Redemption by the winds
Footsteps are left behind for only moment. The winds refuse to let them stay, for it thinks them petty things.
Three bodies stride forward through this wind. I gaze at them. Two cloaked in deep black, with empty faces and large encumbering packs along their backs. I assume them to be sad, for their heads hang low like dried fruit from a bone riddled tree.
The third is a strange sight. She is tall. Taller than others at least. Her eyes are golden and blaze out from her white plastered body like tiny stars. Burning. Searing a golden mark of pride and avarice into her veins.
She walks in front of the others, occasionally glancing at them, whispering sweet limericks. Hidden commands. Hidden words. Hidden noise which fills their heads, fills my head, and pours out our eyes. A ravaged river of silver pain.
I hate her.
Or at least I think I do. The reason for my hatred escapes me, but I know it is my duty to stop her.
I must bring her servants a silent serenity. Silent equality.
And so I shift out to my last battle.
A question seeps into my chest. A simple one, with many answers.
Is the equality they force me to bring truly perfection, or is imperfection true equality? I do not know, so I go on to clean the slate anew in my death.
The only force that drives me, the hope for redemption in my passing.