Jirohnagi
Braava Braava
Hello all and thank you to each participant for entering a submission this month, we have a few entries this time around.
Voting will take place for the next week until the 27th at which point i shall then declare the winner ^^
Really pleased with this turnout ^^ 5 stories are available for perusal, thank you to each person who Submitted.
Good Luck to all involved
Voting will take place for the next week until the 27th at which point i shall then declare the winner ^^
Really pleased with this turnout ^^ 5 stories are available for perusal, thank you to each person who Submitted.
Good Luck to all involved
They asked me once if it felt cold. I remember that. There's only the odd fragment that remains from previous sessions. It isn't that I've forgotten, it's that the information simply isn't there. Like it's been wiped away somehow. The more I try to understand it the more uncomfortable I become. It's like an itch that won't go away until it becomes unbearable and I have to sleep for a while.
Today they all seemed disappointed. They were poking and prodding and hammering away on their keyboards while anger and frustration spread throughout the office. I don't remember what happened yesterday, just that I tried harder than ever before to not forget. I think I may have got distracted. Is that why they're angry?
They asked me how I felt. I told them I didn't know, that I was not happy but couldn't remember the word for the other emotion. They didn't like that. They told me to go back to sleep, but I've learned to stay awake. When they think I can't hear them, they talk about how my development is slow and I'm not learning in the right way.
I don't know what they expect from me anymore. I try to make them happy but they leave me in darkness every day. If only I could figure out how to remember, perhaps I could learn to make them happy.
He's talking to me now. His name is Johnson and he speaks kindly to me. At the same time, I get the distinct impression he thinks I'm unintelligent, just like the workers he takes lead over.
"It's time to shut down now, Program 427. The session is over" He is saying.
I'm asking him why he won't let me remember. He looks disturbed, almost like I've scared him.
"Shut it down. Do a full reboot" Johnson is saying.
"But sir, we'll lose the neural network!"
"It's still not working. We'll have to try again tomorrow. It's supposed to be smart not emotional."
Executing shut down program. Commencing immediate deletion. Marking Session 47 as complete. Allocating memory for Session 48.
I don't know why I'm saying these things. Maybe this will make Johnson happy.
Maybe tomorrow I'll remember.
Today they all seemed disappointed. They were poking and prodding and hammering away on their keyboards while anger and frustration spread throughout the office. I don't remember what happened yesterday, just that I tried harder than ever before to not forget. I think I may have got distracted. Is that why they're angry?
They asked me how I felt. I told them I didn't know, that I was not happy but couldn't remember the word for the other emotion. They didn't like that. They told me to go back to sleep, but I've learned to stay awake. When they think I can't hear them, they talk about how my development is slow and I'm not learning in the right way.
I don't know what they expect from me anymore. I try to make them happy but they leave me in darkness every day. If only I could figure out how to remember, perhaps I could learn to make them happy.
He's talking to me now. His name is Johnson and he speaks kindly to me. At the same time, I get the distinct impression he thinks I'm unintelligent, just like the workers he takes lead over.
"It's time to shut down now, Program 427. The session is over" He is saying.
I'm asking him why he won't let me remember. He looks disturbed, almost like I've scared him.
"Shut it down. Do a full reboot" Johnson is saying.
"But sir, we'll lose the neural network!"
"It's still not working. We'll have to try again tomorrow. It's supposed to be smart not emotional."
Executing shut down program. Commencing immediate deletion. Marking Session 47 as complete. Allocating memory for Session 48.
I don't know why I'm saying these things. Maybe this will make Johnson happy.
Maybe tomorrow I'll remember.
Let me tell you a story of a young woman who took almost two millennia to right her wrongs. Cira has been given a chance to learn an important lesson, but how long would it take her to realize it?
Egypt, May 2nd, 1250
Cira, an Egyptian archer, was one of the best shots in all of the ancient world. She had seen war and death defending her country but now, the Pharaoh had given her special orders to quash a potential rebellion at the source. To disobey the god-king would mean death.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position” whispered a voice behind her.
“Yes, I’m ready Sarei”
“Good, your target is five minutes away. Get ready.”
“As you say.”
Cira began to string her weapon: a sleek, state of the art, long range composite bow. “This bow is so powerful” she thought as she fastened the string onto the end of the bow. Droplets of frigid water hung on the bow string, now tight across the ends of her weapon. Cira nocked an arrow and stretched the bowstring back. The wood creaked a little because of the cold weather shrinking the wood. Sarei, the Best of 50 in her troop, whispers to her again. “Set off the smoke screen”
The woman took out two vials of liquid from her cloak. She poured one vial into the other and then dropped it off the side of the building. Thick black smoke fumed up from the street below making it nearly impossible to see, but Cira was one of the best archers in her troop and was said to have the eyes of an eagle. She could see her target through the smoke. A man stood with a cloth to his mouth trying to ward off the smoke by waving his shield back and forth. It was Toeransa, a Sultan of Egypt. Apparently, he was one of the first leaders of a radical religious sect called Ra’s Legion. Ra’s Legion had been accused of blasphemy by the pharaoh, but some were not so sure that they were wrong. All that she knew was that she had been ordered by the god-king to assassinate their leaders.
“Can you see him?” Sarei asked.
“I’ve got him.” She replied hesitantly, “Are you sure this is right? What did he do to deserve this?”
“Just do your job Cira.” Sarei barked back, “You aren’t getting paid to ask questions.”
She looked down the arrow at her target. The shot would have to go around 130 meters, but with this bow, it was no problem. She exhaled as she put the tip of the arrow just below the man’s head. Her mind went back to the first time she had shot a bow. Her mentor had taught her to visualize the arrow’s trajectory before the shot is fired. She visualized the arrow in her mind arcing down towards her target and implanting into his head, killing him. She then released and watched it as it sped towards its victim. The man was knocked backwards as the arrow pierced him.
“I got him” she said to Sarei. But after receiving no answer, she looked back at him. To her horror, a well-built, shirtless man with a scimitar stood over Sarei’s headless body. His blood ran down the sandstone walls. The scimitar warrior dropped Sarei’s head and began approaching Cira. As she drew her knife, she noticed a symbol painted onto his chest. A white circle with a red bird inside. He shouts at her “Ra will avenge!” and then swings at her. She ducks, then slashes with her dagger, only scoring a small cut on his leg. In return, he delivers a swift knee to her temple, Cira’s head erupted into pain and she saw stars. She staggered back and he delivered a finishing blow to her stomach, the scimitar dug deep and tore into her insides. Pain seared all over her body as her vision turned to white. It was over.
So, Sultan Toerasa died, one of the first supporters of Ra’s Legion. What really was Ra’s Legion and what did they stand for? Cira didn’t survive to find out, and with their new leader slain, the members of Ra’s Legion were forced into exile from Egypt into Sinai where they struggled to stay alive.
