***stardust

..had almost forgotten about this again, found it while sorting thru old files..touched it up a bit just now, but largely written 10.7.2001...
..just a random thing I wrote between fanfics one night, titled the file "warchild", for lack of a better idea..

"Daddy, what's going on?"
"I don't have time right now, I've got to go."
"But Daddy--"
"I have to go. Stay here."
"But--"
"STAY HERE. Tell your mother... never mind. I'll tell her when I get back."
The boy grabbed onto his father's legs, holding on as the grim man began to walk away.
"C'mon now, Jason, I've got to go." Father detangled son from his leg, setting him on top of a
small pile of boxes. "I love you, be a good boy, okay?" he added, kissing the top of the boy's
tousled head.
"I will," was the solemn reply -strangely solemn for such a young boy. The father took one last
long, loving, prideful glance at the boy he'd only just begun to raise.
And strode out the door, without a look back.

The boy scrambled down from the boxes, stood in the doorway a moment, looking after the tall,
dark man striding through the war-torn city.
Then he shut the door against the resurging sounds of battle, hearing his mother's weak whisper.

"Jason..."
"Yes, mum?" The boy stood quietly by the bed, set up in the shabby front room.
"Where's your father?"
"He left, mum."
"He left?"
The boy nodded.
The mother was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded. "All right," she whispered, barely
audible.

The sun had long since gone down, leaving only the occasional glare of a bomb in the distance
or artillary fire up close to scatter light onto the rubble of the city.
The boy awoke, hearing the squeek of the unoiled hinges on the front door. He silently stole out
of his lonely bed, and made his way to his mother's make-shift bed. It was, as he had expected,
empty.
He walked over to the front door, which was still open, letting in the night air - which was cool,
but still tainted with traces of gunpowder and death. Looking around outside, he saw no-one.

Not bothering to grab jacket or shoes, he went outside, following his parents who had gone
before.
Not bothering to remain in shadow, he walked down the middle of the street, following his
parents who had gone before.
Not bothering to take notice of his direction, he walked through the war-worn city, all tattered and
torn, bruised, and waiting for the peace of death, following his parents who had gone before.
...he walked to the edge of the city, following his parents who had gone before.
...he found himself at the precipice that overhung the battlefield below.
...he saw a vision, of two lovers leaping, hoping for a heaven to hold them in hand, let them live,
unlike the world which had abused them so long.
...he prayed that someday it would change, some day before it was too late.

He jumped.

The soldiers on the field stopped, one by one, looking up at the sky, comrades pointing it out to
the man next to them, each gazing and wondering.
The glittering stars above were visable again, the clouds of smoke and haze dissipating. The
stars stood out in breathtaking contrast to the otherwise complete blackness of the sky.
Then a bright white light appearing on the cliff above them. It suddenly left the ground, seemed
to fall for a few breathless seconds, then swooped up before hitting the bottom. A rainbow-like
trail marked the path the light had taken, but what the light was, they did not know. A falling
star, an angel, a bomb? It came near them, slowing as it floated above their wonderous heads,
too high to reach, but low enough to see.
It was a young boy, with an unearthly beauty, innocence radiating from his pure face. Softly
feathered wings sprouted from his back, and gently carried him through the night air.
Later on, each and every soldier on the battlefield would swear by whatever they held dear that
the angel-boy had looked them straight in the eye, showing a pain beyond bearing. And from the
eyes of each and every soldier, tears trickled down, over faces hardened by battle, faces pale
from fear, faces already wet from the deaths of so many. Tears that were the manifestation of
the realisation that what they were doing was causing so much pain, and the guilt of causing that
boy so much hurt..
And they swore they would never cause hurt again.

..lame ending, I know....like the rest, tho, mostly...any suggestions???

*Ananda Daydream * 5:33 PM * *

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~