Arrows
Love. Such a seemingly simple thing. Love. Such a cold and horrid thing. Encouraged. Forbidden. Live for it. Die for it. I’ve seen it all. For I am the bearer of Love. And of Hate, for Love cannot exist without its counterpart. In Love there is Hate. As in Hate there is Love. Love is immortal. Thus Hate is just as long living.
I am the bearer of these two elements. The two mystic items on opposite sides of a scale. A scale of such importance, if it tips one way or another, the world will destroy itself. Not with a bang, but with a small whimper, growing and growing until it is a hollow scream of agony. And I must keep this balance.
I travel the world, spreading both Love and Hate, my appearance changing by the second. No Love nor Hate is the same. Yet it all consists of the same thing. With my bow, my quiver of arrows, I keep the worlds balance. I am the only exception to the balance. No Love. No Hate. Just emptiness.
I’m not allowed to feel. I would set the balance off, destroy the scale. My quiver of arrows, they contain three selections. Love, Hate, and Death. Nothing lives without Death. The angel of Death is in charge of most of those, but sometimes you need someone to be gone to realize. When you are dead though, you are gone. Dust in a cold winter breeze.
I set my eyes on two men, leaning up against the iron rails of a cliff. The small chat echoes in my ears. My wings flutter silently in the cold night air. The ocean below ripples and waves to me, water sparkling. The trees whisper in my ear, the cold wind coming from the south mumbles, “Now. Now. Now.” I notch two arrows, and with a small breath, let them fly and flawlessly strike my targets backs. I turn away and drift off into the night air, a small smile crossing my lips when I hear, “I love you…” And then I am gone.
I cross over the city. I shoot arrows of not just Love, but of Hate and Death. My eyes see nothing after an arrow is released. I cannot feel anything. I cross the countryside, and the mountains and the oceans. My quiver strapped to my back, my bow firmly grasped in my hand. No rest.
The moon whispers to me, and so does the sun. The wind. The water. The earth. Fire rages, the hiss forming poetry in my head. Arrows fly. My head empties. I must not think of when I last felt… How that had ended. My heart had fooled me, and Death had to take her. And then she was erased, the mortal woman was gone forever.
My eyes wander over a small island, and to my distaste are pulled to something in the sand. I force my eyes to rip away to the object. A man. He sat in the white sand, running it through his fingers, singing. Such a beautiful melody… No I mustn’t. But it is too late. Pain. Pleasure. Emotions. It erupts through my chest. And I fall. Down to the earth. I fall. I fall in Love. I hit the sand, wings flapping uselessly.
The man rushes to me. I try to flee, but he captures me. He talks to me. I try to keep quiet, but fail. So I talk. And so does he. And I fall. A little bit farther. A little bit harder. I am feeling again. But I do not care. No, in the moment, I wasn’t numb. In the moment, I felt Love. I felt Hate for those who wished to harm him. And I feared that Death would know what I have done. I sit with him. The sun rises. Then falls, and he sings to me. I cry, knowing what fate befalls him. He doesn’t know what will happen. So he comforts me. He wipes my tears away. Holds me in his arms. And I know that I’m in Love. I regret even crossing paths with him.
The second day passes and the second night envelopes us. And my fears come true. Death comes. Death whispers softly in my ear. I scream, I try to shield him. But I cannot. I am powerless. I watch as he is gathered into Deaths arms, and taken away from me. I feel Hate now. Hate to all. To the world.
My wings pull me from the sands, carrying me at a speed I never thought possible. My cries are heard around the world, a shriek of agony. It rips its way from my throat. Arrows rain from the skies, I shoot them, throw them, dump them. I hope to rid myself of them. To live without all of this. Then I feel it.
The scale is tipping.
I hear the soft whimper. It grows. A crescendo of screams. I cannot rid myself of this. Unless… I was kept immortal by the Love and Hate. Only mortals possessed the ability to harbor the power of being struck with both at the same time. And I was not mortal. My wings carry me back to those white sands.
I was not mortal.
But I could be.
Slowly, I pull my last three arrows from the quiver. My breath hitches. My body trembles. I slam Love into my chest, piercing my heart. Then I take Hate, and plunge in in further. I feel the power drain, the balance starting to take place. My fingers wrap around the last shaft. Death. My voice finds itself, “For you.” I rip my being to pieces. Death, the apparition constantly changing, takes hold of my bloodied hand. And then I am gone. The scale evens. Love and Hate will live on, just as Death will continue. I see my last vision, another, holding a bow, a quiver, and three arrows.