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puzzlepromptsTitle: The Chronicler
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Original
Character/Pairing: OCs
Rating: Soft PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
puzzleprompts: September 2017: ALL Challenge Entries
Warning(s): Character Deaths
Word Count: 2,276
Date Written: 29 and 30 September 2017
Summary:
Disclaimer: This one's all mine!
He has seen the sun set a thousand times. Yet it is only today that, for the first time, he truly fails to take notice of the myriad of brilliant colors lighting the sky. He has worked his entire life with his hands, creating art and carving words that were often not his own. He knows what trouble goes into making different colors; he knows how difficult it is to get that splash of color just right. Only the Master of all the colors in the world could paint a sunset like the ones he’s seen for hundreds of years right here from this very cave.
He sighs, sinking down to the ground. The beast beside him whines and places his head in his lap. He holds him against his chest and gently scratches his head. The animal, who looks like a dog but is in fact named a tiger, licks his fingers and thumps his tail on the cave floor beside him, sending up a layer of fine dust.
He sighs. “It’s okay, Tiger. I’m just tired.” He places a brief kiss on his best friend’s furry head. “And why shouldn’t I be? I’ve been doing this every day for almost a thousand years.”
“You know, it’s funny. I can still remember when I couldn’t wait to come out here. School’s starting back this time of year. I used to stand in this very spot, looking out toward civilization and dreading returning to that horrid place with every bone in my body. I would have rather been flogged every day than give up our freedom here. I still don’t want to give it up,” he admits, emitting a soft, weary sigh. “But all good things must come to an end, right?”
From their viewpoint, he can see down and across the Australian outback that has been his home his entire life. He can see the towering trees and the fresh streams with their gurgling, brilliant blue water. He can see the myriad of unique animals going about their daily lives, birds flying, kangaroos hopping by, lizards changing their colors, a sloth and a tree kangaroo lazily hanging out in a couple of the taller trees, koalas munching on bamboo… He is the only human within hundreds of miles.
“I wonder what will become of this place when we’re gone?” He remembers, as a young boy out enjoying his Summer vacation for the first time by himself, coming across these caves. He had at first thought it was a wonderful place to play far away from mankind and all their troubles, but it had only been on his second visit to these caves that he had started writing and drawing on the walls behind him and had lost all track of time.
He’d spent hours that first day drawing and writing until his hands ached so that he could barely stand to dip them into the natural paints made from berries, paints he hadn’t even remembered painting. At the time, when he had come out of his first reverie, he had not known the language he had been using. He’d been scared, too, by a power he hadn’t understood but also awed by what he had created. He had tried to stay away, but every time, inevitably, he had returned, adding to the history written in these cave walls.
Behind him stretches an entire lineage, written not just by himself but by other authors he’s never met, by other young men who, he’s quite certain despite never having encountered them himself, had been used by a greater force to describe all the events of mankind. He knows there are other lands out there and has often wondered if there are other people like him, whose lives have been taken over by this uncanny need to allow themselves to be used to transcribe man’s history, but not today. Today, for the first time, he wonders who will take his place and knows that it will happen soon.
Soon, another person will come along and find themselves lost in these very same caves. They’ll spend hours in the network of tunnels that connect the caves, viewing, with awe, all the art that has been left by previous transcribers before they, too, will start adding their own messages or, rather, His messages. Mick has never understood a lot of things about what happens here, like how the power works, where it comes from, or why, once he starts, he can never stop until he drops to the ground, thoroughly exhausted but his latest chapter complete.
He finally came to realize, centuries ago, that there must be a divine purpose behind all of this. After all, the walls behind him detail everything from an ancient garden that can no longer be found by mankind where a couple shared a certain, poisonous apple to the eclipse that happened yesterday. Mick had felt the darkening of the earth, that had felt so completely unnatural despite being a genuinely natural phenomenon, but he’d missed the actual sight, because shortly after he’d felt the change in the sky, the moon, and the sun, he’d began to draw again and hadn’t stopped until sunset had almost finished.
