Day 23(Just shy of 42k)

The Life Born from the Ashes

1.

Zoom way out. Picture a world without untimely death. A world without decay. Without war, famine, pestilence, or hatred. A world in which nature had finally found harmony with it inhabitants. One nomadic tribe, just one small group of people calling this place home. The efforts required to get to this point had been immense, and the sacrifices were painful. A new world had risen out the ashes of it’s former shell and was probably better off this way.

The tribe maintained a pretty consistent number. It was still in it’s infancy and most of the members were too young to add to it’s numbers. A few years would pass and then they would expand at an exponential rate, but that is not to say that the expansion would be swift.

Years later the tribe would split off into smaller units. There was no tension between heads, just a need to provide for all of their people and one large group had proven to be a hard thing to manage. It had taken years to get to this point, and it would take many more before there would be more divisions.

The people had learned to deal without technology. Without cars, computers, CD players, washing machines, or anything else from the old world. All of the evils had been cleansed from the world and this select group had been given the chance to start fresh. A chance to succeed. A chance to fail. A chance to do anything. This could be the age when people learned to fly. When they learned to live a good life. When they learned to live forever.

The two groups did not wander far from one another. They might not always be in visual distance, but they were never more than a day apart. This was not a safety thing, but it made everyone feel better. People would come and go between the two groups on a whim. It managed to work out nicely. They would trade goods. One group would forage, the other would hunt. They were very careful in their gathering as well. They wanted only enough to survive. They didn’t need to strip the earth to be content. All they needed was a full stomach and their friends. Everything seemed to go as planned.

These people had learned to make clothes. Learned to cook. Learned to clean. They were self-taught survivalists. Learning not out ambition, but out of necessity. They never worried about fire. The two leaders had been taught the art of conjuring it at a young age. They had been tempered in battle, and it had changed them. Greatness had been thrust upon them, or maybe they had seized it, regardless they were the most suited for the job. Their people listened to them. Respected them. Would follow them under even the worst of odds. Most already had at some point. The hope was that the others never had too.

They carried a flag with them. They had made a crest, which had been ingrained in their lives many years before. The phoenix flew high for all to see. It lived in their minds. It was a constant reminder of the struggles and loss that they had all endured and for the fights that they hoped would never return.

After a great number of years, the leaders of both groups were dying. Their children would take their places, and since the communities had grown so large, divide them once again. All of the future leaders were taught to wield the fire. The fire of life. Of destruction. It was the mark of the leader. IT was a great honor and also a great responsibility that was placed on the shoulders of those who were taught. It was believed that only the descendants of a Torch were eligible, or able to learn to use this power.

After months of training, which covered as much of the elders knowledge as possible, the sons and daughters took their new positions as Torches and ventured forth into the unknown. The elders were reunited until they passed. No longer in a place of power, but still regarded just as highly. These two just went along for the ride and tried to make as little trouble as possible. It was nice to have somebody else leading. The last time that they had relaxed had been at a park many, many years ago. To them it seemed like another life, and it was.

They talked about their old lives and the ones that they had lead afterwards. They would reminisce about the old days. The beginning. The end that was coming. Everything. They would sing old marching songs. They would commend each other on what a fine job they had done. They would do all of this. And then they would die.

The tribes were all brought together for the funeral. They would be carried toward an old city far in the distance. Very hard to discern from the landscape, but it would be found. They would bring a new flag with them. Crafted for this specific purpose. It would take the entire trip to complete. The detail would be marvelous. The size mind-boggling. It would be perfect in every way.

As the tribes approached the city, they could feel that this was the place. This is where it had all happened. All of the old tales and ancient folklore. In this place not only was it blind faith, but confirmation that all of the amazing tales had, in fact, been entirely accurate.

Everyone observed the landmark that they were looking for. It was the only way to be sure that they were in the right place. In the middle, of what used to be a great city, stood a flagpole. Old, tarnished, and severely blackened from the fires that had started this new world. They had always been told that it put most trees to shame, and here it was. The landmark that they had been told about as children. The birthplace of this world. Their world.

