…
"When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things"
…
A memory of tree-lined paths on a balmy spring day. A child and a youth walk alongside each other. Strangely enough, it is the older who seems somehow more vulnerable.
The child proclaims confidently to the world. "I'm going to become your knight and protect you, Mythos-sama."
The white haired youth looks out at the bright spring day through vacant eyes. He radiates perpetual bemusement. As if he's lost something important, something vital. "Knight?" As he turns his attention to the statement proposed, his feet wander off the path.
The child takes his hand and guides him gently back away from the tree that was about to make its presence felt in a moment. "You'll see. Mythos-sama. I'll save you. I'll be strong and brave and fight for you."
A child scribbles furiously at his desk, filling the blank page with his childish script. Outside, the town's peace is torn apart by the raucous cries of a thousand ravens and the plaintive shrieks of their victims.
Beads of perspiration form on his brow as he labors. His fingers are ink-stained and the manuscript is blotted. From what can be read of the story, a hero will appear and magically save the whole town from the plague.
Just when all seems lost, a knight in shining armor, wielding a sword like a silver flame, rides in through the gates. His blade, a shining blur, cuts through the monstrous flock. The ravens flee, never to return and the knight is escorted victorious through the town square.
All I have to do is to write the story and the evil birds will all go away.
So he thinks. The crows claw at his window, cawing at him, as if mocking his naivety. He ignores them, engrossed in literary endeavor.
The cawing grows louder. Bolder birds begin pecking at the glass, stabbing furiously at the invisible barrier that separates them from their prey.
Then the pecking stops. For an instant, all is silent. His heart pounds wildly in his chest and his frantic scribbling slows for one crucial moment. He looks up to see a raven diving straight at his window.
The fantasy shatters into a million shards. There is no more fearless knight. No more shining armor. No more swashing blow. All that is left is a frightened boy, cowering on the floor, screaming in pain for his parents as the flock attacks him mercilessly.
…
After that incident, the boy swears off writing and takes up the sword. A childish pastime, thinks he. What a royal fool I was, to think that I, could single-handedly change the course of the story once it was set in motion. A conceited, naïve fool.
No more, he said. From now on, I will put aside childish things and become a man.
…
Yet, today, he puts down his sword. It has served its purpose. Or at least, it can no longer help him fulfill his goal of protecting Mythos. It can no longer save the one he loves.
It seems like years since he's last touched a pen. Staring at the blank page before him, he reaches out to the child within. The frightened child, cowering in the corner for fear of the ravens. Fear wells up inside, the fear of the story gone wrong. The fear that after the long hiatus, the power, like a scorned lover, will no longer respond to him. Yet, he knows he must overcome this.
He bites his lip, tasting the salt sweet metallic tang. The tang that lingered in his room for months even after his parents bodies were removed.
I guess I'm back.