12-10-2018, 02:26 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 45%; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: times new roman;"]"You didn't ask me."
"I didn't realize I needed your permission."
Clarence knew he'd been shaken by the fight the other day, against that big lion... thing. He still had nightmares. He was barely sleeping. For him, the war hadn't been over for 200 years. It'd been maybe two weeks. Such a dramatic shift was bound to affect him. He knew that. He was trained for that. Trained to repress and to make sure he kept it under control. But memories flooded back, though they weren't necessarily of combat. He had long wondered how he'd arrived in this world and there was a specific conversation he remembered with his sister. She'd been accused of witchcraft, his dear Christine. But he knew she wouldn't hurt anyone, especially not Thomas. Something was wrong and he wasn't sure what it was, but even if she was a witch, she hadn't killed his friend. She wouldn't do that to him.
"You did when it involved my life!"
"I don't think you realize your situation, Christine. What would you have me do? Let them barge in our own home to drag you and mother to a stake?"
"I wouldn't let that happen-"
"And how do you intend to stop them? Because these aren't reasonable men. They're ones driven by fear created by half truths. They won't believe anything you say. We're lucky they believe me, given everything they've been saying about myself and Thomas-"
"We would've found a way. I could've-"
"No. I'm doing this Christine. This is my decision. You will be safe. I promise."
He remembered the way she looked at him. He could barely bring himself to look at her. He was already in uniform, already leaving.
"You don't deserve this. It should be me-"
"Don't act like this is a death sentence. I'll return to you, I promise. I'll make sure you and mother are well."
"You don't understand-"
"I know what I'm facing. I'll be-"
"You won't, Clarence." She took a deep, shuttering breath before hurrying forward and throwing her arms around him. "But don't worry. You'll go somewhere else. I think you're going to find some friends on your voyage. You'll have to buy me something in America-" Her voice was near a laugh at the end, but he could tell it was only to mask another cry.
He hadn't thought much about the conversation after that. She had just been masking her true feelings. Besides, he would get her something from America, he resolved. He find her a book of some kind. Maybe one of those nice, bound ones of fairytales. He made enough to get some nice items for both Christine and his mother, after all. They'd like that. Of course, he never got the opportunity to do any of that. He'd died before they even got to dock. Well, perhaps died wasn't quite the right word for it. Something had happened to him. He'd gotten shot, he'd gone overboard, but he wasn't dead. Or at least he didn't feel dead. This didn't seem like any of the afterlives he'd heard about. After being here for a few weeks, he was also fairly certain he wasn't having some sort of hallucination.
All of these memories poured in rapidly, though, at an almost overwhelming rate. That intermingling with thoughts of Finnis being shot, of going overboard, of whatever he'd seen in the ocean- it was too much. He burst from where he'd been staying while in Sunhaven and began to walk rather aggressively. It was late and he wasn't sure where he was going, if he was being honest, but he just needed to go somewhere. With the way his chest rapidly rose and fell, as much as he tried to repress it, it was clear the man was in some sort of distress. His ears were pressed to his head and he was walking quickly away from camp. He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing, he just needed to get away. He didn't want to think about Finnis or fighting or Christine. He didn't want to think about anything.
"I didn't realize I needed your permission."
Clarence knew he'd been shaken by the fight the other day, against that big lion... thing. He still had nightmares. He was barely sleeping. For him, the war hadn't been over for 200 years. It'd been maybe two weeks. Such a dramatic shift was bound to affect him. He knew that. He was trained for that. Trained to repress and to make sure he kept it under control. But memories flooded back, though they weren't necessarily of combat. He had long wondered how he'd arrived in this world and there was a specific conversation he remembered with his sister. She'd been accused of witchcraft, his dear Christine. But he knew she wouldn't hurt anyone, especially not Thomas. Something was wrong and he wasn't sure what it was, but even if she was a witch, she hadn't killed his friend. She wouldn't do that to him.
"You did when it involved my life!"
"I don't think you realize your situation, Christine. What would you have me do? Let them barge in our own home to drag you and mother to a stake?"
"I wouldn't let that happen-"
"And how do you intend to stop them? Because these aren't reasonable men. They're ones driven by fear created by half truths. They won't believe anything you say. We're lucky they believe me, given everything they've been saying about myself and Thomas-"
"We would've found a way. I could've-"
"No. I'm doing this Christine. This is my decision. You will be safe. I promise."
He remembered the way she looked at him. He could barely bring himself to look at her. He was already in uniform, already leaving.
"You don't deserve this. It should be me-"
"Don't act like this is a death sentence. I'll return to you, I promise. I'll make sure you and mother are well."
"You don't understand-"
"I know what I'm facing. I'll be-"
"You won't, Clarence." She took a deep, shuttering breath before hurrying forward and throwing her arms around him. "But don't worry. You'll go somewhere else. I think you're going to find some friends on your voyage. You'll have to buy me something in America-" Her voice was near a laugh at the end, but he could tell it was only to mask another cry.
He hadn't thought much about the conversation after that. She had just been masking her true feelings. Besides, he would get her something from America, he resolved. He find her a book of some kind. Maybe one of those nice, bound ones of fairytales. He made enough to get some nice items for both Christine and his mother, after all. They'd like that. Of course, he never got the opportunity to do any of that. He'd died before they even got to dock. Well, perhaps died wasn't quite the right word for it. Something had happened to him. He'd gotten shot, he'd gone overboard, but he wasn't dead. Or at least he didn't feel dead. This didn't seem like any of the afterlives he'd heard about. After being here for a few weeks, he was also fairly certain he wasn't having some sort of hallucination.
All of these memories poured in rapidly, though, at an almost overwhelming rate. That intermingling with thoughts of Finnis being shot, of going overboard, of whatever he'd seen in the ocean- it was too much. He burst from where he'd been staying while in Sunhaven and began to walk rather aggressively. It was late and he wasn't sure where he was going, if he was being honest, but he just needed to go somewhere. With the way his chest rapidly rose and fell, as much as he tried to repress it, it was clear the man was in some sort of distress. His ears were pressed to his head and he was walking quickly away from camp. He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing, he just needed to get away. He didn't want to think about Finnis or fighting or Christine. He didn't want to think about anything.