Just a little something I did as a ten-minute exercise. Very quick, very fresh and untouched by my perfectionism. I tend to not like anything I do as a writing exercise because I feel it's too... unpolished, but I figured I'd post it anyways. A good opening to my new collection. :3 Samsara is the Buddhist term for the never-ending cycle of life and death, by the way.
Pasang was well-known for his having reached enlightenment at a very young age and was commended on his fairness and insight. His wisdom exceeded his years. He was also a man of visions. Premonitions came to him in dreams and during meditation; his foretelling had saved his people from famine and hardship many times before. It was for this closeness to insight that he had been chosen as Head Monk.
However, this newest vision was one he had never had before. So vague, so ominous. His previous visions had always been clear, had always shown him what was to come, and he was able to discern solutions through what he saw—but this. This foreknowledge was different.
He'd been meditating for several hours, mind clear of worldly thoughts and distractions. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed, whether any had passed at all, nor was he aware of the lemur that had curled up by his side and gone to sleep. The energy of Samsara flowed through him freely, until he suddenly felt his consciousness slipping into the realm found between Death and Life.
He was familiar with this sensation, the sign of an oncoming vision, and had trained himself to embrace it, though his mind often instinctually tried to keep a hold of its own awareness. He allowed his cognizance to merge with the pious energy that was flooding through him and floated along with it.
A gust of wind, that's all he was, floating along lazily amid thousands of others. The sky was clear, the green grass below lush and the streams flowing freely. All was peaceful, prosperous. He continued on for a long while, sometimes brushing against the leaves of trees and bringing them movement they could otherwise not have on their own. He and his fellows traveled a long distance.
A small flame burst up from the ground some several feet away. As he approached, it grew larger and larger. It reached up at the sky and ate away at whatever it touched. Its energy was overwhelming and soon the entire world was being swallowed up in its flickering orange and red mouth. Its out-of-control fury even rose up into the sky and suffocated the life out of the very air.
He watched as the world was jerked from its balance, as energies died. He felt the fingers of the fire wrapping around him and smothering him—holding him in his tracks.
Pasang jerked his eyes open at the same time that he gasped for blessed air. His vision was still clouded with red, and he blinked it away.
Storm clouds were approaching.