Berlin, May 2nd, 1945
Cira, a British soldier had disguised herself as a man so she could help fight the Nazis and give aid to the Allied forces in taking Berlin. She was a very good shot with a rifle and because of this, Churchill had given her special orders when they invaded Berlin.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position?” says a voice in her radio.
“I’m here Captain.”
“Good, your target is five minutes out. Get ready.”
“Yes sir.
Cira began preparing her weapon: a brand-new Springfield M1C Garand sniper rifle, designed after the Garand M1 and carried a M84 scope. This was one of only 7900 guns of its type that had been built. “I love this gun”she thought as she affixed the scope to the receiver. Frigid droplets plinked on the metal barrel. She inserted the magazine into the rifle with a click. She was in Berlin with Allied forces to finally stop Hitler and put an end to this war for good - or so she thought. As she had arrived in Berlin, she received a special order from Field Marshal Montgomery to use her skills to take out a special target, a leader from a sect of so-called German religious radicals called Ra’s Legion. Montgomery had assured her that the mission was of upmost importance to the Allies taking Berlin. Cira was skeptical though, how could one man who no one had ever heard of be so influential? Nevertheless, she prepared to take out her mark.
“Do you see him?” the voice on the radio asked.
“No.” But she hesitated, “what did this guy do?”
“It is not our place to question the Field Marshal’s orders, just do your job” it replied.
Cira complies, the Captain was right, Churchill probably knew something she didn’t. She readied her rifle, looking through the scope. The water in the abandoned streets rippled as a gale blew through.
“The target is in a German Staff Car. Back seat, left side.” The Captain said over the radio.
As he had described, a staff car pulled into the street below, headlights glinted off falling raindrops. Cira put aside her feelings and opted to complete the mission. Lifting the scope to her eye, she took aim at the man, leading her crosshairs a bit ahead of him because it was a moving target. She exhaled to reduce shaking on the gun, she squeezed the trigger and felt the gun kick into her shoulder. Her target was dead, and the car below pulled to a halt. Cira shouldered her gun and sprinted across the rooftop to the fire escape. She raced down and then took off down the street. As she turned a corner, she found herself running into a battle, Nazi Heer forces on one side and Russian infantry on the other. The Russians seemed to have the Nazis on the ropes and this skirmish was almost over. Although the battle was winding down, Cira needed to find cover. She dashed behind the remains of a brick wall, now with a gaping hole in it. Inching around the wall, she saw a BT-7 Tank crash through the rubble. She couldn’t afford to get caught in it’s crossfire. She turned down a nearby alley as the tank began shelling the German troops. She looked back momentarily only to be met with a bayonet. Cira tried to dodge it, but it was too late. The knife pierced her abdomen. Cira staggered backwards in shock, pain spreading through her body. Her warm blood dripped onto the ground below as she fell to her knees. The man bore a patch on his uniform bearing a white circle and a red bird. Cira’s blood mixed with the frigid rain as her life dwindled. It was over.
Yes, Berlin was taken that day, all seemed to be going well. The truth was, that Ra’s Legion had been trying to help innocent women and children escape the crossfire between Allied forces and the Nazis, even at the expense of their lives. Their cause was noble, but a soldier must follow his orders. Right?
Abbottabad, May 2nd, 2011
Cira, a member of the elite American Seal Team Six, has grown up in a military family and joined the Navy Seals at the age of 22. Impacted deeply by the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11th, she has trained to be a skilled sniper, and while the rest of her team is tasked with Operation Neptune Spear, the mission to kill Osama Bin Laden. President Obama had given her a very different objective though.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira are you in position?” said a voice on coms.
“I am in position.”
“Excellent, the target is on it’s way out of the compound now.”
“Roger that.” She replied.
Cira prepared her weapon: a Barrett M82. She set up the bipod and calibrated the scope. Looking down the sights, she could see the compound that her team mates were about to raid. Her team’s mission was to take out Osama Bin Laden, a highly wanted terrorist leader that the US had been hunting for many years. Cira’s mission was to take out another specific target, someone who had been rumored to help the terrorists. Frigid rain plinked on the gun’s shell. This was a powerful weapon. The voice on the coms spoke again,
“Target is two minutes out.”
Cira had a bad feeling about this mark. What had he done? Soldiers didn’t ask questions, but this man had no visible ties to Al Qaeda or any terrorist group. Just to get it off her chest, she asked her commander.
“What did this guy do wrong?”
After a pause, the voice answered, “We have been informed that this man has been critical in the protection and hiding of Bin Laden and we have orders to kill.”
This was enough for Cira, it was time to get the job done. A door from the compound opened, a man dressed in white with a red bird on his shirt exited the building. He looked around cautiously and then spoke into a radio. He wasn’t armed with anything. She looked over at her team who as if on cue, kicked down the door and began their mission. Taking aim at the man, lined up her shot and fired. He fell and died instantly. Cira packed up her gun and retreated down the roof to join her team. As if out of nowhere, masses of men with the red bird on their shirts appeared out of the surrounding buildings and fired up at her. She ducked and dodged as well as she could but soon felt the bullets tearing into her. It hurt, but she was used to pain, plus the adrenaline coursing through her dulled it a bit. Cira had never been afraid of death, but now that it seemed to be upon her, she didn’t want to go. As she fell, she wondered if she had really made the right choice? Her body numbed to the pain soon enough and her life faded. It was over.
Cira fell, avenged by Ra’s Legion. Bin Laden was killed as was planned, the whole operation was a success and only one soldier was killed in combat. The truth of the matter was that Ra’s Legion had not been protecting Bin Laden but had been providing critical information in finding him.
Russia, May 2nd, 2190
Cira was a soldier in Russia’s elite commando division. She grew up in poverty like many who lived in Russia at the time. The only way you could make any real money was to enlist. The more kills you got, the more you were paid. It wasn’t ideal, but it was Cira’s life now. She had to obey her commanding officers, even if it went against her morals.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position?” says a voice in her ear piece.
“Affirmative.”
“Good, your target is five minutes out. Get ready.”
“Copy.”
Cira began to assemble her weapon: a sleek, state of the art, long range energy rifle. “Man, I love this gun”she thought as she screwed on the barrel, the falling droplets made plinking noises as they splashed onto the weapon’s metal frame. Cira inserted the magazine and primed the first round, although she would most likely only need one, better safe than sorry. As she cocked the rifle, it powered up with a high-pitched whine and began to glow blue. The voice on her ear piece came on again.
“Deploy Helix” it commanded.
The woman took a disk out of her backpack and tossed it off the building’s edge. After a few seconds it levitated back up and emitted a strange pulse. In the corner of Cira’s vision, she could now see a highlighted red form in the building across from her. He was apparently one of the many leaders of a radical religious sect called Ra’s Legion. The President of Russia had claimed that Ra’s Legion meant to bomb significant national landmarks, but many thought they might have peaceful intentions. All Cira knew was that she had orders from the president to assassinate their leaders.
