, you honor the spirit
of one who had pledged your service."

::One who-?::

The general seemed to know she was at a loss, for he smoothly
interrupted, taking her arm and turning her towards the Bonfire.

"2nd class Scout of S'Kae, Kitaro A'skiast. Killed on duty by little
known means.  He was scouting, lady, for any word or plot against the
Elementals."

"Ki-" she had heard his name before, but so many names... . As they got
closer she saw what was left of his face. Her eyes closed briefly, but
her mind was still hoding the image, searching for a connection she was
sure she no longer wanted.

::Can I carry your bedroll for you?:: said an eager soldier. She had
finally
consented, where the eager soldier and another had bickered over
carrying her
load as one would a prize.

Kitaro-the fresh youg boy, ready to serve his Captain, ready to die for
a
Chosen, _any_ Chosen, but fate had had them find her.  He had escaped
death
by the division of the 6th army attacking that night, only to die now.

The other Soldiers were holding still at Honor guard as R'Kelnin
stepped
forward with the Queen. The two laid to rest the Shield and Blade of
the
Warrior upon his breast. Then laid the benediction.

Before her eyes there was still the smile of soldier asking to carry
her
bedroll, _and she had never known his name until now_.

The pain was almost too much, she clenched her hand, and felt the
prickling
of thorns. Opening her palm she saw the crushed stem of the Briar rose,
and
the sparkling flower.

Without realizing she was going to do it, her grass stained feet were
treading the wooden stairs, her hair whipped about, the flames shooting

sparks from it, eyes overbright with moisture, glistening like gems.

How many times had she walked to a casket like this? It seemed she was
not
heading to one, but to everyone she had ever walked to. She didn't see
this
single death, but all of them.

She laid the rose over the shield and blade this time, because all she
had
was a rose; not a picture, or a flag, or a teddybear. She laid a rose
here,
because this was not her world, and this flower was not of her world
either.

She didn't see anyone but the smiling boy, now a dessicated corpse. She

didn't see the General call for Honor Arms salute, nor the Queen's
searching
glance. She saw the boy, and then she saw the flames.

Suddenly it became too much, and she didn't feel the arms helping her
down,
or the  murmurred words of encouragement. She turned and ran, and ran.

When her legs began shaking in warning she stopped, forcing herself to
turn,
to turn around Dammit, like she always had. And saw the blaze still
burning,
but blessedly distant enough to blur the details.

And she had in her hand clutched one final petal of the rose. Throwing
her
head back and howling she raged against the unfairness of it. And
recognized
that this world was not so different after all. It was just as cruel.

And flinging the petal into the breeze, she began to stumble out the
lyrics
to a song she knew so well, one she had sang at choir, one she had sang
after
her father had died.

'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions are faded and gone;
No flow'r of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie senseless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

"Who would inhabit" she repeated softly "this bleak world alone." Then
she
did cry.  Alone.