One of Many
Sep. 20th, 2016 09:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: One of Many
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Original
Character/Pairing: Original
Rating: G/K
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
faerie_wish13 September 2016: World Map
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,122
Date Written: 18 September 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: This one's all mine, folks!
He saved the world today, the universe in fact. But he knows better than to dwell on that fact. Just because he successfully created just the right spell to stop the enemy before they could win this time doesn't mean he'll be so lucky next time or that the world will be. The world needs him, but it doesn't need a cocky Wizard. He's seen too many times what cockiness earns a man; that's why he's the last of his kind.
It's why Bilbur grew too big, literally, to be contained within the world. It's why Einstein's brain became too much even for him. It's why his Master slipped into the next realm and was unable to return. It's even why the great Merlin became a tree that he still waters to this day. Nothing good can ever come from cockiness, and he knows what he must do.
He glances out the windows just before he pulls them closed. He won't need to water Merlin today. Mother Nature will see to that, he can tell, for the darkening clouds on the horizon are full with rain. He bolts his door and finally turns to his wardrobe.
He digs straight to the back, pass boxes and potions, pass his multitude of robes that all look the same and the clothes he never wears. He digs to the very back of the wardrobe that has more room than any other on the planet and opens the trunk. Then there's more digging as he makes his way through books and spells, through scrolls both used and unused, through clinking vials and scurrying things until at last his hands touch the object for which he's been searching.
He knows it, even in the dark, the very moment he touches it for some of the strongest and oldest magic pulsates from the worn paper. He pulls it from the trunk, shuts its lids, and puts away the wardrobe. Moving to his desk, he lays the map out over the old redwood given to him by the tree and its Sprite before they passed from this realm. He spreads the map out and points a finger at a nearby white candle. The flame blazes to life as the old Wizard focuses on the map before him.
Every part of the world is depicted on this old scroll, including the hidden spots and the places where only the bravest, or most foolish, of magic users dare to tread. Nothing is hidden from the eye, but at the first glance, it all appears to be blurring together because there are simply so many lines moving on the parchment. There are lines upon lines upon lines, squiggles upon squiggles upon squiggles, and it all moves far too fast for the eye to see.
He looks through his third eye, unseen by mankind and far more trained to see through magic than any ordinary eye, but even so, he has to study the map for quite some time. Day slips into night and night into day again. The storm comes and goes, and still he's looking at the map, trying to define every squiggle, trying to see pass all the lines to spot the exact one for which he's searching.
It's some time in the early morning of the next day, when many of the lines have stilled as the souls they represent rest, that he finally spies the line he seeks. Like all the rest, it's still, but he knows this soul isn't resting. This soul never dares rest for long, because there's always another threat with which to have to deal. Many of the other lines go about their daily journeys never seeing these threats, but it is his fate to have to deal with every one that rises that others can not snuff out until one finally snuffs him out.
The thought sends a chill through the Wizard's old bones. Still he lingers, his finger on the line. He watches as the other lines begin to move again and the sun grows higher in the blue sky. Soon, the other lines are moving so fast, lines upon lines upon lines, that even with his finger still on the same spot as the line that isn't moving, he loses sight of the line. He loses sight of himself, but in so doing, -- the old Wizard chuckles -- he has found himself again.
He watches a few minutes longer as all the beings in the world move. Birds pass over the heads of humans. Humans walk on the ground in which snails, slugs, and bugs crawl and over the soil beneath which Trolls and Gnomes scurry. They're always passing amongst each other. They're always moving over each other except for the sky or the earth that separates them. Their lives blur, becoming one big mess of lines that none can see, none but the Wizard looking at this very special map of the world.
The lines continue to blur as he rolls up the parchment. He's seen what he needed to see again today. He's been reminded, been humbled by the fact that he's just one tiny line in the scurrying multitude of zillions. Even with his finger on his own depiction, he lost sight of himself, but it was in so doing, as it always is when he pulls this map out of his treasure chest, that he was reminded: He's only one of zillions. He can't stop all the threats, neither alone or with others. All he can do is try to make the most of his one line and its teeny place in this maddening world.
He returns to his wardrobe and returns to the map to the very depths of his treasure chest. Then, with his head held high but no longer filled with ego, he marches to his windows and throws them back open again. The world greets him. Birds sing, and a breeze flows into his little hut. The sun greets him with his warmth as Mother Nature calls sweetly for her to join him.
He smiles. It's time to go water Merlin again, but he won't make the same mistake as the greatest of Wizards. Stepping out of his hut and placing his Wizard's cape on his head, the old man promises himself once again that he'll never forget his place in this world. He looks to the birds singing and flying over his head and to the rabbits, squirrels, cats, and other small animals who have come to make this sanctuary in the madness of Earth their home. He looks to the world, and he knows he's only one of many. But he smiles nonetheless because that's the way it should be.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Original
Character/Pairing: Original
Rating: G/K
Challenge/Prompt:
faerie_wish13 September 2016: World MapWarning(s): None
Word Count: 1,122
Date Written: 18 September 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: This one's all mine, folks!