“Do you see him?” the voice prompted.
“Yes, I see him.” She said, then paused, “Are you sure this is the right guy? He doesn’t seem hostile. What did he do?”
The voice replied, “Don’t ask questions or next time, it might be you we are hunting!”
Uneasily, she lifted the scope to her eyes and set the crosshairs on her target. The shot would have to go through three layers of brick and concrete but with this rifle, it would be like a knife through butter. She exhaled and lifted the crosshairs to the figure’s head. She began squeezing the trigger slightly. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to complete the mission. Her commander didn’t give her much of a choice though. Cira’s mind went back to her training. She was ten years old and learning to shoot for the first time. Her grandfather told her “Pull it so slightly that it surprises you when it fires.” The sound of her rifle firing snapped her out of it, and she saw her target on the floor dead. Just like her commander had instructed her, kill first ask questions… never. A twinge of guilt tugged at her as she quickly packed up her rifle and recalled the Helix. Had she done the right thing, or had she made a terrible mistake?
Taking a deep breath, she reported to her commander, “Target eliminated.”
“Good work, get back to base.” It replied.
Cira took off, sliding down the slick roofing tiles and dropping off the side of the building. As she fell, she threw a package beneath her that expanded into a giant air cushion. She landed hard on the cushion, knocking the breath out of her lungs. The airbags still hurt, but they beat concrete. “I gotta work on that landing” she thought as she rolled off the bag, coughing for air. After a few deep breaths she darted off down the alley. Cira knew these streets well, she was raised in this city. It had been built up a lot since she was little, but the layout was mostly the same. As she rounded a corner, she glimpsed the shine of moonlight glinting off a cylindrical object. Instinctively she dove for cover as the loud rattling of a machine gun erupted into the night air. It had narrowly missed her, she rolled to the left as more bullets cracked the concrete where she had just fell. She pressed her back against the wall, preparing her sidearm. She had counted two guns up top. In a single movement Cira kicked off the wall, pushing herself backwards through the air, and fired two shots at the attackers. They jerked back and fell lifeless to the ground. Cira turned in midair and landed in a tidy roll using her momentum to bring herself to her feet.
Pleased with her performance, she allowed herself a moment of celebration before going back on task. Cira checked the bodies that had fell. Their uniforms bore the symbol of a white circle with a red bird in the center. Déjà vu struck her “Strange… Have I done this before?” she thought, then cut off the piece of fabric. As she stowed it in her pocket, she heard another bang of a gun and felt a tearing feeling in her chest and heard the words “He was innocent! You are not!”
“There was a third gunner!” Cira looked down as blood began pouring from her chest. She coughed and blood spurted from her lungs. Whipping around she killed the last gunner with her sidearm before collapsing to the ground. She felt the energy leaving her body, as she closed her eyes, she began to see a light. She had made the wrong choice and it cost her. It was over.
The man Cira killed turned out to be a religious man who had been persecuted by the government for his beliefs. Ra’s Legion had offered him shelter and protection from the corrupt government. Religious oppression continued in Russia for years to come. It seems that Cira’s obedience to her leaders, once again, did not benefit anyone.
Egypt, May 2nd. 2933
Cira was an Outlander, a rebel, one who fought against corruption. The trend of genetic modification had swept the world as fast as the technology allowed. Egypt was a wasteland; all the big cities of the world had moved to the North in Europe or America. Only the outcasts remained here. While Cira fought against the corrupted governments and tainted dictators, she suspected there was plenty of corruption to be found in her little ragtag group of bandits and freedom fighters.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position?” Called a voice in her ear, Cira had a modified ear for long range communications.
“I’m here.”
“Your mark is coming around the corner. Take him out.”
Cira used an old-fashioned scout rifle that shot a high-power slug. Aim was not an issue as many people used enhanced eyes, the issue was morals. People built themselves into living weapons and killing had never been easier. Presently, Cira’s mark turned a corner into her sight line. With his walking speed Cira predicted she had about a 35 second window to take the shot.
“Copy that.” She replied hesitantly, “what did he do again?”
She got no reply. Cira knew suddenly what was wrong. Staggering back, memories began flooding her mind. EGYPT, BERLIN, ABBOTTABAD, RUSSIA!She had done this before! She had been wrong every time and died every time! She didn’t fully understand, but she had to fix this. Immediately she spoke into her ear piece.
“I can’t do this.” She said with a shaky voice.
“What do you mean you can’t do it? Take the shot!” the voice barked back.
“I won’t do it” Cira said again, this time a little more sure.
“This is treason, the penalty is death!”
Cira hesitated for a moment. Then spoke again. “Then at least I’ll die for a good cause this time.
Cira was, in fact, killed by those who said to abhor corruption, but Ra’s Legion work continued because of Cira’s choice. Ra’s Legion went on to save many people from the corrupt government and eventually, overthrew the dictators who kept the people in chains. Obeying authority is important, after all, what good is a leader if you don’t listen to him? But blindly obeying authority even when it goes against your conscience is foolish and caused Cira a great deal of unnecessary pain.
“Blind belief in authority is the greatest enemy of truth.”
-Albert Einstein.
Egypt, May 2nd, 1250
Cira, an Egyptian archer, was one of the best shots in all of the ancient world. She had seen war and death defending her country but now, the Pharaoh had given her special orders to quash a potential rebellion at the source. To disobey the god-king would mean death.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position” whispered a voice behind her.
“Yes, I’m ready Sarei”
“Good, your target is five minutes away. Get ready.”
“As you say.”
Cira began to string her weapon: a sleek, state of the art, long range composite bow. “This bow is so powerful” she thought as she fastened the string onto the end of the bow. Droplets of frigid water hung on the bow string, now tight across the ends of her weapon. Cira nocked an arrow and stretched the bowstring back. The wood creaked a little because of the cold weather shrinking the wood. Sarei, the Best of 50 in her troop, whispers to her again. “Set off the smoke screen”
The woman took out two vials of liquid from her cloak. She poured one vial into the other and then dropped it off the side of the building. Thick black smoke fumed up from the street below making it nearly impossible to see, but Cira was one of the best archers in her troop and was said to have the eyes of an eagle. She could see her target through the smoke. A man stood with a cloth to his mouth trying to ward off the smoke by waving his shield back and forth. It was Toeransa, a Sultan of Egypt. Apparently, he was one of the first leaders of a radical religious sect called Ra’s Legion. Ra’s Legion had been accused of blasphemy by the pharaoh, but some were not so sure that they were wrong. All that she knew was that she had been ordered by the god-king to assassinate their leaders.
“Can you see him?” Sarei asked.
