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Posted on June 1, 2010 at 05:07:31 PM by Alistar Delillo
Alistar looked at the sad man. His family was gone, and that was probably bad, because if his family were gone he was all alone. And murdered – Al knew what that was, but no adult had ever just said it to him before. He’d heard it whispered, or growled from far away. Not just said, like that, all emotional, like it was something heartbreaking. It meant they’d been killed, and that was bad too, because it meant that they weren’t going to come back. Not like Al’s mommy, who could come back, or whom he could go back to, but who wouldn’t mind either way, because she thought he was old enough now to do his own thing. What his own thing was, he was less than certain of. I’m sorry... The words are awkward in his childish voice, but it’s what his mommy would have said. He was sad for the man, that’s what the words meant, he was sad that he’d lost something he’d had, that he’d lost his family. He listened to the story, his wise but slightly crooked mind absorbing the details quickly, and took a few short clumsy steps to Deor and put his small hand into the man’s bigger hand, half to comfort him, half to guide him. Maybe it was the gods. We have gods here, and one of them keeps sending things to hurt us – he made familiars change into just animals, he made a volcano (that might have made those fires), and a wave... who knows if we deserve it. He’s all locked up, you see, because he was bad. I’d be angry too, if I was locked up. Maybe it was him who did that to you. He pulled the man into walking beside him, his own steps so short that the man would have to go slowly, even though Al’s legs moved as fast as they could. I don’t know if we can get there while the flooding lasts, but we can try, probably. Or we could ask at the castle, in the core, and see if my daddy’s there. My mommy always called him Delillo, but I’ve heard that he’s known as Rushad Jirka. I never thought that people could have more than one name. Al stopped and looked at the undergrowth, and then stretched out one brown hand and pulled some berries off a bush. They were dark blueish, almost purple, and round. He put one into his mouth, and his eyes brightened. Here. I’ve eaten them before. They’re good. He passed a handful to the other man. most people are 90% metaphor |
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