On the flagpole, fluttering in the wind, was a flag. A huge mass of cloth. Poorly constructed, but still flying. All of the edges were tattered, and the colors were faded so badly that from a distance it appeared to just be a dull grey. Upon closer inspection a formerly crimson phoenix flew along a backdrop that probably used to be black. There were huge slabs of upturned concrete at the base of the pole and this would be the Torches final resting place.

The ceremony began the morning after all of the tribes arrived. Most of the younger people were giddy. They were so amazed that the bedtime stories they had been told as babies, were true. IT made them proud to be part of such a strong group. They could feel the greatness that emanated from this spiritual place.

The flag was lowered with great care not to ruin it. The flag, which had been raised to honor the fallen, had served it’s purpose and would now be replaced with the new one. This was the tradition. The Torches would be honored with a new flag, and burned with the one that represented their era. Their legacy would carry on, and in doing so, honor their comrades.

The new torches had the meticulous task of retrieving the old flag, raising the new one, placing their parent’s on the altar, and draping the flag from their era about them. Not a single one did this task with joy. Their tears turned their parent’s faces white in small patches. It was a triumphant time, but not a happy one.

They all whispered to the fallen while they were doing their work. They talked to the watchers who had been tasked to overlook these grounds. They promised to make them proud. They promised to uphold their ways and teachings. They promised to come rest here when it was their time. They finished the preparations. The hugged their parent’s. They hugged each other. They prayed and tried to regain their composure. They continued to cry, but much softer. Just a slight trickle of tears and none of those awful gasping noises.

The torches retreated a short distance and turned to address the crowd.

“Today we free our parent’s from the pains of this world.”

“They were our leaders who sacrificed everything for us.”

“Our teachers.”

“Our story tellers.”

“Our blood.”

“And most importantly, out friends.”

The Torches turned. “I love you,” they all whispered in unison. And with that the fires grew from the ground to consume their parents.

The flag waved triumphantly over the ceremony. The flag that would find a breeze on the calmest of days. The flag which had been made to such exacting specifications. A black background. Two crimson phoenixes. The emblem for the tribe. A symbol for the remembrance of the two leaders. The bigger one shimmering as if it was on fire. Looking over the smaller as a big brother would. The smaller, missing a talon. This would be their resting place from now on. They had served their purposes and established a life that most thought impossible. They had faced all odds and came out victorious. Today they had finally learned to fly.

Mary

1.

“Mary! You with me still?”

“Um, yup!”

“Good. I need your help. I really need your help.”

Pyro has managed to destroy most of the area, but there was still much to be done.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to grab a hold of my hand. This is going to scare you, but you need to trust me. If it hurts, just let go.”

“Umm.. Ok.”

Mary grabbed Pyro’s hand. She stared at him through the slits in her eyelids. She felt like she was watching a really scary movie. One with a monster that might jump out at anytime. Suddenly Pyro’s arm exploded in a burst of color and heat.

“Ouch.” Mary jumped and started to cry. “Wait, that didn’t hurt at all.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It scared me. Why, why’d you do that anyway?”

“I needed to test something. So that didn’t hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you do me another favor?”

“I don’t know. Will this one be scary too?”

“I hope not. Anyway, you see al of the fire in front of me?”

“Yes.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“I need you to go touch it.”

“What?”

“Touch it. I just lit your arm on fire and it didn’t hurt, so why would this other fire hurt?”

“I just think it will.”

He gently pushed her towards and into the massive pyre. She looked ready to scream. Just as she was about to shriek, she realized that it didn’t hurt. She wondered what he was playing at here.

“I’m going to sound crazy here, but I think you can do the same thing as me.”

“Really?” she beamed. “Do you really think so? I think it is pretty.”

“I do. Do you think you can try?”

“I can try, but don’t be mad if it doesn’t work.”

“I won’t be. Come here and let’s see if it will work.”

