Time Throws Fire | Volume Two | Chapter Nineteen
volume two of the second story in The Foundry series
Time Throws Fire | Volume Two
By Ophelia Everfall
Part One - Cosmonaut | ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE
Part Two - Holy Fire Priestess | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN
Part Three - Get the Guts | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTEEN |
Part Four - Demon | FOURTEEN |
Part Five - Synecdoche’s Synapse | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN |
Part Six - Viscera Rising | SEVENTEEN |
Part Seven - Exile | EIGHTEEN |
Part Eight - Semblance
Part Nine - Threnody of Lojack
Part Ten - Time Throws Fire
PART SEVEN | EXILE
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Quite simply nothing felt better, not ever, not to Echo.
Bewitching notions stirred within her chest, beneath a bosom so taut and robust, its feathered warmth a champion against the temperatures so low that high above the sea.
Eagle’s eyes were a gift. To feel the way they did, birds of Earth a sign to spirit, touching their experience of flight, so wholly, had her lusting with playful awe. Magnetic fields were more than unknowable vibrations and tones Echo’s human senses found means to realize.
Their planet was singing in gravity, magnetism, ionic fields of harmony most meant for the living, and coaxed her newfound form to move in flow. It wanted her diving, mother had something to show her.
Storms were looming — that place in which descension had been chosen was nearest. She’d been ready but not. She was prepared to face the truth but felt it less than easy for grasping.
Her wings were enormous, she’d packed them tightly and to greatest satisfaction, reminding Echo of pulling off a sock she’d worn too long.
Spirit had her barreling, some show for all that might be done, to know herself most capable of anything. That world had been hers. As it was for everyone born from the planet, their mother.
Something flashed — sight — feeling — unknowing the depth — to unpack for time most brief — realizing through the unfolding-all which had been witnessed instantaneously beside that burning flash of smell.
Chiron had been the thing to take Echo. That’s what she’d been thinking.
Another whisper from the oceans wash, that grace of those surrounding incomings in its musical swells most healing to her bodies all, it spoke of feeling inside towards that long-lost question.
Why?
So many times, she’d cried and begged that question of the gods while living her Earth-bound mortal life.
Many would become entangled energetically. Those humans and beings which connected could feel the victim, of each other’s most often. The way they’d cast forth by designs of flightful passion and bore out into their world of change felt wrong by reflection.
People wouldn’t admit their own accomplice inside, what they’d done to stoke the divine synchronicities, perceptions, leadings, and lessons which were received therein.
How people took responsibility was all wrong.
Echo felt inside, that glorified chest of nature’s finest, all there was proven as such when living free of stain. It told of truth beneath the metaphors gleaned from deepest understandings of myth and hypothesis made inside an Earth-person, projecting into completeness of knowing which proved an entire false-layer.
Nobody blamed each other for the one thing that matter most. No one blamed themself.
Those few who would for moments went mad, they’d project worst guesses to solve their riddle of why, then return home back through the gates they’d left. They had taken themself to nature, diving into its Earth, grafting pleasure by what came from those stroking silences found by rightful challenge to their mind’s makings of reality.
People imagined much.
They were guided by fateful reckoning to see the worst things true of other’s words. They’d proclaim the same proudly about themself, and act in visage of the tides in time. People felt what was happening everywhere. They all knew more than they’d imagine, beneath their own surface.
Diving would prove them towards discoveries of fact they’d blame themself for — those very same which were simply written to begin with.
Some great mystery was a pesky, dastardly, overlordess-prince of light and dark. Its whispers were not to be trusted, only reflected upon, when even sometimes they’d speak of otherwise unknowable truths. It sent people spiraling. They’d take and cast blame for what they knew wrong by projection of mind. They made it some entertainment, leaving earnestness unexhumed, lost beneath their own sacred chambers.
That was all a show she’d simply let go on. Even the great mother of Earth’s humanity lied too. She’d been made to. She hated them all, not one-quadrillionth of how much she’d loved every single fiber of their bodies, which had allowed her to see and move, to become and change into visages of singularity with minds their own. Her bravery for nurturing humanities evolution was a grace. What they’d done with the freedom offered was disgrace.
It had asked the mystery itself a question — that same one.
Why?
“Why are they doing this to me?” She’d asked.
“Why are you letting them do this to me?”
Their shame was a slickest beast, some darkest devil of the depths, its seeping grasp would bleed evil into everything, the ways it corrupted were wholistic, pandora’s box had long been open on Earth, some ark was destroyed from being kept secure in its needed containment, and the people were paying to play in their mother’s blood.
Her blood was black. It was oil.
The devil itself had been chosen for worship.
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