It wasn’t his first eclipse, but he knows it will be his last -- and he certainly won’t miss those things, no more than he misses all the life of civilization that he left behind when, at only thirteen years old, he had decided not to return home. His mother had searched for him for a long time, he knows though it was mostly out of her sense of duty rather than true concern. He’d never fit in man’s world. Why, the woman had probably secretly been relieved when she had never found another trace of him!
He doesn’t miss her. In truth, he barely even remembers her. He has seen so many flashes of other lives that his own mother’s face is a mysterious blur to him. He remembers the day he added her name and her years of birth and death to the walls inside. He hadn’t even felt a pang of regret or sorrow at that time, and though he’d written her name and his father’s at an earlier time, he can not remember them now. They’re just more words blurred into the zillions he’s carved inside. He shared their last name, but that name doesn’t matter. He’s been known only by Mick ever since he left man’s world behind.
He looks away from the scene of the Animal Kingdom below him as a crocodile suddenly snatches unsuspecting prey and down into the soulful, blue eyes of his animal companion, a beast who has lived at least as long as he has, first appearing to him when he carried him fish and berries here at this cave when he was just a boy after his first day spent drawing and carving for hours. His species is believed deceased by the rest of humanity, but there are a good many beings humans would utterly destroy if they knew they still lived. These are amongst the most cherished of the secrets he writes on the cave walls behind him, and part of his job not just as transcriber but as the most recent guardian of mankind’s history is to protect them.
“Someone will come along after me, won’t they?” he asks. Tiger licks his fingers and whines an affirmation. Someone will come, but they will never get to see this young person. They’ll never even know if it is a male or female, but Mick knows both have served as the transcribers because some of the most ancient dragons and tortoises in the land can still remember the guardians who came before Mick. “Someone will come,” he murmurs again as he feels his hands, eyes, and feet begin to twitch.
He’s tired, but that exhaustion is soon forgotten as he stands obediently, unable, as ever, to argue with the force that propels him and returns, walking stiffly, inside the caverns. He dips his brown hands in paints made from berries and begins once more to paint. He takes out of his pocketknife, a tool made from bone and crocodile teeth, and begins to carve letters, writing his own name. His eyes glaze over as the sun finishes setting outside. He has spent nearly his whole life here. Indeed, there is no one left alive who remembers him, or can even recall the tale of the boy who vanished into the wilds well over a thousand years ago. It is only fitting that he should pass here as well.
When he has finished writing this last time, Mick drops back to the ground. He doesn’t have the energy, this time, to walk back outside. It might be nice to see the moonlight once more, but soon he will be a part of that silver light. Soon he will be a part of Mother Nature Herself as his spirit glides high to meet the Maker of all these words, this ancient language, himself and his dearest friend as well.
Tiger whines as he lays across Mick’s chest, sensing his friend’s weakness. “It’s all right, boy,” the chronicler says, taking his head in both hands and stroking him while watching all the zillions of words he’s written over the centuries seem to begin to glow faintly. They’re really rather pretty, he thinks, and it’s been an honor to serve the Maker by chronicling all the centuries of his existence.
He used to wonder about so much. He used to question the words he created in the language he had not yet understood. He used to wonder about the other chroniclers before him and how it was that the history depicted in these caves dated all the way back to Adam and Eve. But now, as he lays still on this cold, stone ground, Mick realizes he no longer has any questions, only answers.
He knows where the words came from. He knows why this place exists. He knows why he was chosen out of all the billions of people who could have been selected to hold this honorable task. He actually likes this life of near solitude, his only real companion laying on top of him, and he was never missed. He was one of very few who could disappear from the land of man, never be missed, and never miss it.
He even knows why it is now his time to pass and let another new, lost soul come into this land he has so treasured for his entire life. It was all the Maker’s will.
And this, too, is the Maker’s will. It is time for him and Tiger to join Him beyond the veil. They have gone through everything together for Tiger was even waiting for him here in these caves when he first discovered them through, he’d mistakenly thought at the time, an accident. The storm that had led him here had been no accident. It had all been foretold, he’d later learned by following the other chroniclers’ depictions of the cave wall. Every moment that had brought him here had been destined to lead him in turn to his destiny.
