The Man of Molten Bronze. Part II. [Short]

As the whale swam upwards, the man of molten bronze gazed at the spotted relfection of his body in the soft luminescence of the whales skin. Further the whale rose to the warm blue surface as it slowly lost its luminescent glow and translucency and was again a great whale covered in dark blue skin.

Coming now close to the surface the great blue whale opened its jaws wide, the molten man being submerged in the waters of life as he was spewed out, splashing upon the sand where the tusked beasts had just scattered. There upon his knees he stared at his bronze reflection within a puddle upon the muddy beach. He watched as the churning molten metal changed upon his face, just as his facial expressions ebbed and dripped and bent.
He saw himself.
On all fours staring down he became at one with his own image just as the tide washed away his mirror within the dirt. He rose, his head rising, slowly standing to see six figures wearing robes of orange with wooden masks like teardrops, palms together, finger tips up, solemnly watching him. He noticed the territorial disputes being fought on either side of him as tusked walruses fought to be the alpha male, fought for their piece of dirt, their flock of females, by bone tusk, by blood, the victor oblivious to all else happening around them, the robed summoners, the man of molten bronze, forgetting even the great whale who disrupted their bloodshed.
Then, in unison, the robed ones turned and the molten man walked the path to a sandy summit, three robed summoners on each side, he watched how similar they each were, and yet he noticed subtle differences in their body language, discerning just by gate and posture how different each may be and then he saw the yellow wheat running along both sides of the trail, this time he ran his fingers through it, his sense of feeling was different than he remembered it to be. He watched as the wheat would dance in the slight cool breeze, how it would nearly dip within his molten flesh, but yet never did, and how dull he began thinking, this very safe form was.
As the path grew brighter and brighter, the six robed ones, in unison, came to a halt before a source of light, bright like the morning sun, yellow like joy, his molten eyes stared into it unhurt by its rays, his bronze flesh glimmered with a thousand different reflections, each turning and twisting as the molten metal churned. He began to see the outline of a diamond and finally he asked, though he knew, he knew as sure as he was standing there, there would be no answer, he asked, “Is this it?” The robed ones made no sound. “Is this the end?” In unison the six robed summoners bowed moving one arm in a slow pointing gesture, palm open, the three on the left with their left arms, the three on the right with their right arms, directing him towards the bright shining void that he knew he was meant to walk through.

His step was solemn. His step was true.
Sturdy as the bronze that he now was he walked through the void of light and saw what was, what is, and what may be.
The bright light of yellow was gone. The gentle breeze was now a crackling thunder of gusting wind, the calming sands were replaced by a cliff covered in green grass, misted by condensation, leading to a dark green forest. As he surveyed all that he had seen before, all that lie meters below him, all that he saw from within the heaviness of the clouds that held him, he noticed all the small things he hadn’t yet seen. He saw the vines that grew upon the cliffs surface, each individual vine climbing closer to the  highest edge. He saw the clear water from a sparkling pool upon the mountain, he watched it move with every gust of wind as if invisible children danced upon its rippling surface. He saw how beautiful the redwood trees grew in height and girth, their shedding of twigs and leaves, all the former pieces of themselves that lay about their base, the mulch of many years.

Then he saw it.
The face of destiny. He saw the man he once knew. The man of the dark green forest, whose curved blade he bore before him in both hands. Whose face was as his own. The face of himself that he still remembered.
He knew what came now. He swallowed. His adams apple a slow rippling of molten metal. He took a step as he looked into the eyes of the man from the dark green forest and a part of him was shed. He took another step, watching the cautious man who’s trail was marked by the dew of the grass, who gaze was met as the molten man of bronze slowly became less and less, as each footstep he left a part of him behind in a staircase of bronze, descending from the dark clouded sky. As he felt his strength leaving him, the man of molten bronze raised his sword before him one last time and as it fell from his grasp like a spear, his foot formed the foot stone of a bronze staircase and he was no more.


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