Genres: Horror, Stream-of-Consciousness, Tragedy
Rating: R
Warnings: Battle-field Descriptions, Character Death
Summary: Sometimes one cannot win a race, but one must still try. A Foamrider of Alqualondë attests to this.
There is fire in the horizon.
I choke. What is happening? Surely a festival bonfire is not this big? There is no festival scheduled in the near future anyway…
I turn my skiff homewards and unfurl the lone sail attached to it. I must be home as soon as I can. Whatever is happening, I feel uneasy about it. – Oh please, please Lords Ulmo and Manwë, let me be home quickly…
I drive the double oar into the water with a fast dip, my heart thumping painfully, hoping to propel the skiff home faster. I navigate through the rock arch of the harbour,
Then freeze on my seat, clutching the long handle of the oar in a numbing grip. – Blood. Blood is everywhere, on the quays and the walls and even in the water. The breeze is tainted with its smell, and I want to vomit. What travesty is this? Who perpetrated this?
Eldar are fighting each other, killing each other, tainting the harbour with bodies and weapons and blood. And fire is everywhere, burning the houses—
My family!
The oar swings again, harder this time, faster. Where is Atto? Emmë? Elwen?
The prow of the skiff bumps the blood-slick quay, hard, and I use the impact to leap onto land. Slipping and stumbling, I run and dodge and duck, unheeding of the madness going on around me, hoping I am not too late to save my family. Tears blur my vision, but I keep going. I must be faster than the fire. I must be faster than the fighters.
— My house is aflame, and I can faintly hear screams from inside of it. I leap through the burning doorframe, surging in.
And the roof caves in on top of me, trapping me in an inferno. I know no more.