Tiger has always been one of his favorite parts of his own destiny, and Mick holds his best friend’s head gently now as their breathing slows to a gradual, matching rhythm. It is destiny, too, for a new chronicler to step up and be given all the gifts Mick has cherished so immensely, all but Tiger. Mick wonders who the new chroniclers’ companion will be, having seen depictions, over the centuries, of chroniclers with every sort of beast imaginable, from dinosaurs and unicorns to meager housecats and birds to kangaroos, one koala, and even a crocodile. He admits, in this moment, curiosity at last to something new, to the new chroniclers’ life, if not his or her identity, but that is not a secret the Maker has chosen for him to know.
The time for mysteries, for curiosities, and continuations is over. It is time for him, and for Tiger, to rest. Tiger whines one last time as Mick’s fingers in his fur slow their ministrations. His eyes roll back into his head, and finally he stops petting him altogether. Tiger closes his eyes, and their spirits lift in unison.
A new soul will come when the time is right. He, or she, will find these caverns of history and be selected to add to them. That young person will be the next guardian of all she, or he, surveys from the mouth of this historic cave. But for tonight, the most recent chronicler is gone. His spirit is as rest. As the wind blows gently over his body, scattering first his skin and then his bones to the four edges of the Earth, he knows no pain, only peace, love, and joy.
The animals lift their voices. Crocodiles growl, their mighty tails thrashing water. Crickets and other insects chirp. Frogs open their tiny mouths and sing. Kangaroos bow their heads, for once ceasing their endless bounds. A sloth, the same beast Mick had seen earlier, slowly moves his head and blinks a single time as he stares up at the cave, one of the Maker’s hidden treasure troves on Earth. Their friend has gone, but a new friend will come. The Earth spins on as she always will until the Maker brings us all home and there is no further need of chroniclers for there is no more history to chronicle, only endless love and joy which is all Mick’s and Tiger’s souls now know.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Original
Character/Pairing: OCs
Rating: Soft PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:
puzzleprompts: September 2017: ALL Challenge EntriesWarning(s): Character Deaths
Word Count: 2,276
Date Written: 29 and 30 September 2017
Summary:
Disclaimer: This one's all mine!
He has seen the sun set a thousand times. Yet it is only today that, for the first time, he truly fails to take notice of the myriad of brilliant colors lighting the sky. He has worked his entire life with his hands, creating art and carving words that were often not his own. He knows what trouble goes into making different colors; he knows how difficult it is to get that splash of color just right. Only the Master of all the colors in the world could paint a sunset like the ones he’s seen for hundreds of years right here from this very cave.
He sighs, sinking down to the ground. The beast beside him whines and places his head in his lap. He holds him against his chest and gently scratches his head. The animal, who looks like a dog but is in fact named a tiger, licks his fingers and thumps his tail on the cave floor beside him, sending up a layer of fine dust.
He sighs. “It’s okay, Tiger. I’m just tired.” He places a brief kiss on his best friend’s furry head. “And why shouldn’t I be? I’ve been doing this every day for almost a thousand years.”
“You know, it’s funny. I can still remember when I couldn’t wait to come out here. School’s starting back this time of year. I used to stand in this very spot, looking out toward civilization and dreading returning to that horrid place with every bone in my body. I would have rather been flogged every day than give up our freedom here. I still don’t want to give it up,” he admits, emitting a soft, weary sigh. “But all good things must come to an end, right?”
From their viewpoint, he can see down and across the Australian outback that has been his home his entire life. He can see the towering trees and the fresh streams with their gurgling, brilliant blue water. He can see the myriad of unique animals going about their daily lives, birds flying, kangaroos hopping by, lizards changing their colors, a sloth and a tree kangaroo lazily hanging out in a couple of the taller trees, koalas munching on bamboo… He is the only human within hundreds of miles.
