Ariana Basher

I can feel my heart shuddering where it lays in my heart; almost still, and hanging onto the last drops of life. It’s pounding frantically in my chest, rattling against my ribs,  Ba bump! Ba bump! Every breath I inhale stings my chest, my lungs are being suffocated from the weight of the black clouds pushing hither and thither, throttling my insides. These dark clouds have been pulling at my heart, pulling it apart to scar it as the clouds threaten to take over, suffocating my insides.

 

I grasp at the rocks, my hands trembling as I try to push myself up. I feel searing pain pass along my hand at this, as I try to sit more comfortably. I try to catch my breath as my heart pushes against my chest, and my lungs expand and then fall in a rhythm they should not. I close my eyes at the pain and push myself back against the scalding rocks that dig into my back, rough and uncomfortable with the promise of scars, but I cannot find myself caring about them.

 

There are far more vicious, and pains on my body; the snag of a knife below my waist is fresh, an arm nicked by an arrow, scars littering the expanse of my idea - and maybe the large gash running down my calf. Those blemishes throb and pulse with a deadened touch of life; I feel them, begging for my attention, but the pain is slowly bleeding away. Instead, my attention is stolen entirely by the pain in my chest - these clouds have already begun shredding my heart, my head, my soul - they have chipped my life away with each passing moment of a war cry, a battle, to the cheers of everyone - to the grandeur that awaits me after every victory. To bow down to the highest of powers, to be crowned with jewels, to collect my badges of honor, but at the expense of my soul. 

 

Each battle scar is rewarded with its own glittering gem but distresses my body more than I pretend it does. The rewards may pacify my wounds, but putting others above myself doesn’t stop the clouds from swelling. These clouds rage and stir up a larger storm the more I neglect my mind, and my body while I cherish those who can only push up my ego, but do not have the heart to care about me any more than that.   

 

Too busy I have been filling my heart with others' voices to push away the distressing needs tearing at my insides as the dark clouds grow and grow. I have weakened myself at the expense of swelling my pride; too negligent I’ve been to care for my body, to relish in a time of silence to heal my mind. Now, the one battle I have lost, in my thousand years of glory, no more voices to feed my heart, my head - I get no wishes if I fail the one thing I am destined to do - to save others. But when will I have the chance to save myself?