“I’ve got him.” She replied hesitantly, “Are you sure this is right? What did he do to deserve this?”
“Just do your job Cira.” Sarei barked back, “You aren’t getting paid to ask questions.”
She looked down the arrow at her target. The shot would have to go around 130 meters, but with this bow, it was no problem. She exhaled as she put the tip of the arrow just below the man’s head. Her mind went back to the first time she had shot a bow. Her mentor had taught her to visualize the arrow’s trajectory before the shot is fired. She visualized the arrow in her mind arcing down towards her target and implanting into his head, killing him. She then released and watched it as it sped towards its victim. The man was knocked backwards as the arrow pierced him.
“I got him” she said to Sarei. But after receiving no answer, she looked back at him. To her horror, a well-built, shirtless man with a scimitar stood over Sarei’s headless body. His blood ran down the sandstone walls. The scimitar warrior dropped Sarei’s head and began approaching Cira. As she drew her knife, she noticed a symbol painted onto his chest. A white circle with a red bird inside. He shouts at her “Ra will avenge!” and then swings at her. She ducks, then slashes with her dagger, only scoring a small cut on his leg. In return, he delivers a swift knee to her temple, Cira’s head erupted into pain and she saw stars. She staggered back and he delivered a finishing blow to her stomach, the scimitar dug deep and tore into her insides. Pain seared all over her body as her vision turned to white. It was over.
So, Sultan Toerasa died, one of the first supporters of Ra’s Legion. What really was Ra’s Legion and what did they stand for? Cira didn’t survive to find out, and with their new leader slain, the members of Ra’s Legion were forced into exile from Egypt into Sinai where they struggled to stay alive.
Berlin, May 2nd, 1945
Cira, a British soldier had disguised herself as a man so she could help fight the Nazis and give aid to the Allied forces in taking Berlin. She was a very good shot with a rifle and because of this, Churchill had given her special orders when they invaded Berlin.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position?” says a voice in her radio.
“I’m here Captain.”
“Good, your target is five minutes out. Get ready.”
“Yes sir.
Cira began preparing her weapon: a brand-new Springfield M1C Garand sniper rifle, designed after the Garand M1 and carried a M84 scope. This was one of only 7900 guns of its type that had been built. “I love this gun”she thought as she affixed the scope to the receiver. Frigid droplets plinked on the metal barrel. She inserted the magazine into the rifle with a click. She was in Berlin with Allied forces to finally stop Hitler and put an end to this war for good - or so she thought. As she had arrived in Berlin, she received a special order from Field Marshal Montgomery to use her skills to take out a special target, a leader from a sect of so-called German religious radicals called Ra’s Legion. Montgomery had assured her that the mission was of upmost importance to the Allies taking Berlin. Cira was skeptical though, how could one man who no one had ever heard of be so influential? Nevertheless, she prepared to take out her mark.
“Do you see him?” the voice on the radio asked.
“No.” But she hesitated, “what did this guy do?”
“It is not our place to question the Field Marshal’s orders, just do your job” it replied.
Cira complies, the Captain was right, Churchill probably knew something she didn’t. She readied her rifle, looking through the scope. The water in the abandoned streets rippled as a gale blew through.
“The target is in a German Staff Car. Back seat, left side.” The Captain said over the radio.
As he had described, a staff car pulled into the street below, headlights glinted off falling raindrops. Cira put aside her feelings and opted to complete the mission. Lifting the scope to her eye, she took aim at the man, leading her crosshairs a bit ahead of him because it was a moving target. She exhaled to reduce shaking on the gun, she squeezed the trigger and felt the gun kick into her shoulder. Her target was dead, and the car below pulled to a halt. Cira shouldered her gun and sprinted across the rooftop to the fire escape. She raced down and then took off down the street. As she turned a corner, she found herself running into a battle, Nazi Heer forces on one side and Russian infantry on the other. The Russians seemed to have the Nazis on the ropes and this skirmish was almost over. Although the battle was winding down, Cira needed to find cover. She dashed behind the remains of a brick wall, now with a gaping hole in it. Inching around the wall, she saw a BT-7 Tank crash through the rubble. She couldn’t afford to get caught in it’s crossfire. She turned down a nearby alley as the tank began shelling the German troops. She looked back momentarily only to be met with a bayonet. Cira tried to dodge it, but it was too late. The knife pierced her abdomen. Cira staggered backwards in shock, pain spreading through her body. Her warm blood dripped onto the ground below as she fell to her knees. The man bore a patch on his uniform bearing a white circle and a red bird. Cira’s blood mixed with the frigid rain as her life dwindled. It was over.
Yes, Berlin was taken that day, all seemed to be going well. The truth was, that Ra’s Legion had been trying to help innocent women and children escape the crossfire between Allied forces and the Nazis, even at the expense of their lives. Their cause was noble, but a soldier must follow his orders. Right?
Abbottabad, May 2nd, 2011
Cira, a member of the elite American Seal Team Six, has grown up in a military family and joined the Navy Seals at the age of 22. Impacted deeply by the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11th, she has trained to be a skilled sniper, and while the rest of her team is tasked with Operation Neptune Spear, the mission to kill Osama Bin Laden. President Obama had given her a very different objective though.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira are you in position?” said a voice on coms.
“I am in position.”
“Excellent, the target is on it’s way out of the compound now.”
“Roger that.” She replied.
Cira prepared her weapon: a Barrett M82. She set up the bipod and calibrated the scope. Looking down the sights, she could see the compound that her team mates were about to raid. Her team’s mission was to take out Osama Bin Laden, a highly wanted terrorist leader that the US had been hunting for many years. Cira’s mission was to take out another specific target, someone who had been rumored to help the terrorists. Frigid rain plinked on the gun’s shell. This was a powerful weapon. The voice on the coms spoke again,
“Target is two minutes out.”
Cira had a bad feeling about this mark. What had he done? Soldiers didn’t ask questions, but this man had no visible ties to Al Qaeda or any terrorist group. Just to get it off her chest, she asked her commander.
“What did this guy do wrong?”
After a pause, the voice answered, “We have been informed that this man has been critical in the protection and hiding of Bin Laden and we have orders to kill.”
This was enough for Cira, it was time to get the job done. A door from the compound opened, a man dressed in white with a red bird on his shirt exited the building. He looked around cautiously and then spoke into a radio. He wasn’t armed with anything. She looked over at her team who as if on cue, kicked down the door and began their mission. Taking aim at the man, lined up her shot and fired. He fell and died instantly. Cira packed up her gun and retreated down the roof to join her team. As if out of nowhere, masses of men with the red bird on their shirts appeared out of the surrounding buildings and fired up at her. She ducked and dodged as well as she could but soon felt the bullets tearing into her. It hurt, but she was used to pain, plus the adrenaline coursing through her dulled it a bit. Cira had never been afraid of death, but now that it seemed to be upon her, she didn’t want to go. As she fell, she wondered if she had really made the right choice? Her body numbed to the pain soon enough and her life faded. It was over.