“I wonder what will become of this place when we’re gone?” He remembers, as a young boy out enjoying his Summer vacation for the first time by himself, coming across these caves. He had at first thought it was a wonderful place to play far away from mankind and all their troubles, but it had only been on his second visit to these caves that he had started writing and drawing on the walls behind him and had lost all track of time.
He’d spent hours that first day drawing and writing until his hands ached so that he could barely stand to dip them into the natural paints made from berries, paints he hadn’t even remembered painting. At the time, when he had come out of his first reverie, he had not known the language he had been using. He’d been scared, too, by a power he hadn’t understood but also awed by what he had created. He had tried to stay away, but every time, inevitably, he had returned, adding to the history written in these cave walls.
Behind him stretches an entire lineage, written not just by himself but by other authors he’s never met, by other young men who, he’s quite certain despite never having encountered them himself, had been used by a greater force to describe all the events of mankind. He knows there are other lands out there and has often wondered if there are other people like him, whose lives have been taken over by this uncanny need to allow themselves to be used to transcribe man’s history, but not today. Today, for the first time, he wonders who will take his place and knows that it will happen soon.
Soon, another person will come along and find themselves lost in these very same caves. They’ll spend hours in the network of tunnels that connect the caves, viewing, with awe, all the art that has been left by previous transcribers before they, too, will start adding their own messages or, rather, His messages. Mick has never understood a lot of things about what happens here, like how the power works, where it comes from, or why, once he starts, he can never stop until he drops to the ground, thoroughly exhausted but his latest chapter complete.
He finally came to realize, centuries ago, that there must be a divine purpose behind all of this. After all, the walls behind him detail everything from an ancient garden that can no longer be found by mankind where a couple shared a certain, poisonous apple to the eclipse that happened yesterday. Mick had felt the darkening of the earth, that had felt so completely unnatural despite being a genuinely natural phenomenon, but he’d missed the actual sight, because shortly after he’d felt the change in the sky, the moon, and the sun, he’d began to draw again and hadn’t stopped until sunset had almost finished.
It wasn’t his first eclipse, but he knows it will be his last -- and he certainly won’t miss those things, no more than he misses all the life of civilization that he left behind when, at only thirteen years old, he had decided not to return home. His mother had searched for him for a long time, he knows though it was mostly out of her sense of duty rather than true concern. He’d never fit in man’s world. Why, the woman had probably secretly been relieved when she had never found another trace of him!
He doesn’t miss her. In truth, he barely even remembers her. He has seen so many flashes of other lives that his own mother’s face is a mysterious blur to him. He remembers the day he added her name and her years of birth and death to the walls inside. He hadn’t even felt a pang of regret or sorrow at that time, and though he’d written her name and his father’s at an earlier time, he can not remember them now. They’re just more words blurred into the zillions he’s carved inside. He shared their last name, but that name doesn’t matter. He’s been known only by Mick ever since he left man’s world behind.
He looks away from the scene of the Animal Kingdom below him as a crocodile suddenly snatches unsuspecting prey and down into the soulful, blue eyes of his animal companion, a beast who has lived at least as long as he has, first appearing to him when he carried him fish and berries here at this cave when he was just a boy after his first day spent drawing and carving for hours. His species is believed deceased by the rest of humanity, but there are a good many beings humans would utterly destroy if they knew they still lived. These are amongst the most cherished of the secrets he writes on the cave walls behind him, and part of his job not just as transcriber but as the most recent guardian of mankind’s history is to protect them.
“Someone will come along after me, won’t they?” he asks. Tiger licks his fingers and whines an affirmation. Someone will come, but they will never get to see this young person. They’ll never even know if it is a male or female, but Mick knows both have served as the transcribers because some of the most ancient dragons and tortoises in the land can still remember the guardians who came before Mick. “Someone will come,” he murmurs again as he feels his hands, eyes, and feet begin to twitch.
