I drabbled 8D Kind of did this on a whim today when I was re-playing Journey. I just alskd;jfalksdjf.
Too many feels.
I.
I can't even.
Yeah.
I apologize for any weird... weirdness in here. I haven't written a proper fanfic in a year or so LOL
Enjoy 83
-O-
There was once a civilization. It stood where others fell. It conquered what was thought to be impossible. The citizens were fair and loyal. They loved one another.
There were also the Carpets. Gifts from the Mother. Gracious gifts to her kind, caring children.
Carpets were, at first, simply... free. Fauna. Demi-Gods. A sign of luck and prosperity. To have a Carpet fly over a garden or home was considered to be a blessing from the Mother. To have a Carpet interact with one of the citizens, however, was a great honor. The person would be cast into priesthood, sent to take a great Journey to the Mountain of Stars, the Womb of the Mother.
And so, they all lived in peace, for thousands upon thousands of years.
It only took a decade to undo it all.
The people raged war upon one another, turning sides, using the Carpets as their machines of death. Millions died. The war was fought for ten years. And in those ten years, only two Journey-Makers were made.
I am one of those two.
Before me, my whole world crumbled. Bombs obliterated everything I had ever known, turning the planet to dust- no, sand.
A desert. A terrible, beautiful thing.
Everyone died, and yet, me and my fellow Journey-Maker survived.
WHY?
Is this some cruel form of punishment from the Mother? Casting us to eternal walking, eternal suffering? To know the pain of watching a dear friend die slowly and not being able to help them? To have to walk through the ruins of what was once a thriving city?
As I speak, my partner is growing weary. He's limping a bit. I wasn't aware that we could actually injure ourselves.
It's cold here. It's always cold. No longer how long we walk in the desert, no matter how many layers of cloth we wrap ourselves in, we are always cold. Numb even. It makes the freezing mountainside a bit more bearable. Helps dull the feeling of despair when one of us crumbles and becomes lost in the snow.
The Walk is the worst. It always is. I dread it on every trip. When sleepiness suddenly sets in my limbs and I have no choice but to walk slower... and slower... and slower still, singing to my partner all the while, comforting him.
I don't think he can hear my chirps right now. The shriek of the Guardians is far too loud. Hm.
Losing sight is always terrible. Frightening. Not being able to hear my partner call to me. Being mute and unable to comfort him.
Walking over the first dunes is always exciting. Always. It fills me with an anxious feeling, eager to see my partner again.
And when I do... we cry. We mourn.
Our home is still gone.
No matter how much our Mother punishes us.
It will always be gone.
We are the last of our kind.
And one day, even our music, will simply...
… cease to exist.