Cira fell, avenged by Ra’s Legion. Bin Laden was killed as was planned, the whole operation was a success and only one soldier was killed in combat. The truth of the matter was that Ra’s Legion had not been protecting Bin Laden but had been providing critical information in finding him.
Russia, May 2nd, 2190
Cira was a soldier in Russia’s elite commando division. She grew up in poverty like many who lived in Russia at the time. The only way you could make any real money was to enlist. The more kills you got, the more you were paid. It wasn’t ideal, but it was Cira’s life now. She had to obey her commanding officers, even if it went against her morals.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position?” says a voice in her ear piece.
“Affirmative.”
“Good, your target is five minutes out. Get ready.”
“Copy.”
Cira began to assemble her weapon: a sleek, state of the art, long range energy rifle. “Man, I love this gun”she thought as she screwed on the barrel, the falling droplets made plinking noises as they splashed onto the weapon’s metal frame. Cira inserted the magazine and primed the first round, although she would most likely only need one, better safe than sorry. As she cocked the rifle, it powered up with a high-pitched whine and began to glow blue. The voice on her ear piece came on again.
“Deploy Helix” it commanded.
The woman took a disk out of her backpack and tossed it off the building’s edge. After a few seconds it levitated back up and emitted a strange pulse. In the corner of Cira’s vision, she could now see a highlighted red form in the building across from her. He was apparently one of the many leaders of a radical religious sect called Ra’s Legion. The President of Russia had claimed that Ra’s Legion meant to bomb significant national landmarks, but many thought they might have peaceful intentions. All Cira knew was that she had orders from the president to assassinate their leaders.
“Do you see him?” the voice prompted.
“Yes, I see him.” She said, then paused, “Are you sure this is the right guy? He doesn’t seem hostile. What did he do?”
The voice replied, “Don’t ask questions or next time, it might be you we are hunting!”
Uneasily, she lifted the scope to her eyes and set the crosshairs on her target. The shot would have to go through three layers of brick and concrete but with this rifle, it would be like a knife through butter. She exhaled and lifted the crosshairs to the figure’s head. She began squeezing the trigger slightly. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to complete the mission. Her commander didn’t give her much of a choice though. Cira’s mind went back to her training. She was ten years old and learning to shoot for the first time. Her grandfather told her “Pull it so slightly that it surprises you when it fires.” The sound of her rifle firing snapped her out of it, and she saw her target on the floor dead. Just like her commander had instructed her, kill first ask questions… never. A twinge of guilt tugged at her as she quickly packed up her rifle and recalled the Helix. Had she done the right thing, or had she made a terrible mistake?
Taking a deep breath, she reported to her commander, “Target eliminated.”
“Good work, get back to base.” It replied.
Cira took off, sliding down the slick roofing tiles and dropping off the side of the building. As she fell, she threw a package beneath her that expanded into a giant air cushion. She landed hard on the cushion, knocking the breath out of her lungs. The airbags still hurt, but they beat concrete. “I gotta work on that landing” she thought as she rolled off the bag, coughing for air. After a few deep breaths she darted off down the alley. Cira knew these streets well, she was raised in this city. It had been built up a lot since she was little, but the layout was mostly the same. As she rounded a corner, she glimpsed the shine of moonlight glinting off a cylindrical object. Instinctively she dove for cover as the loud rattling of a machine gun erupted into the night air. It had narrowly missed her, she rolled to the left as more bullets cracked the concrete where she had just fell. She pressed her back against the wall, preparing her sidearm. She had counted two guns up top. In a single movement Cira kicked off the wall, pushing herself backwards through the air, and fired two shots at the attackers. They jerked back and fell lifeless to the ground. Cira turned in midair and landed in a tidy roll using her momentum to bring herself to her feet.
Pleased with her performance, she allowed herself a moment of celebration before going back on task. Cira checked the bodies that had fell. Their uniforms bore the symbol of a white circle with a red bird in the center. Déjà vu struck her “Strange… Have I done this before?” she thought, then cut off the piece of fabric. As she stowed it in her pocket, she heard another bang of a gun and felt a tearing feeling in her chest and heard the words “He was innocent! You are not!”
“There was a third gunner!” Cira looked down as blood began pouring from her chest. She coughed and blood spurted from her lungs. Whipping around she killed the last gunner with her sidearm before collapsing to the ground. She felt the energy leaving her body, as she closed her eyes, she began to see a light. She had made the wrong choice and it cost her. It was over.
The man Cira killed turned out to be a religious man who had been persecuted by the government for his beliefs. Ra’s Legion had offered him shelter and protection from the corrupt government. Religious oppression continued in Russia for years to come. It seems that Cira’s obedience to her leaders, once again, did not benefit anyone.
Egypt, May 2nd. 2933
Cira was an Outlander, a rebel, one who fought against corruption. The trend of genetic modification had swept the world as fast as the technology allowed. Egypt was a wasteland; all the big cities of the world had moved to the North in Europe or America. Only the outcasts remained here. While Cira fought against the corrupted governments and tainted dictators, she suspected there was plenty of corruption to be found in her little ragtag group of bandits and freedom fighters.
In the icy cold night, Cira crouched on a rooftop, the freezing rain relentlessly beat down on her back. “Cira, are you in position?” Called a voice in her ear, Cira had a modified ear for long range communications.
“I’m here.”
“Your mark is coming around the corner. Take him out.”
Cira used an old-fashioned scout rifle that shot a high-power slug. Aim was not an issue as many people used enhanced eyes, the issue was morals. People built themselves into living weapons and killing had never been easier. Presently, Cira’s mark turned a corner into her sight line. With his walking speed Cira predicted she had about a 35 second window to take the shot.
“Copy that.” She replied hesitantly, “what did he do again?”
She got no reply. Cira knew suddenly what was wrong. Staggering back, memories began flooding her mind. EGYPT, BERLIN, ABBOTTABAD, RUSSIA!She had done this before! She had been wrong every time and died every time! She didn’t fully understand, but she had to fix this. Immediately she spoke into her ear piece.
“I can’t do this.” She said with a shaky voice.
“What do you mean you can’t do it? Take the shot!” the voice barked back.
“I won’t do it” Cira said again, this time a little more sure.
“This is treason, the penalty is death!”
Cira hesitated for a moment. Then spoke again. “Then at least I’ll die for a good cause this time.
Cira was, in fact, killed by those who said to abhor corruption, but Ra’s Legion work continued because of Cira’s choice. Ra’s Legion went on to save many people from the corrupt government and eventually, overthrew the dictators who kept the people in chains. Obeying authority is important, after all, what good is a leader if you don’t listen to him? But blindly obeying authority even when it goes against your conscience is foolish and caused Cira a great deal of unnecessary pain.
