My friend the gazebo lays in ruins. We hadn’t been friends long, only since the day they began throwing bricks against the back of my head. Dreadful. How quick some friends come and go…
The quality of my afternoon walks is severely diminished. I so looked forward to the oaken smell, running my hands against the carvings, and saying hello. I asked Mr. DingleWaddles if he knew what happened yet he had no reply.
Why do these things happen?
Even the demons I fraternize with had no incantations today. Standing as silken edifices, they watched me as I passed them by. I would have asked them what had happened, but I knew that they would have spoken to me in my dreams if they had something to say.
All I know is what I saw. And all I saw was a pile of still radiant ashes where my friend the gazebo used to stand. The same oaky smell was present, but it was tainted. Tainted with smoke.
I buried my hand deep into the embers to clench whatever remained. To hold onto the last fragments of my friendship. Still hot, the glowing shards burned the palm of my hand – but I did not care.
I wanted my friend. I want my friend.
During the squeeze, I almost begged for pain. At least the distraction of searing my hand would both take my mind away from the moment, and make me more alike the gazebo.
And, as often it does during the unknown, my sadness swirled with a mix of tangible fury.
Who would do this? Why would they do something like this? How. DARE. Someone do this.
How dare they catapult my emotions into a frenzy of irate grief. How dare they be so selfish to steal the time of others. How dare they treat life so inconsequentially.
As I ran my hand through the coals once more, I felt a still solid object. Pulling it from the steaming black sand, it became clear what happened. The brick, warm from being buried, bore the etchings of the Issacary Echelon.
They killed him. They stole him. They will face justice.
*** This post is part one in the Issacary Echelon Resurgence, here is part two***