He saved the world today, the universe in fact. But he knows better than to dwell on that fact. Just because he successfully created just the right spell to stop the enemy before they could win this time doesn't mean he'll be so lucky next time or that the world will be. The world needs him, but it doesn't need a cocky Wizard. He's seen too many times what cockiness earns a man; that's why he's the last of his kind.
It's why Bilbur grew too big, literally, to be contained within the world. It's why Einstein's brain became too much even for him. It's why his Master slipped into the next realm and was unable to return. It's even why the great Merlin became a tree that he still waters to this day. Nothing good can ever come from cockiness, and he knows what he must do.
He glances out the windows just before he pulls them closed. He won't need to water Merlin today. Mother Nature will see to that, he can tell, for the darkening clouds on the horizon are full with rain. He bolts his door and finally turns to his wardrobe.
He digs straight to the back, pass boxes and potions, pass his multitude of robes that all look the same and the clothes he never wears. He digs to the very back of the wardrobe that has more room than any other on the planet and opens the trunk. Then there's more digging as he makes his way through books and spells, through scrolls both used and unused, through clinking vials and scurrying things until at last his hands touch the object for which he's been searching.
He knows it, even in the dark, the very moment he touches it for some of the strongest and oldest magic pulsates from the worn paper. He pulls it from the trunk, shuts its lids, and puts away the wardrobe. Moving to his desk, he lays the map out over the old redwood given to him by the tree and its Sprite before they passed from this realm. He spreads the map out and points a finger at a nearby white candle. The flame blazes to life as the old Wizard focuses on the map before him.
Every part of the world is depicted on this old scroll, including the hidden spots and the places where only the bravest, or most foolish, of magic users dare to tread. Nothing is hidden from the eye, but at the first glance, it all appears to be blurring together because there are simply so many lines moving on the parchment. There are lines upon lines upon lines, squiggles upon squiggles upon squiggles, and it all moves far too fast for the eye to see.
He looks through his third eye, unseen by mankind and far more trained to see through magic than any ordinary eye, but even so, he has to study the map for quite some time. Day slips into night and night into day again. The storm comes and goes, and still he's looking at the map, trying to define every squiggle, trying to see pass all the lines to spot the exact one for which he's searching.
It's some time in the early morning of the next day, when many of the lines have stilled as the souls they represent rest, that he finally spies the line he seeks. Like all the rest, it's still, but he knows this soul isn't resting. This soul never dares rest for long, because there's always another threat with which to have to deal. Many of the other lines go about their daily journeys never seeing these threats, but it is his fate to have to deal with every one that rises that others can not snuff out until one finally snuffs him out.
The thought sends a chill through the Wizard's old bones. Still he lingers, his finger on the line. He watches as the other lines begin to move again and the sun grows higher in the blue sky. Soon, the other lines are moving so fast, lines upon lines upon lines, that even with his finger still on the same spot as the line that isn't moving, he loses sight of the line. He loses sight of himself, but in so doing, -- the old Wizard chuckles -- he has found himself again.
He watches a few minutes longer as all the beings in the world move. Birds pass over the heads of humans. Humans walk on the ground in which snails, slugs, and bugs crawl and over the soil beneath which Trolls and Gnomes scurry. They're always passing amongst each other. They're always moving over each other except for the sky or the earth that separates them. Their lives blur, becoming one big mess of lines that none can see, none but the Wizard looking at this very special map of the world.
The lines continue to blur as he rolls up the parchment. He's seen what he needed to see again today. He's been reminded, been humbled by the fact that he's just one tiny line in the scurrying multitude of zillions. Even with his finger on his own depiction, he lost sight of himself, but it was in so doing, as it always is when he pulls this map out of his treasure chest, that he was reminded: He's only one of zillions. He can't stop all the threats, neither alone or with others. All he can do is try to make the most of his one line and its teeny place in this maddening world.
He returns to his wardrobe and returns to the map to the very depths of his treasure chest. Then, with his head held high but no longer filled with ego, he marches to his windows and throws them back open again. The world greets him. Birds sing, and a breeze flows into his little hut. The sun greets him with his warmth as Mother Nature calls sweetly for her to join him.
He smiles. It's time to go water Merlin again, but he won't make the same mistake as the greatest of Wizards. Stepping out of his hut and placing his Wizard's cape on his head, the old man promises himself once again that he'll never forget his place in this world. He looks to the birds singing and flying over his head and to the rabbits, squirrels, cats, and other small animals who have come to make this sanctuary in the madness of Earth their home. He looks to the world, and he knows he's only one of many. But he smiles nonetheless because that's the way it should be.
The End