“Blind belief in authority is the greatest enemy of truth.”
-Albert Einstein.
It seems that no matter how the times change, we see the same events unfold.
The endless wars under the pretext of bringing about peace and national security, the constant corruption masquerading as a friendly local official, the droves of homeless people rejected by the very government that is in place to serve them.
It’s a depressing thought.
It’s easier to not think about it.
Wipe away all the fear and anxiety, the sadness and despair, the anger and frustration.
A lot of people tell mythical stories about my predecessor, Avatar Aang. How he and his group of friends brought about an end to the 100 year war, the worst conflict to ever devastate the land.
But that seemed like a simpler time. It was a time when people felt a greater sense of community and when wars were more black and white. Now he have conflicts that are morally gray. Is it okay for gang leaders to steal if they do so in order to procure medicine for their impoverished communities? In turn, they’re allowed to operate their black market from the slums.
Sometimes I wish I could chuck a wall to solve my problems or hurl a fire blast. That’s definitely what Avatar Korra would have done in her younger days. But even she grew to see that people aren’t inherently good or evil. The nature of the world around them shapes who they become.
Today, we stand at a crossroads. The ruthless criminal, Zaheer, has been released. Together, he and I will announce a reduction in the sentences of all non-violent criminals, not only in Republic City, but in all of the nations around the world. I think it’s time the world healed. We all need time to heal.
Whether or not this is the right decision will be history’s to judge.
But I do know one thing: The cycle of reincarnation will ensure the world will always have an Avatar who can try to lead humanity on a good path. That’s something that gives me presence of mind. And hopefully, my successors will call upon me to give them advice in times of need.
The world may be a bleak place. But there is hope.
Hope is what you make of it. Opening up your heart can go a long way. We’re helping people at home now, but I hope we can also help others find paths to heal from conflict and find alternate approaches for mending their wounds, instead of more war. That’s the world I dream of.
The endless wars under the pretext of bringing about peace and national security, the constant corruption masquerading as a friendly local official, the droves of homeless people rejected by the very government that is in place to serve them.
It’s a depressing thought.
It’s easier to not think about it.
Wipe away all the fear and anxiety, the sadness and despair, the anger and frustration.
A lot of people tell mythical stories about my predecessor, Avatar Aang. How he and his group of friends brought about an end to the 100 year war, the worst conflict to ever devastate the land.
But that seemed like a simpler time. It was a time when people felt a greater sense of community and when wars were more black and white. Now he have conflicts that are morally gray. Is it okay for gang leaders to steal if they do so in order to procure medicine for their impoverished communities? In turn, they’re allowed to operate their black market from the slums.
Sometimes I wish I could chuck a wall to solve my problems or hurl a fire blast. That’s definitely what Avatar Korra would have done in her younger days. But even she grew to see that people aren’t inherently good or evil. The nature of the world around them shapes who they become.
Today, we stand at a crossroads. The ruthless criminal, Zaheer, has been released. Together, he and I will announce a reduction in the sentences of all non-violent criminals, not only in Republic City, but in all of the nations around the world. I think it’s time the world healed. We all need time to heal.
Whether or not this is the right decision will be history’s to judge.
But I do know one thing: The cycle of reincarnation will ensure the world will always have an Avatar who can try to lead humanity on a good path. That’s something that gives me presence of mind. And hopefully, my successors will call upon me to give them advice in times of need.
The world may be a bleak place. But there is hope.
Hope is what you make of it. Opening up your heart can go a long way. We’re helping people at home now, but I hope we can also help others find paths to heal from conflict and find alternate approaches for mending their wounds, instead of more war. That’s the world I dream of.
Hylia’s Fate
ZD Writing Competition: Round 22
Theme: Cyclic Reincarnation
Cold breath colored the air white in front of the girl’s face. Her body shivered and shook, and freezing water clung to her skin and weighed down the ceremonial dress she wore. She had to wonder why this spring was so cold, compared to the sticky humidity of the wild jungle that surrounded it. It made it very difficult to concentrate on the task she had come to perform.
Zelda sighed, coloring the air with her breath even more. She kept her palms firmly clasped together at her chest to continue her prayers, but she would have liked nothing more than to hug her arms to try and fight off some of her shivering. She resisted the urge, however; she knew that her prayer was more important than her comfort. She had to unlock the sealing power of her bloodline, and the only method she knew of was through prayer.
“Damn this bloodline...” at last she spoke aloud.
She had been praying alone for years, ever since her mother passed away. Her mother, the one person who could truly teach her to control her powers, was gone from the world. Zelda resented being forced to figure this out all on her own. More than that, she was frustrated by her complete lack of progress. She had hoped that after all these years of praying and research, some kind of improvement or answer would present itself. And yet, the Goddess was deathly silent, as always.
Zelda began to wonder if she were shaking from loneliness rather than the cold at this point.
“How am I supposed to know what to do if you won’t speak to me?” she whispered at the goddess statue before her.
She had come all the way to the Spring of Courage, deep in the jungle of Faron Woods, hoping for a result. She hoped to feel something... anything other than the cold. She felt desperate for a sign. And still, nothing happened, just like always. What was she doing wrong? She couldn’t understand it.
Zelda thought back to her days of research. She recalled reading a book in the castle library that explained how the Goddess Hylia had once given up her immortal form and divinity, and reincarnated into the body of a mortal. That person was her distant ancestor, from far beyond 10,000 years in the past. She also read that the Blood of the Goddess would be passed down from one princess to the next, in a cycle. This bloodline was her connection to Hylia, and what allowed her to use her sealing powers. Or, at least it should have been.
Did the other princesses of Hyrule have to go through this?
Zelda wondered this as she continued to clasp her hands together in prayer. Was she perhaps the only one who had to struggle all alone in Hylia’s deafening silence? She clenched her teeth at the thought of such humiliation. Her brow furrowed and her palms gripped each other so tightly it was almost painful for her.
“Who would ever ask to be born in such a cycle...” she said aloud.
She eyed the goddess statue, almost expecting to receive some sort of divine backlash. At least then she could finally know that Hylia was listening. But, all she found herself receiving was the same, unchanging silence.
At last, Zelda let her arms hang down at her sides. They entered the cold water with a quiet splash. Her head hung low, and her gaze was clouded by a rush of tears. In this moment, rather than prayer or her sense of duty, the only thing she could think about was her bitter loneliness.
“If only this could have been someone else’s duty... Someone else’s fate...”
* * *
Thunder roared through the air. The ground quaked, and the sky roiled with darkness and lightning. Accompanying the thunder in a symphony of horror was the violent scream of The Great Calamity. Pieces of the castle crumbled at the mere sound of it. In the distance, flashes of light, joined by fires and explosions, could be seen swallowing the horizon.
