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Showing results for tags 'Toa Canister'.
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Rebirth An explosion of light, a shockwave of heat, pain that roared through bones and muscles alike, fire that coursed through the veins, and a dull throb of otherworldly pain, resounding in your tormented soul, as it was ripped from your body and subjected to ablution in the cold, biting wind of the realm of judgment. Rebirth. As she lay on the sand, as she took her first breath, the frosty air filling her lungs, she could only gasp, between quivering breaths that did nothing to soothe the burning desire for oxygen. The beach, with its cruel, cold waves that lapped incessantly at her unprotected form, an endless sea of crushed glass as she stared at it from her position on the white sand, eyes burning from contact with the saline crystals that surrounded her, crystals that attached to her shining armour and supple skin, unwilling to leave of be brushed off. As she lied on the sand, she noticed that it was cool, almost icy, an amazing revelation to her, for the sensation of sensory stimulation was a pleasant, but fading memory, a memory that she was amazed to have witnessed twice. She need to stand; Feeling wasn’t enough. She wanted to see this sea of crushed glass from above, she wanted to laugh, to scream, to cry, anything to hear the sound of her own voice, and she wanted to find something to eat, to indulge in both tasting food, and absorbing the aromas she found herself dearly missing. She managed to rise to her knees. As she screamed in agony, slamming her palms on the yielding sand, spine arched and mouth open as the prolonged shriek of pain continued, she felt her muscules rippling with energy, her bones shrieking in agony as they were charged with unseen power, and veins aflame with a roar of pure ferocity. It seemed she wasn’t ready to stand. Remaining on her knees, hands shaking as she breathed, every slow inhale accompanied by a spasm of pain, and every exhale forcing scorching air through her throat with a whine of pain and a gasp of anguish. Yet, even as her own body cried out for mercy, as her fortitude failed her, her mind continued with renewed resolve, and her soul soared with determination. As her muscules squealed in agony, as her head pounding as if it was bursting, and as her skeleton seemed to disintegrate, she began to rise, striving to stand as her body seemed to liquefy. The pain subsided instantly. She had risen. It could hardly be believed; the act of putting all of her weight on two feet seemed like a task entirely impossible to her. And yet she was standing, master of her body, statuesque in her erect posture. The beach looked much different from above, the infinity of being at eye-level with what appeared to be a sea of crushed glass suddenly replaced with a bird’s-eye view of a large, but far from sea-esque bank of sand, circling a forest floor, which, as she discovered when she craned her neck skyward, lead to a mountain of grey and white, snow-capped, and seeming to reach above the clouds themselves. Still stunned in disbelief, she rotated, her legs shaky as she turned, equally amazed by the truly infinite ocean. That was when it caught her eye, the ugly, unnaturally shiny object. Silver, and longer than she was tall, the cylinder, for that was its shape, save for the half-sphere vertical extremities, was in sharp contrast to the surrounding environment in every way possible. Crouching down to its height, she laid her hand on the metal, unpleasantly surprised by the lifeless cold that greeted her. Yet, as she stared at it, thoughts and emotions swelled up inside her. Is this from whence I came? Is this the womb that gave me life? She had faint memories of things long past, but this unnatural, painfully shiny object met all of the criteria she could apply to judge an object to be what had given her birth. And these memories, of faces and locations, of friendly words, heated arguments, and a strange thing that she wanted to call love, but thought it too harsh and cruel to be named so kindly, could they possibly be more than dreams, ideas that she had created before her birth, on this sea of crushed glass that wasn’t a sea, and not made of glass? I have been born for the first time, and I have been reborn. The logical impossibility entranced her, as she stroked the lifeless cylinder, and thought of the all too lively memories that fluttered in the tempest of her mind. But as she dwelled on birth and rebirth, she found no answers. Standing, she gave a last look at the cylinder on the sand, slowly being surrounded by water as the tide rose, and she felt oddly touched, as if she was staring at a loved one’s corpse, or the result of unfathomable destruction. More frightened than moved by the suddenly arising feeling of sorrow and heart ache, she turned from the cylinder, blinking in confusing as she felt tears streaming from her eyes. As she strode into the forest, leaving the cylindrical canister behind on the sand, tears continued to flow, but were now accompanied by a flow of memories. Her mind clearing, names connected with faces and locations, the reasons for arguments and the meanings of friendly words were found, and the reason for her unwillingness to name love its quixotically given title was discovered. As she blinked in surprise, letting the flow of memories sink into her consciousness, only a single thought filled her mind. Rebirth. And, as she stood, the soft, dewy moss of the jungle floor wetting her bare feet, her mind seized by the emotional upheaval of a life she had forgotten, she realized it was so.