Pyro had an idea, and with that idea determined that he could probably teach her to wield his powers. He took a hold of her hand.

“Just focus on the flame that is going to rise out your palm.”

“Ok. I’m focusing.”

He sent a small flame straight out of her hand. It danced. It played. It went out, and so did the entire blaze that Pyro had been working in the crowd.

Pyro suddenly became very worried. Maybe he had been wrong about her. Maybe she was the opposite. He let go of her hand and relit his blaze.

“Sorry. I tried talking to it, but I don’t think it likes me very much.”

“Yes it does, it’ll just take time to warm up to you.”

He instructed her to go playing at the edge of the wall. She tried to slowly snatch individual licks of flame, but was having very little success.

“Focus Mary. That is what it is all about. Instead of trying to grab at the flames, tell one of them to jump over to you.”

“I’ll try it, but I still don’t think it likes me.”

A hole suddenly opened up in front of Mary. “Crap,” thought Pyro. He refilled the gap and continued to do what he needed to do, but with no break in sight he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go.

“I got it! I got it!”

Mary was dancing with a little flame on her hand. She was singing to it, and it looked to be break dancing. He hadn’t seen that one before, but it was cool nonetheless. The flame got bored of dancing and crawled up her arm to rest on her shoulder like a seagoing parrot.

“I guess it does like me. Well it likes me when I sing anyway.”

Pyro went back to his current action.

“Wow! Look at how big I made him.” She had managed to make a 100 foot tall pillar. She was very impressed, and so was Pyro. She was catching on quickly.

“I hate to ask this, but do you think that you could do what I am doing right now?”

“It looks pretty complicated. Can I have a few more minutes to play around first?”

“Sure.”

Mary continued to experiment. She made beautiful fireworks with her new friend. She made shapes that twisted and flowed into others. It was like seeing a living M.C. Escher painting in real life. Complex patterns. No two the same, and no one remaining for more than a breath. Pyro almost forgot that he was in the middle of a fight while he gazed at it.

“I really need you to take over.”

“Ok. I think I am ready now. Just keep it up until I am on the other side for a few seconds.”

Pyro didn’t necessarily like the idea of leaving her so vulnerable, but she seemed very determined. He hoped that she could do it.

2.

“What the hell is that,” asked Joe.

“That can’t be a little girl, can it,” said the General.

“Did she honestly just walk through the flames?”

“I think we are doubly fucked now.”

What they saw worried them to no end. As Pyro watched Mary disappear into his creation, the other side saw an evil looking little girl. She looked to be made of embers. Her teddy bear grinning like a dragon right before shooting a stream of death. Her smile was of the most disconcerting sort. Menacing just didn’t do it justice. This was the smile of pure evil. The smile of the reaper.

She created a small semi-circular column behind herself. She figured that if she needed extra protection she could close it off very quickly. The people just watched her weaving the fire in front of her face. The shadows cast from the fireworks made her look much younger, then much older. No one feature could be pinpointed.

As Pyro’s giant expanse fizzled and extinguished itself Mary just laughed. It was her time now. She waited for a moment. The people looked uneasy. It seemed they were trying to figure out what was happening. Here was a little girl, playing with fire in the most beautiful way, and the previous horror show had seemed to end.

Before many could blink, small slivers were darting everywhere at once. These were not mortal blows, but just small burns. She was playing. She was dancing with the people the only way that, right now, she knew how. She was dreading the first blow that would knock someone unconscious, or even worse, kill them, but she knew it was coming. If it didn’t they would be trying to kill her.

Pyro watched from the rear. He waited like everyone else for the melee to continue, but was impressed with her fine control skills. They rivaled his. They probably would have put his in their place. He still had the record for mass killing, but this was like watching a beautiful tapestry being created right in front of his eyes.

“Ok, now she’s just being mean,” said the General.

Joe nodded, but was too struck to actually say anything. If this was the last thing he ever saw at least he would die knowing that there was such a thing as real beauty. He had seen it. He had experienced it. Nothing he imagined could even compare.

Pyro was as awestruck as everyone else, but he had nagging thoughts in the back of his mind. What if it was too early? What if something happened to her? It would be his fault for sending her out there unprepared. The only comfort he took was knowing that she was able to do this for a reason. It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t coincidence that she was the first friend he had made in years. She needed him just as he needed her. She was the little sister he needed to protect. He was the big brother that Mary needed. He quieted himself and accepted the fact that everything would be ok. It just had to work out. He was sure.

“You done playing around now?”

“I think so. This is really fun though.”

Pyro walked through Mary’s flames and positioned himself right beside her. He gave her a hug and told her to be careful. Wished her luck. Told her it was finally time to end this.

Her beautiful dance twisted itself into a startling aberration which struck out at the closest people it could reach. It danced in their hearts and devoured their souls. Pyro sent wave of light in haphazard directions. This would be the beginning of the end.

When Mary had been an even younger girl, she had been in love with the idea that she, someday, could be superwoman. She never had any powers to speak of, but she figured someday she might if she tried hard enough. She tried to fly. She tried to punch holes though walls. She hadn’t gotten to the point of dodging, or deflecting bullets, but she would have at some point. That much is certain. When her dog decided that her thumb would be a tasty snack, her dreams of being invincible were crushed. She knew that she could never be a superhero because she was too weak. Too pathetic. Just not worthy. One day, when she was four years old, all of those dreams seemed to be possible again. The power which had come into her life, had awakened her desire to do good. To a protector. To save lives.

The reason that she had been dancing with the flames before really hurting anybody came down to that point. She couldn’t see how a superhero would kill this mass gaggle of people. It took a lot of soul searching to finally come to the conclusion that they must be bad. If they were good people, Pyro would not feel that they needed to die. So it ended up being done out of mercy, nit anger or hate. The fact that she had been an amazing weaver had bought her the time she needed to make up her mind. Determine her course of action. Set that plan into motion. Execute it.

The fun had really just begun. The other children watched from a bit of a distance. They trusted Pyro, but they had not had enough experience with Mary to trust her form making costly mistakes. It was probably wise, for she did make random fountains at the wrong locations. She was still learning, but catching up quickly.

Pyro was proud of her. She was doing very well, but he did worry about her being able to control herself after this was all over. He knew from experience that this was a hard thing to control. Fighting off the need for more was a constant struggle. That was the whole reason that they were here today. IT wasn’t the call to power, but the destruction of it. He had no problem being a leader, but he could not abide the leaders that had claimed the world. He didn’t know why it bothered him so, but it did and he couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard he tried.

Speaking of leaders, the President had managed to make it far away from the conflict. He was cold, hungry, and alone. He hadn’t been moving for an insurmountable amount of time, but he felt that he had. He sat down to rest, not knowing if he would wake up. Not caring much either. He would sit there for days. Long after the conflict was over. He was afraid and locked into a mode of inactivity. He would die of exposure a few days later. The local animals welcomed the food, even if the meat was tough and tasted somewhat tainted.

The Tribe

1.

The tribe would continue life in the same way it had for many years. A few generations after the original Torches died, they rediscovered the wheel. It wasn’t that the original founders didn’t know about things as simple as this, but that they discouraged it. They wanted a fresh start for their people. They wanted as little of the old world as possible.

When it was rediscovered, they thought it to be a very new invention, because the currently living people had never seen, nor heard of, one. It would’ve been considered ancient, lost history. It fell in the same category as God, the Devil, microwave ovens, and anything else that existed in that long gone time. The only hope, which was unknown, was that they would not go back to how things used to be. Their leaders had spent too much time perfect this world to let the old one return.