The Guardians were burning the kingdom of Hyrule to the ground, and Calamity Ganon boasted his success and rebirth above the remains of the castle. Hope died with the lives of the townsfolk. Even the King’s life had been burned away. However, one person still remained.
Zelda, now face to face with The Great Calamity, was ready to use her sealing powers to contain it inside the castle. She would have to disappear with it, but she was prepared for that. As she raised her arm and aimed at Calamity Ganon’s spectre, circling the air above the castle, the beast lunged.
As Zelda’s figure was engulfed by malice, she felt her skin begin to burn away. The pain made her eyes water with stinging tears, and she felt herself begin to bleed from her ears. Her skin peeled away to reveal blood and bone. Her hair began to fray and singe as it, too, was scorched. The water of her tears turned to blood as she began to feel her body erode away in the presence of such malice.
And yet, subjected to such pain and torment, Zelda had only one thing on her mind. Her hand became aglow with a blinding golden light, and for a moment, she felt certain of her own fate.
If I can keep this horror from hurting any more people... If I can hold out until Link can recover and return for me... Then, maybe...
Just maybe, being born into this cycle will have been worth it.
ZD Writing Competition: Round 22
Theme: Cyclic Reincarnation
Cold breath colored the air white in front of the girl’s face. Her body shivered and shook, and freezing water clung to her skin and weighed down the ceremonial dress she wore. She had to wonder why this spring was so cold, compared to the sticky humidity of the wild jungle that surrounded it. It made it very difficult to concentrate on the task she had come to perform.
Zelda sighed, coloring the air with her breath even more. She kept her palms firmly clasped together at her chest to continue her prayers, but she would have liked nothing more than to hug her arms to try and fight off some of her shivering. She resisted the urge, however; she knew that her prayer was more important than her comfort. She had to unlock the sealing power of her bloodline, and the only method she knew of was through prayer.
“Damn this bloodline...” at last she spoke aloud.
She had been praying alone for years, ever since her mother passed away. Her mother, the one person who could truly teach her to control her powers, was gone from the world. Zelda resented being forced to figure this out all on her own. More than that, she was frustrated by her complete lack of progress. She had hoped that after all these years of praying and research, some kind of improvement or answer would present itself. And yet, the Goddess was deathly silent, as always.
Zelda began to wonder if she were shaking from loneliness rather than the cold at this point.
“How am I supposed to know what to do if you won’t speak to me?” she whispered at the goddess statue before her.
She had come all the way to the Spring of Courage, deep in the jungle of Faron Woods, hoping for a result. She hoped to feel something... anything other than the cold. She felt desperate for a sign. And still, nothing happened, just like always. What was she doing wrong? She couldn’t understand it.
Zelda thought back to her days of research. She recalled reading a book in the castle library that explained how the Goddess Hylia had once given up her immortal form and divinity, and reincarnated into the body of a mortal. That person was her distant ancestor, from far beyond 10,000 years in the past. She also read that the Blood of the Goddess would be passed down from one princess to the next, in a cycle. This bloodline was her connection to Hylia, and what allowed her to use her sealing powers. Or, at least it should have been.
Did the other princesses of Hyrule have to go through this?
Zelda wondered this as she continued to clasp her hands together in prayer. Was she perhaps the only one who had to struggle all alone in Hylia’s deafening silence? She clenched her teeth at the thought of such humiliation. Her brow furrowed and her palms gripped each other so tightly it was almost painful for her.
“Who would ever ask to be born in such a cycle...” she said aloud.
She eyed the goddess statue, almost expecting to receive some sort of divine backlash. At least then she could finally know that Hylia was listening. But, all she found herself receiving was the same, unchanging silence.
At last, Zelda let her arms hang down at her sides. They entered the cold water with a quiet splash. Her head hung low, and her gaze was clouded by a rush of tears. In this moment, rather than prayer or her sense of duty, the only thing she could think about was her bitter loneliness.
“If only this could have been someone else’s duty... Someone else’s fate...”
* * *
Thunder roared through the air. The ground quaked, and the sky roiled with darkness and lightning. Accompanying the thunder in a symphony of horror was the violent scream of The Great Calamity. Pieces of the castle crumbled at the mere sound of it. In the distance, flashes of light, joined by fires and explosions, could be seen swallowing the horizon.
The Guardians were burning the kingdom of Hyrule to the ground, and Calamity Ganon boasted his success and rebirth above the remains of the castle. Hope died with the lives of the townsfolk. Even the King’s life had been burned away. However, one person still remained.
Zelda, now face to face with The Great Calamity, was ready to use her sealing powers to contain it inside the castle. She would have to disappear with it, but she was prepared for that. As she raised her arm and aimed at Calamity Ganon’s spectre, circling the air above the castle, the beast lunged.
As Zelda’s figure was engulfed by malice, she felt her skin begin to burn away. The pain made her eyes water with stinging tears, and she felt herself begin to bleed from her ears. Her skin peeled away to reveal blood and bone. Her hair began to fray and singe as it, too, was scorched. The water of her tears turned to blood as she began to feel her body erode away in the presence of such malice.
And yet, subjected to such pain and torment, Zelda had only one thing on her mind. Her hand became aglow with a blinding golden light, and for a moment, she felt certain of her own fate.
If I can keep this horror from hurting any more people... If I can hold out until Link can recover and return for me... Then, maybe...
Just maybe, being born into this cycle will have been worth it.
The soul is indestructable. The physical composition may erode and fade away, but the soul shall live on and be born anew.
“Hey there, little flower!”, Banko exclaimed. “I found a cool flower over here!” he shouted.
Banko was an 13 year old boy, slightly taller than most other boys his age. His hair was black, kind of messy. He was tan from spending most of his time outside because he loved nature. His eyes were brown. He would constantly get scolded for returning to home with his kimono dirty, he preferred a yellow kimono, yellow being his favorite color. He was actually a prince, and was expected to keep a dignified appearance, but he just loved exploring and seeing new things in the world.
Banko’s two best friends, Fumiko and Bodhidharma, ran over to his location. Fumiko was a 14 year old girl. Very intelligent, she excelled at her studies. Her hair was brown, and her eyes green. She wore a hanfu, and was pale, likely because she rarely spent time outside and would probably rather be reading a book. Bodhidharma was a 16 year old boy. Taller than Banko, but Banko would disagree. He was bald, his eyes blue. He was tan but not quite as tan as Banko. He wore a saffron because he had chosen to become a buddhist monk.
“Banko! Really? You dragged us all the way out here to look at a flower!” Fumiko said, with a snarky tone.
“But Fumiko, it’s pretty isn’t it? If you’d like I could give it to you to take home.” Banko replied.
Bodhidharma became interested with the flower as well.
