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+---- Thread: an orange flower for the fairy -- brilliant pampas quest (/showthread.php?tid=22772)
an orange flower for the fairy -- brilliant pampas quest - GODBEAR - 01-26-2019
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The others wake to find the red flowers withered away, but they look up to find the field filled with flowers in the height of their first spring bloom. Her words ring clearly in their memories, and they know that she needs one each of these colors: red, white, yellow, pink, and orange. They are in a race now against time, lest these first blooms wither before they can get them to the mountain.
Gone - gone - gone. Like his sight, like his hearing. It is all faded away. Red has dripped away to something much different - new life, new growth (a new start). They are technicolor, a revolt of the rainbow, an ocean of anything and everything of every color he has ever seen. And yet - there are vivid shades that are missing quite blatantly. She needs these colors. Beqanna needs these colors. That’s why he came here, wasn’t it? Eight was never here - his father was a figment. He is awake, he is here to change the future of this sicksick rot.
Orange - he needs orange! The color of the sunrise (new beginnings, new time, new change). The color of sweet sweet taste, of the hot fire (quite like those raining asteroids). How at a lack he is - how hard it is to see what is not there on one side. But he tries - his lean body flicking through the fields redbluepurpleforestgreendarkdarkblack. It is a vomit of everything he has ever seen. A rush in his heart, a smattering of doubt (nono you will never be anything, you are a waste). But there is a sickness to be dealt with.
He crushes flora beneath him, a sweet sick smell close to that of the plague itself. Night is settling - the moon rising and that sun (orange! orange!) fading so fast. Now - now there is no hope for him. One eyed, dark dark land - colors are not a friend (a foe! Yes, a foe!) - there is so much to lose.
He slows (it all slows) - there are so many of them. Five flowers will be far too easy to find. He is not the only one on this journey - there are others to pick up blooms of bright.
And there - the horizon carries a blinking orange glow - a bright bloom in the dark of night, reflecting the moon like the blink of a lighthouse -- orangeorangeorange. The taste of sweet fruit, the color of new mornings, the sear of fire - orangeorangeorange. A good and a bad - a dark and a light - a piece of the puzzle.
His heart archs as his mouth holds tight to the bright orange bloom. He has succeeded (for the first - maybe the last? time).
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The edge of Pampas fades as the mountain looms - his steps are laborious, the mountain tall and a force before him. <b> “Fairy - I have brought the orange bloom!”</b> he calls to that cold cold sky.
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