Death//Rebirth

                      Death//Rebirth

The man woke suddenly, gasping for breath, panicked. Shaking, he looked about him frantically, unseeing, scratching the dirt floor with his hands as he turned, unknowingly drawing alien symbols. Where was he? What happened? Something…terrible? But just what?

"Calm down, calm down, calm..." the man whispered to himself. "It...it was just a dream. Yes, a dream. That was all it was." He slowly stilled himself, calmed his quivering heart.

"A dream? It must have been a dream. But...what was it? What did I see that has me so scared?" He could not remember. He dearly wished he could, for in the terror of that dream he knew he saw something that he longed for. Something important. And so, he closed his eyes and thought back to the root of his unreasoning panic. Standing there, staring forward, an image began to form in his mind's eye, rising from the depths of his unconscious self, the self that had kept the memory alive for this purpose. As it rose, he could not understand the image at first. Then he saw. He saw in his mind fire, destruction. The deaths of hundreds, thousands. Everyone, everything. Buildings crumbling under their own weight. Dystopia. The Apocalypse. He screamed out, overcome by the power of his vision, and sank back to his knees.

"What? No. That could not have been my dream. It was far too vivid...and there is nothing good about it. The dream I remember filled me with joy!" the man consoled himself. He decided that it was not worth worrying about and losing sleep over. After all, tomorrow is another day; perhaps he would remember his dream with time. But still, he wondered. As he lay back down and turned over to resume his slumber, he began to see. He had been so absorbed with himself and his panic that he had failed to notice his surroundings. Failed to understand.

"Wha..." was his only response, almost a question, the air vacating his lungs with the effort of the word. He slowly stood up, his eyes transfixed on the incredible sight before him. He stared, his eyes unwavering, unblinking, unthinking. Uncomprehending. He...was on top of a tall skyscraper. He could now feel the wind flowing by, hear the rush of its passing, feel it tugging on his shirt, pushing him. Pleading with him, cajoling, lovingly leading him towards the edge. Towards the fall. He had no time for it. The dirt was not in fact dirt, was not the ground as he had originally assumed. It was gravel, spread on the roof. He had no interest in it. For, before his eyes, lay an inferno. The city, or what had been a city, was bathed in fire. Fire as far as he could see, raging bright, seemingly using the the very steel and concrete for fuel. The fire spread far, losing itself in the black haze of its own smoke in the distance. The smoke curled up over the city, blocking out the sun and reaching for the sky, masking it and replacing it with its own visage, perfectly reflecting the raging movement of the land below. The buildings were all destroyed, burnt to the ground. Crumbled. Erased. All but the one that he stood upon, that gave him this vantage, this perfect scene for his eyes to feast upon, to view this insanity.

It was glorious. His dream was no dream, but a true memory. The realization and the scene burned a swathe through his mind, erasing everything. He stared for a time, and somehow found himself on the ground, walking the burning streets. He thought to himself that he should be afraid, that the flames that shrouded him should have burned him to cinders instantly. But they did not. They seemed to coil around him, embracing him briefly, lovingly, then flowing off. He wondered why.

On he walked, unperturbed, the sky choked with ash and flying debris, the ground coated with it, a roaring wind rushing down the street. None of it bothered him, even though the heat should have destroyed his eyes. And there was something else, something surrounding him. He felt it, but did not know what it was.

On he walked, and the sensation grew. And with a flash, he knew what it was: Death. He could sense the death of the people all around him, who perished in the flames. But there was no fear in this feeling, no pain, no loss. No suffering. It was pure, the pure feeling of death. It had come in a flash, claimed their bodies, freed their souls, and left as swiftly as it arrived.

On he walked. He felt...something. Something ahead of him, some kind of...calling. A longing. He did not wish to leave this place behind, this place of life: he wished only to walk the streets of comforting fire. But the feeling called to him, promising him. The promise of purpose. And so he followed it, walking the ruined streets, following them out of the city, into the ruined countryside. He kept walking, walking out of the inferno. He grew cold, so cold, in his body and soul. He longed for the companionship of the fire, wished to feel loved by it. Here, he was truly alone.

As he walked, he started to notice something. Or...not notice something? Something was strange. That was it, the country was missing life. It was still desolate, despite the city being far behind. Here, the trees stood as dead guardians beside the cracked road. The grass lay withered and dried, joining the dusty earth. Slowly, he looked up, and there he saw an unending gray sky that gave no hope of sun.

He walked for days as if in a trance, never tiring, never thinking, never questioning. Only seeking, only following. Passing the dead trees, salted fields, boarded, derelict houses, weaving in between abandoned cars. Soon, he found himself upon the outskirts of another city. He could feel it from a distance: Life. With purpose. But...it was strange. Like it was rotting, stagnant and without movement. Yes, it felt of corruption. And he knew, he knew. On he walked, and he found himself in a familiar location: the top of a skyscraper. He stood at the top, at the top of the world, looking down at the city all around him. And he knew why he was here: This city had long ago fallen to ruin. He looked down upon the streets of bodies, of beggars and the poor, the dirt and the filth and decay, both of the people and the buildings. Of their souls.

       He looked down upon hopelessness and despair, and he was filled with desire, with purpose. This was it. He lifted his arms straight out to his sides, and let that feeling of purpose mingle with the feelings he felt when gazing upon the burning ruin, let those sensations sear his mind. Out came the coiling fire, reaching, growing out from his hands and reaching over the city, claiming the city as their own. He gave them new life, and when they had fully appeared, they both stopped for a moment, wavering, as if they were looking back at their master, their progenitor. Then they flew, racing through the dirty streets. Playing with each other, rolling, diving. And in their wake lay destruction. Fire, pure and true spread throughout the city in the blink of an eye. Everything was turned to ash. The living flames consumed everything.

Sometime later, the flames rose out of mass, distinguishing themselves. They flew over to the man, coiled around him lovingly, nuzzling him as a baby does its mother. And he knew, he knew who he was. What he was. His purpose. The flames circled him some more, seemingly satisfied, content, then flew into him, merging with his body once more. He stood there, transfixed for a time. He cried then. Tears of joy, sorrow? Love? They evaporated before they ever hit the ground. He swayed, overcome, and fell.

He knew his purpose, and stared up at the sky of fire, ash swirling around. The world, the people, they had no purpose, no life anymore. The people and their world had long ago been destroyed, their will to live gone. They merely survived. He freed them, allowed them the chance to live again.

The man woke suddenly some time later, gasping for breath, panicked. Shaking, he looked around frantically, unseeing, scraping the dirt floor with his hands as he turned, unknowingly drawing swirling patterns, those of death and rebirth.