People were very impressed with the wheel. It is unknown how they decided on that name for it, but it happened. They started small. A fallen tree was the first incarnation. When they found a second one they discovered that they could roll thing on top of it. After much experimentation, and discoveries in tooling, they learned how to cut a single tree into many wheels. The axel came next, and was the pivotal point for the first cart. They finally had a way of moving more food and supplies while on their journeys. It could have been viewed as the beginning of they end, or the best thing to happen to them. Life became a little easier, but they still had to lug the cart around. It was not abnormal to see the people pulling the carts, piled high with food, as well as lugging bulging backpacks.

It would be years until any other groundbreaking discoveries would be made. Light bulbs would be on the order of 1000 years of more. They were starting small, but eventually technology would emerge. They had no monetary system. No running water. They also had the need for neither. Being nomadic afforded them the luxury of requiring almost nothing from the old world. The only thing that had been required was people, which had obviously been provided.

As the tribe grew bigger, they kept dividing and growing farther apart. The Torches always seemed to know when another of the leaders had passed, or was preparing to. During those times all of the tribe would converge at the flag pole once again. The tradition stayed the same. A new flag was always posted. The old always went with the fallen leader. The speech changed every time. The Torches would say whatever they felt was right. Their goal was to pay homage and send off their comrade to a better place. Send him back to the earth. The new flag always represented the Torch or Torches who were being left that day.

It was always a somber occasion, but it came with mixed feelings. It was a reunion in many ways. The tribes would meet up with their old friends. They would talk about everything that happened since the last time. They would trade goods. The would dance. They would go back into the world as friends, but would not see each other for a very long time, if ever again. Overall they were pretty good at living the life of the original vision. Hard work and honesty was all it had taken to get here, and all it took to keep them moving.

After the few days for the funeral the tribes would separate and go their separate ways. Some went north into the colder parts of the continent. Some went south towards the desert. Others went east and west to the oceans, or the plains, or the mountains. Every tribe has staked their areas, not that others would be refused from roaming the same neighborhoods, it was just never an issue. They had learned to deal with their environments and had actually excelled at it. They had become masters of survival over the years. They didn’t go hungry. They didn’t die of exhaustion, exposure, poisonous plants, or any other naturally avoidable thing. That is not to say that it had not happened in the past, just that it wasn’t an issue any longer. They were finally in harmony with nature.

But, perfection could only last so long. Generations later some of the old ways were being replaced with the newer and better. Newer ways of gathering food. Better ways of traveling, or eventually the lack thereof. The seeds of dissent had starting budding into beautiful little saplings.

As each subsequent generation started to take power, the tribes stopped traveling as far, and as frequently. They started to lose touch with nature and began to exploit the land. They would gather enough food for three communities, when most of it would go to waste. Hunting was becoming much more of a sport than a means of survival. New weapons were developed. Instead of the sharpened stick and the occasional rock-tipped spear, they were learning how to stretch fibrous strands across a tense, curved piece of wood. They were discovering better ways of sharpening stones. Faster ways of forming them. Ways to prepare for a massive assault on something, even if they didn’t know what yet.

The sins of the past were starting to arrive at their feet. They had not yet made a mockery of what their ancestors stood for, but they were well on their way. The altruistic views were dying away and being replaced with greed. They had enough land to provide 100’s of acres to each tribesman, if not much more, but they felt that they needed more. They wanted control of it all. The land was there to be taken. To be claimed by something. Just as well if it was them who claimed it.

The future, which had started out with such hope and promise, was starting to look grim. The path to self destruction was upon them, they only had to walk down it. There were greatly varying views on the proper way to conduct business. Even the Torches were starting to lose their say in their peoples affairs. The respect was diminishing. A few of the Torches decided to show their people why they were the leaders.

Some of the tribes lost more than half of their people in very short periods of time. There was no plague. No famine. No disease. Just greed. Greed, and an enveloping fire that consumed enough people to send a very clear message about who was in charge, and why. One tribe tried fighting back, which just ended in misery. The entire tribe was killed except for the Torch and his youngest son. After reexamining the actions he had just taken, he sent his son off to the east in hopes that he would find another group to take him in. After his son was gone, the Torch took his own life. There was no ceremony. No homage. No memory. No flag. No honor in his actions.