back to basics

MELITA

What does someone say to a person brought back to life? There were a thousand myriad things springing across her tongue and coiling through her brain – an overwhelming, overbearing juncture of inquiries and curiosities. What was it like? What had he seen? Where had he gone? How was he returned to humanity, when they’d all seen him fall apart? And how was it determined, how was it scored, how was it scorched, that he should be sent to earth once more, and others had not? Her smile fell in the ring and roses of confusion, thorns, brambles, and nettles settling their way into her heart. If Ronin could reappear, alive, tangible, and whole, why couldn’t her mother? Why couldn’t her sister? Why couldn’t all the other gods and goddesses that had sacrificed themselves, that had tried to save the world crumbling beneath their feet? Who made the decision, the distinction, to send them all into dust and ash, or heartbeats and rhythms? Did their need to be legacies, instead of distant memories? Did they need to be virtuous and obliging? Did they need to be more than everyone and everything else? Hadn’t they all deserved some form of revival? Her gaze roamed upon Ronin – seemingly the same as before, before finally arriving at some sort of response, everything else flown away on the wind, on the rain, on the rancorous tangles and distortions piercing her sides. “Only if you want to.” She shrugged, the ghost of her grin reappearing, her head tilted; presuming he’d conducted the same conversation over and over and over again with everyone else who’d known about his death, and subsequent resurrection. Her intrigue didn’t mean he had to suffer through another bout of pain, of torment, of anguish, or a tarnished, overdone pattern.

She glanced at the ladder, at the guild seemingly fading, lack of paint, lack of care, bombardments, assailments, and everything else sieged against it in the time he’d been gone. Had no one else bothered? Had no one else cared? Or had they been busy, picking up the pieces he’d left behind, grieving, then celebrating his rebirth, his regeneration? “What do you need me to do?” The youth inched forward, Fangorn tucked behind, stare resting on the pots of paint.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight