Happier Times

- Mentions of death

There is no future.

Some say one’s last moments alive are the longest moments of their life. You would think that untrue perhaps, but as I stand here with dragonfire blazing a path towards me, I assure you the feeling is quite real. As is the part of seeing your life flash before your eyes. Maybe it is because I want to think of happier times, rather than the incomprehensibility of death.

The earliest thing I remember is how badly I wanted a cookie. My father had just made them, and my tiny, grabbing hands could not reach the table. It’s funny, how silly the things you used to think were of gravest importance, really were not. I would have traded my left foot for those cookies. Not the right one though, that was my favorite foot then. I don’t know why I had a favorite foot when I was four years old? Kids are weird.

I don’t remember if I got the cookie.

I think of my brother Munin. He is only a few years older than me, and we did everything together. Usually, we did things we probably shouldn’t have been doing. We had a system for that though, should we get caught.

Did you think I was going to tell you our brilliant plan for getting out of punishment? How we eluded consequences with clever trickery and careful planning?

We didn’t.

We got caught all the time. Our system wasn’t about evading discipline. It was loyalty and camaraderie. If I was grounded for a week, Munin would ground himself for the same length of time. If Munin were the one in trouble, I would choose to share in whatever hand he was dealt by authority. When he was drafted, I followed him as soon as I was old enough, though only one member of the family was required to serve. My mother supported it, even after my father was taken to prison. War was never a passion of mine, but she convinced me that family faced the world together, through good or bad.

Except I never found Munin. He was somewhere on this great battlefield in the noise of thousands. I was going to find him if we both survived this.

I wish I could tell him that I’m sorry. To apologize for leaving him to face life alone. For not saying a last goodbye. I tried.

The heat of the fire is staggering, and it beat against my face in ripples of burning warmth. The blazing torrent of blinding flames is only an arm’s length away.

I remember the day Munin left for the war.

My father was the one to see him off, a year before he was taken away for crimes I never understood. He gave Munin twenty-five gold, savings from the years of effort running a merchant business. Once it thrived, but now it was failing due to his health. How he wished he could fight in our place! But they did not want him, a man whole in body but not in mind.

“It isn’t much,” Father said to us when he handed Munin the money. It was in a pouch of crude but sturdy leather. “I would have saved more for you, but this year’s profits were poor.”

“Don’t worry Dad,” Munin had said. “I know you did your best. It's not your fault and I don’t need much. I’ll manage just fine.”

His eyes were misty as he looked upon Munin for what I now know to be the last time. At least, the last time when both of his sons still lived. Perhaps they will meet again after I am gone.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid like trying to paint a cow orange,” Father said.

“We only did that once,” I said from my seat on the railing of our porch. I was soon to turn fifteen then, and didn’t know what lay ahead.

“Yes, and I was washing the paint off of you boys for five hours.”

“I won’t get into trouble,” Munin said, pocketing his pouch.

Their father nodded and used his palm to rub away a tear from his eye.

Mother would not have approved much of that. Her opinions on how one should conduct themselves were quite strong and she voiced them often. Men shouldn’t cry.

She was still styling her hair inside the house while Father bid my brother farewell on the porch. I wondered if she would be done in time to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you all again.”

Never had Munin said something so false and ignorant. Nor something I wished so dearly was true. We would never stand with each other again.

“See to it that you do lad,” Father said, smiling with agony as his calloused hand patted my brother’s arm in masculine support.

Father had worked day in and day out to support us and Mother’s lifestyle. She was rarely in want for anything thanks to Father’s efforts, though I sometimes wondered if she believed it to be enough. I hope Mother has learned to love Father the way I do, criminal or not.

I’ll never find out.

The pain is a breath away. My sight sees nothing but blazing gold and red, and a shining drop of blood falling to me from the dragon above. Will it hurt? Or will I simply be gone? Reduced to ash and bone before my nerves can even think of telling my brain that all is agony.

Mother walked out of the house, adjusting the pearl net holding her shining, dark gold hair in swirling curls. Her blouse was immaculate, low cut and shining white, with pink and orange flowers sewn along the collar and ruffled sleeves as the russet skirt swirled with each sultry step she took in her polished flat shoes. A necklace of warm gold set with orange and pink sapphires hung around her neck, an heirloom she modified to be gaudy. I preferred the way it had been when my grandmother passed away, with simple elegance, but my mother had her own style. Arguing it would be futile.

I know she loves us, her husband and kids.

She just loves us less than her beauty.

But she has to love us. Doesn’t she?

“Now Moon,” she said, brushing invisible dirt from Munin’s shirt, “remember to represent the Brimstones well. Fight well, climb your ranks, earn your pay, and come home after. And please, be presentable when you arrive at the base.”

“Munin, Mother,” Munin said. He disliked the childhood nickname. I was the only one allowed to use it, but I rarely did. “But, yes, I will do that.”

She smiled and cupped his face in her hand, then touched Munin’s shoulder with a bit of joy, and stepped back beside Father.

“Fight well, and be safe,” Father added. “You will always be welcome here.”

Mother frowned and glanced aside. “Of course, though it would be good for you to move out once the war ends and pursue your own path.”

“I’ll worry about that later,” Munin said, pulling them all into a last hug. Mother looked irritated, but I’m glad she allowed it.

It is a memory I will now cherish despite its sorrow in this last instant of my existence.

I am gone.