A/N: Latest temps_mort challenge- this week is "elements," with
half an hour to work in. This one was done in thirty minutes
exactly, and I still felt like I had more to write. This is
what sucks about timed stuff.
"A Half-Decent World"
The name Hokage means "Dancing Flames." He fits it. I'd never
say it to his face, but he fits it. And in a few more years,
he'll be perfect for that job. The name is already so like him:
the thought of fire, licking at the skin and clothes but never
quite catching, never quite burning. Just there, moving too
quickly to ever catch, too fierce and wild to be drowned. Too
alive to die so easily.
And she- she is air. Light and fast and delicate and carrying a
million scents and sounds and stories. A soft kiss one day and
a backbreaking attack another. Never tamed but also never
totally wild, because there is a limit to how far away from the
earth she can get and still be strong. Moving constantly also,
but sometimes she stills and sleeps.
He never sleeps. She does. For some reason, this is important.
And then there is the teacher. Lazy, deceptively slow and
dreamy on the surface- but go beneath and you will drown. And
sometimes it's hard to remember that, and so many people end up
drowning that way. They think that they're in for an easy time
and instead end up underestimating the current and therefore are
consumed by it.
But earth . . . earth is powerful, smothering, stable.
Suffocating also. Is that what I am? Solid and stuck in my own
ways, where the others are wild and alive? Where he dances on
matchsticks and razes forests? Am I only the ground, never
moving, ever static?
I think I can live with that, though.
As long as the ashes of his fires renew my earth . . . then I
will be able to live with existing in stasis, because they will
change me. His fire will renew me, her wind shape me, the
teacher's water carve through me . . .
There's only three of them. But I wonder, is there a reason for
that? Are we matched up this way because of elements, because
I don't really care anymore.
I just . . . like it here. With them. With him.
We've made a half-decent world.
And the fire is still dancing . . .
* ende *
. : burn it to the filter : .