He’s tired, but that exhaustion is soon forgotten as he stands obediently, unable, as ever, to argue with the force that propels him and returns, walking stiffly, inside the caverns. He dips his brown hands in paints made from berries and begins once more to paint. He takes out of his pocketknife, a tool made from bone and crocodile teeth, and begins to carve letters, writing his own name. His eyes glaze over as the sun finishes setting outside. He has spent nearly his whole life here. Indeed, there is no one left alive who remembers him, or can even recall the tale of the boy who vanished into the wilds well over a thousand years ago. It is only fitting that he should pass here as well.
When he has finished writing this last time, Mick drops back to the ground. He doesn’t have the energy, this time, to walk back outside. It might be nice to see the moonlight once more, but soon he will be a part of that silver light. Soon he will be a part of Mother Nature Herself as his spirit glides high to meet the Maker of all these words, this ancient language, himself and his dearest friend as well.
Tiger whines as he lays across Mick’s chest, sensing his friend’s weakness. “It’s all right, boy,” the chronicler says, taking his head in both hands and stroking him while watching all the zillions of words he’s written over the centuries seem to begin to glow faintly. They’re really rather pretty, he thinks, and it’s been an honor to serve the Maker by chronicling all the centuries of his existence.
He used to wonder about so much. He used to question the words he created in the language he had not yet understood. He used to wonder about the other chroniclers before him and how it was that the history depicted in these caves dated all the way back to Adam and Eve. But now, as he lays still on this cold, stone ground, Mick realizes he no longer has any questions, only answers.
He knows where the words came from. He knows why this place exists. He knows why he was chosen out of all the billions of people who could have been selected to hold this honorable task. He actually likes this life of near solitude, his only real companion laying on top of him, and he was never missed. He was one of very few who could disappear from the land of man, never be missed, and never miss it.
He even knows why it is now his time to pass and let another new, lost soul come into this land he has so treasured for his entire life. It was all the Maker’s will.
And this, too, is the Maker’s will. It is time for him and Tiger to join Him beyond the veil. They have gone through everything together for Tiger was even waiting for him here in these caves when he first discovered them through, he’d mistakenly thought at the time, an accident. The storm that had led him here had been no accident. It had all been foretold, he’d later learned by following the other chroniclers’ depictions of the cave wall. Every moment that had brought him here had been destined to lead him in turn to his destiny.
Tiger has always been one of his favorite parts of his own destiny, and Mick holds his best friend’s head gently now as their breathing slows to a gradual, matching rhythm. It is destiny, too, for a new chronicler to step up and be given all the gifts Mick has cherished so immensely, all but Tiger. Mick wonders who the new chroniclers’ companion will be, having seen depictions, over the centuries, of chroniclers with every sort of beast imaginable, from dinosaurs and unicorns to meager housecats and birds to kangaroos, one koala, and even a crocodile. He admits, in this moment, curiosity at last to something new, to the new chroniclers’ life, if not his or her identity, but that is not a secret the Maker has chosen for him to know.
The time for mysteries, for curiosities, and continuations is over. It is time for him, and for Tiger, to rest. Tiger whines one last time as Mick’s fingers in his fur slow their ministrations. His eyes roll back into his head, and finally he stops petting him altogether. Tiger closes his eyes, and their spirits lift in unison.
A new soul will come when the time is right. He, or she, will find these caverns of history and be selected to add to them. That young person will be the next guardian of all she, or he, surveys from the mouth of this historic cave. But for tonight, the most recent chronicler is gone. His spirit is as rest. As the wind blows gently over his body, scattering first his skin and then his bones to the four edges of the Earth, he knows no pain, only peace, love, and joy.
The animals lift their voices. Crocodiles growl, their mighty tails thrashing water. Crickets and other insects chirp. Frogs open their tiny mouths and sing. Kangaroos bow their heads, for once ceasing their endless bounds. A sloth, the same beast Mick had seen earlier, slowly moves his head and blinks a single time as he stares up at the cave, one of the Maker’s hidden treasure troves on Earth. Their friend has gone, but a new friend will come. The Earth spins on as she always will until the Maker brings us all home and there is no further need of chroniclers for there is no more history to chronicle, only endless love and joy which is all Mick’s and Tiger’s souls now know.
The End
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