He wondered if she remembered.
He wondered if she remembered the light tugs upon the hem of her pretty blue dress--which seemed far too large for her slender form at that point in time. He wondered if she thought about the smiles he placed upon his lips only for her. He wondered if she pondered the curiosity in his gaze so many, many years ago when she would perform her special talent. He wondered if she recalled the horror in his wide blue eyes as she fell to the Earth in an exhausted heap.
He wondered if she remembered the tears that fell from those wide blue eyes whenever she was taken away from him and to be tended to.
He remembered.
He wondered if she cared to remember.
But of course she did, for what kind of mother would dismiss the obvious pain in their child's gaze as she disappeared around a corner, knowing that he knew, waited... knew that the next fall could be her last. He wondered why he used his free time to think of something as absurd as this, because he didn't have much free time at all, and it would exhaust him to create the time he had. But how absurd would it be for a mother to forget their child existed, not knowing that they lay cold and dormant and hollow in the control of someone else; in the control of someone that was not she? It would most definitely be possible, but he regretted the mere thought of it. She would never forget him; she would always remember the pain and the anguish, the happiness and the laughter.
But would he? Would he always remember her protective and warm gaze upon his fragile body? Would he forever remember the feel of her strong arms enveloping his tiny frame? Would he always remember the angelic chime of her lips connecting softly with his forehead? He did not know and he did not want to ponder the possibility, for it was too saddening. He remembered now and that is all that mattered. The visions passed through his head again--of his childhood, his mother's face, the laughter of his tiny sister in his arms, the facade of what was once real and possible but what was now just a memory and impossible to return to. This realization struck him hard in the chest and he grasped for what was real, sucking in a stunted breath of thick, blood-soaked air.
Without hesitation, he dismissed the pained half-sob and continued to sift through his thoughts, finally catching the stray hint of pity he had for himself. This disgusted him and he outwardly grimaced at his foolishness. Pity? Why should he have self-pity when he brought this ordeal upon himself, knowing the risks and the pain it could most definitely lead to. How naive he had been those years ago, so determined to protect the reality that he cherished, the home he came home to every night, the solitude that was kept confined within his gaze, mind, and heart, the pleasure he gained when knowing he was the sole purpose for the smile upon his mother's face, the laughter in his sister's voice.
The love of his family and of his nation.
They were just out of his reach, dangling like a bone on a string above a starved pup. There was nothing fair about the situation, nothing he did wrong to invoke the wraith of a higher force. He was not wrong in protecting the ones he loved; he would always keep that fact true. He was right in one thing and that was to preserve the smiles he had created upon their faces, to keep alive the essence of their humanity and the love they could share with so many others.
He could no longer feel the warmth of love, but he could always remember how complete it had made his young life even though he had taken it for granted. Oh, how much he would love to return to his family and take them in his arms, cry tears long dried away, tell them of his immense guilt for leaving their sides for such a long time. He would cherish the love they selflessly gave, the peace they kept alive within him. He would kiss his mother on her forehead and envelop her in his arms and he would gratefully thank her for everything she created for him and him only.
But, with another tightening of his chest, he knew that his wish would never be granted, for he was doomed to death the moment his back had turned from them and his eyes set upon the battlefield; doomed to be a puppet for some entity in which he knew not the reason for, because surely their were many others that were far stronger than him beneath the waves of the oceans and far across the dunes of the deserts and maybe even above the clouds in the sky. This thought would linger on forever--for deep inside of himself he knew the answer in which he did not want to admit--and regretfully he would tell himself that he was the most powerful of many. He wished, in his early stages of uncontrol, that he had been weak and not as valiant as he once was, that maybe the puppeteer would have passed him off as he walked along the rows of his shelf and would have left him to his peace. But no, this was a foolish thing to wish for, for if he had not been what he was then his mother could have long passed on before she had even conceived his baby sister and he would have been left with nothing.
Nothing.
He was now left with nothing.
And the irony of it all was too great a pang for him to dare to comprehend in his frail and broken state. So, in his minds eye he pictured a field. The field was adorned with lovely wild flowers and the leafy green branches of flowing oak trees. The grass was lush and full, swaying in the warm summer breeze. And the sun was shining, yes, so warm... and under the shade of a particularly beautiful tree sat his far more beautiful mother, her face alight with a cheery smile, her eyes reflecting the deepest sense of love and worth. Her long shining locks marveled the rich color of the tree's trunk; the breeze gently sending strands to graze her face. In her arms was his tiny sister, chubby arms outstretched to welcome her brother and to gently encircle around his neck. His mother's smile deepened and slowly she raised a slender arm, outstretching a hand for him to take, to welcome him back into their lives forever.
This is how he would always remember his life, the thing in which he had lost so many years before to preserve a greater and deserving force. And as he felt his control slipping away once again, his mind sealed the image that he had created so that maybe someday it would be the first thing he saw when he could finally rest, though the possibility of that seemed too far to reach. And as his vision began to blur, deep blue eyes fading into an emotionless navy, he reached out a quivering hand to take hold of his mothers, to tightly secure the weak bond they still shared through the distance and turmoil, to finally tie the knot that would seal his own fate forever more...
The hand fell.