“See, he even thinks it’s a pretty neat flower too. I’d say it’s quite the find. Maybe even a highlight of the day!” Bonko remarked, as Bodhidharma examined the flower with intrigue.
“He’s right, this flower is no ordinary flower, and is quite the find. It is a lotus flower! They say when Buddha was a child, a lotus flower would rise up wherever he stepped. The lotus is also a reminder to keep the mind, body, and spirit pure, even among all the muck of the world.” Bodhidharma said as he continued his contemplation of the flower.
Just then, the temple bell was rung.
“Oh no! I forgot that today begins Uposatha! I must return to the temple at once! I’ll see you both later!” Bodhidharma clamored, and ran off.
“I really must leave too, and return to palace.” Fumiko said.
“I understand. I hope you enjoyed this little adventure, even if it wasn’t too far. There is more to the world than just books and studying, you know. I wanted you to have a little fun, is all…” Banko replied softly.
“I appreciate the effort, and for what it’s worth, I did enjoy myself.” Fumiko said, blushing. She blew him a kiss and set off for the palace.
Banko walked about in a distracted daze. Indeed, he liked Fumiko. He decided then he would find a unique gift for her, as a token of his affection.
“It will not be ordinary, it must be no less than marvelous for her!” he vowed.
He searched far and wide, and even ventured into the mountains to find a worthy gift. It was deep in a cavern within the mountain where he found it. It was if he was meant to find it - a large sapphire! It had the deepest pigment of blue he had ever seen! With much excitement, he claimed it and began to make his way back to the palace. He thought of the joy it would bring Fumiko, and the thought made him very happy.
While on his way back to the palace Banko was unexpectedly ambushed by a prowling white tiger. He tried to fight to escape, but to no avail.
When he did not return to the palace a search was begun promptly. His remains were found near the mountainside, nearby lay the sapphire.
The royalty all mourn his loss. He had brought so many immense joy. Fumiko was inconsolable. When Uposatha ended, and Bodhidharma heard the news it also saddened him. He and Fumiko decided to honor him the way they knew he would have wanted. Not with a grand ceremony, but out among nature. There was a tree near the Buddhist temple Banko frequently climbed and would take naps on the branches of. He once told his friends it was probably his favorite tree in the whole world, at least out of the trees he had climbed so far. They went there in remembrance. An elder monk joined them.
“Cry not young ones. Nothing truly dies. Banko’s spirit lives on, and when it is ready it will reincarnate into the physical world once more. This is simply the nature of existence.” he mused.
To their amazement, a flower sprouted next to the tree, a yellow flower, Banko’s favorite color. They smiled, they knew in that moment the monk’s words were true. Bodhidharma kneeled down.
“Hey there, little flower!” He said, crying tears of joy. From that day onward yellow flowers would continually sprout near Banko’s favorite tree. At last he was one with nature.
“Hey there, little flower!”, Banko exclaimed. “I found a cool flower over here!” he shouted.
Banko was an 13 year old boy, slightly taller than most other boys his age. His hair was black, kind of messy. He was tan from spending most of his time outside because he loved nature. His eyes were brown. He would constantly get scolded for returning to home with his kimono dirty, he preferred a yellow kimono, yellow being his favorite color. He was actually a prince, and was expected to keep a dignified appearance, but he just loved exploring and seeing new things in the world.
Banko’s two best friends, Fumiko and Bodhidharma, ran over to his location. Fumiko was a 14 year old girl. Very intelligent, she excelled at her studies. Her hair was brown, and her eyes green. She wore a hanfu, and was pale, likely because she rarely spent time outside and would probably rather be reading a book. Bodhidharma was a 16 year old boy. Taller than Banko, but Banko would disagree. He was bald, his eyes blue. He was tan but not quite as tan as Banko. He wore a saffron because he had chosen to become a buddhist monk.
“Banko! Really? You dragged us all the way out here to look at a flower!” Fumiko said, with a snarky tone.
“But Fumiko, it’s pretty isn’t it? If you’d like I could give it to you to take home.” Banko replied.
Bodhidharma became interested with the flower as well.
“See, he even thinks it’s a pretty neat flower too. I’d say it’s quite the find. Maybe even a highlight of the day!” Bonko remarked, as Bodhidharma examined the flower with intrigue.
“He’s right, this flower is no ordinary flower, and is quite the find. It is a lotus flower! They say when Buddha was a child, a lotus flower would rise up wherever he stepped. The lotus is also a reminder to keep the mind, body, and spirit pure, even among all the muck of the world.” Bodhidharma said as he continued his contemplation of the flower.
Just then, the temple bell was rung.
“Oh no! I forgot that today begins Uposatha! I must return to the temple at once! I’ll see you both later!” Bodhidharma clamored, and ran off.
“I really must leave too, and return to palace.” Fumiko said.
“I understand. I hope you enjoyed this little adventure, even if it wasn’t too far. There is more to the world than just books and studying, you know. I wanted you to have a little fun, is all…” Banko replied softly.
“I appreciate the effort, and for what it’s worth, I did enjoy myself.” Fumiko said, blushing. She blew him a kiss and set off for the palace.
Banko walked about in a distracted daze. Indeed, he liked Fumiko. He decided then he would find a unique gift for her, as a token of his affection.
“It will not be ordinary, it must be no less than marvelous for her!” he vowed.
He searched far and wide, and even ventured into the mountains to find a worthy gift. It was deep in a cavern within the mountain where he found it. It was if he was meant to find it - a large sapphire! It had the deepest pigment of blue he had ever seen! With much excitement, he claimed it and began to make his way back to the palace. He thought of the joy it would bring Fumiko, and the thought made him very happy.
While on his way back to the palace Banko was unexpectedly ambushed by a prowling white tiger. He tried to fight to escape, but to no avail.
When he did not return to the palace a search was begun promptly. His remains were found near the mountainside, nearby lay the sapphire.
The royalty all mourn his loss. He had brought so many immense joy. Fumiko was inconsolable. When Uposatha ended, and Bodhidharma heard the news it also saddened him. He and Fumiko decided to honor him the way they knew he would have wanted. Not with a grand ceremony, but out among nature. There was a tree near the Buddhist temple Banko frequently climbed and would take naps on the branches of. He once told his friends it was probably his favorite tree in the whole world, at least out of the trees he had climbed so far. They went there in remembrance. An elder monk joined them.
“Cry not young ones. Nothing truly dies. Banko’s spirit lives on, and when it is ready it will reincarnate into the physical world once more. This is simply the nature of existence.” he mused.
To their amazement, a flower sprouted next to the tree, a yellow flower, Banko’s favorite color. They smiled, they knew in that moment the monk’s words were true. Bodhidharma kneeled down.
“Hey there, little flower!” He said, crying tears of joy. From that day onward yellow flowers would continually sprout near Banko’s favorite tree. At last he was one with nature.
Last edited:
