Bridget's Flame - Week 2 - Sorry
Cut for space opera and more attempts to understand deep things wherein, as always, I fall short.
Crowded city. Open air market. The sun shone down, and a breeze kept off the worst of the heat. Mark could smell something delicious from the vendor's stands. It smelled like something that belonged on a bun, but he hadn't seen a burger stand or a hotdog vendor anywhere.
That was the amazing thing about planets. Just about every one of them had their own take on meat-on-a-bun, and there was never any guarantee that you'd find quite the same thing wherever you went.
Maybe, after he was done killing his target, Mark might try one.
They'd been shadowing him for some days now, watching his movements, plotting out the patterns. This place stuck out. About once every month or so he'd stop by this market to browse.
Mark sat at a table, reading a data feed on his tablet. The words of the Imperial News Network scrolled by his eyes unseen. His gaze was fixed on a point just above, watching the target.
Mark breathed slow and let his soul fall into the Fire. The familiar warmth seeped into his bones, and made him want to shriek in agony. His gaze was still, and his focus was steady. He could see the white burning of the man's soul like a beacon.
This one wasn't a Firebrand, so stealing the life from him would be easy. It was the same thing as before - an earnest desire to draw the beauty of this man's life away from him and to let it burn out.
There was nothing dramatic about it. The man was standing and looking at flowers. Then he swayed on his feet before finally pitching forward. He fell into the flowers as his Fire was extinguished.
There was shouting and panic already. Mark paid it no mind, simply sipped the last of his coffee. He moved to put away his tablet-
A flash lit up his mind. Images, sounds, sensations assaulting his consciousness. The tablet groaned in his grip - and it passed. He stared at the body that had once been a man and tried to get his breathing under control.
#
Mark was sitting in the Shrine again. The Fire beckoned to him, and he felt the draw of it, but this time he resisted.
He heard the footsteps, and the sound of a body settling into the cushion next to him.
“Mark,” his master, Suhar, said.
“Master.”
And that was all, for a moment.
“You care to tell me what's going on?” Suhar asked.
“I killed a man.”
“Your mission. It was a success, wasn't it?”
Mark nodded. The firelight of the shrine played on the dragon's tooth at the front.
“I killed him with the Fire, Master. Just as you said. Took it right out of him.”
Suhar nodded. “But you're not at peace with this,” he said.
“No. I'm not.”
“Why?”
“When I took his life, I... saw something. Something I didn't see the first time.”
“Tell me.”
Mark sighed. It had taken some time, meditating to sort it out. But the images had been burning behind his eyes ever since he'd been picked up. They'd been on his back in the shower, scrubbing at himself to make them go away. And even now, in this place of flickering lights and shadows, they shone like a prison spotlight.
“I saw him.”
“You've seen the other people you killed as well.”
“No. I saw him. The life that made up who he was. The causal chain that drove his actions.”
“And what did you see?”
“A murderer.”
Blood and the smell of gun residue. The tension of the biceps as they pulled the garrote. A cold mind building tall walls, separating his life into parts so that they could stay together.
“But,” Mark said, “he was more than that too.”
Behind the walls: a green gaze and a wide smile. Warm sunlight and the scent of lilacs. Better than the dream of someone.
“He was a man, too.”
Suhar was a caustic man, and Mark never knew if he was being sympathetic or if it was a set-up. But looking to the calm amber gaze, he decided to believe it. He nodded.
“How do you feel about that?” Suhar asked.
Deep breath in and deep breath out. Mark knew that Suhar did not take 'I don't know' for an answer. But one thing came to mind and he spit it out before he could think about it.
“I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?”
Was he?
“Yeah,” Mark said.
“Why?” Suhar asked. “He was a murderer. One of the better ones in this network we've found. He killed good men and women.”
“He killed a few bad ones too. And he was a good man to at least some people. He was... alive.”
“But he isn't anymore. And that's something you have to bear.”
Mark nodded.
They sat together in silence. Time passed, and Mark felt the weight of every second.
“Did you hate this man?”
“I thought I would.”
“But you don't now?”
“How could I?” Mark asked. “He wasn't all that different from me.”
“And all that is left is regret.”
Mark nodded
“So what do I do?”
“You carry the weight. Walk into the Fire with it. Your soul will be forged with the metal of this first kill, and it will temper you for the next.”
Mark didn't suppose he had another choice. He nodded, turned his gaze back to the altar, and closed his eyes.
Crowded city. Open air market. The sun shone down, and a breeze kept off the worst of the heat. Mark could smell something delicious from the vendor's stands. It smelled like something that belonged on a bun, but he hadn't seen a burger stand or a hotdog vendor anywhere.
That was the amazing thing about planets. Just about every one of them had their own take on meat-on-a-bun, and there was never any guarantee that you'd find quite the same thing wherever you went.
Maybe, after he was done killing his target, Mark might try one.
They'd been shadowing him for some days now, watching his movements, plotting out the patterns. This place stuck out. About once every month or so he'd stop by this market to browse.
Mark sat at a table, reading a data feed on his tablet. The words of the Imperial News Network scrolled by his eyes unseen. His gaze was fixed on a point just above, watching the target.
Mark breathed slow and let his soul fall into the Fire. The familiar warmth seeped into his bones, and made him want to shriek in agony. His gaze was still, and his focus was steady. He could see the white burning of the man's soul like a beacon.
This one wasn't a Firebrand, so stealing the life from him would be easy. It was the same thing as before - an earnest desire to draw the beauty of this man's life away from him and to let it burn out.
There was nothing dramatic about it. The man was standing and looking at flowers. Then he swayed on his feet before finally pitching forward. He fell into the flowers as his Fire was extinguished.
There was shouting and panic already. Mark paid it no mind, simply sipped the last of his coffee. He moved to put away his tablet-
A flash lit up his mind. Images, sounds, sensations assaulting his consciousness. The tablet groaned in his grip - and it passed. He stared at the body that had once been a man and tried to get his breathing under control.
#
Mark was sitting in the Shrine again. The Fire beckoned to him, and he felt the draw of it, but this time he resisted.
He heard the footsteps, and the sound of a body settling into the cushion next to him.
“Mark,” his master, Suhar, said.
“Master.”
And that was all, for a moment.
“You care to tell me what's going on?” Suhar asked.
“I killed a man.”
“Your mission. It was a success, wasn't it?”
Mark nodded. The firelight of the shrine played on the dragon's tooth at the front.
“I killed him with the Fire, Master. Just as you said. Took it right out of him.”
Suhar nodded. “But you're not at peace with this,” he said.
“No. I'm not.”
“Why?”
“When I took his life, I... saw something. Something I didn't see the first time.”
“Tell me.”
Mark sighed. It had taken some time, meditating to sort it out. But the images had been burning behind his eyes ever since he'd been picked up. They'd been on his back in the shower, scrubbing at himself to make them go away. And even now, in this place of flickering lights and shadows, they shone like a prison spotlight.
“I saw him.”
“You've seen the other people you killed as well.”
“No. I saw him. The life that made up who he was. The causal chain that drove his actions.”
“And what did you see?”
“A murderer.”
Blood and the smell of gun residue. The tension of the biceps as they pulled the garrote. A cold mind building tall walls, separating his life into parts so that they could stay together.
“But,” Mark said, “he was more than that too.”
Behind the walls: a green gaze and a wide smile. Warm sunlight and the scent of lilacs. Better than the dream of someone.
“He was a man, too.”
Suhar was a caustic man, and Mark never knew if he was being sympathetic or if it was a set-up. But looking to the calm amber gaze, he decided to believe it. He nodded.
“How do you feel about that?” Suhar asked.
Deep breath in and deep breath out. Mark knew that Suhar did not take 'I don't know' for an answer. But one thing came to mind and he spit it out before he could think about it.
“I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?”
Was he?
“Yeah,” Mark said.
“Why?” Suhar asked. “He was a murderer. One of the better ones in this network we've found. He killed good men and women.”
“He killed a few bad ones too. And he was a good man to at least some people. He was... alive.”
“But he isn't anymore. And that's something you have to bear.”
Mark nodded.
They sat together in silence. Time passed, and Mark felt the weight of every second.
“Did you hate this man?”
“I thought I would.”
“But you don't now?”
“How could I?” Mark asked. “He wasn't all that different from me.”
“And all that is left is regret.”
Mark nodded
“So what do I do?”
“You carry the weight. Walk into the Fire with it. Your soul will be forged with the metal of this first kill, and it will temper you for the next.”
Mark didn't suppose he had another choice. He nodded, turned his gaze back to the altar, and closed his eyes.