There were only embers. A faint glow smoldered by bloodless night and an old bone's chill. Neither rain nor sunlight but ash fell from grey skies, as if heaven was brought to ruin, the throne thrown down and hell's fire was now a breathless cold. There were only embers immortalized in the depthless shadows of a still world, a world of fallen powers and wandering souls... I imagined there were others, souls I mean, but I had met none, either of man or beast, or of wind or trees, neither in the deep places nor upon the high peaks, only embers remained.
Forever, there were echoes of distant weeping, as if spirits mourned behind the veils of my vision. It was a soft cry but heavy with grief and it broke my heart, the only heart on the other side. I wept knowing that even in mutual sorrow we could not meet. When reason and dreams lost their flames, the embers bore eldritch thoughts instead. Thoughts of corpses with lidless eyes, piled by the billions below in the vast recesses of oceans or the crevices of mountains, perhaps on the unseen side the moon, hidden away. Of the moon, that no longer waxed or waned, whose face turned full but could no more move for it was stupefied by the death of the sun. Forever, it mirrored a ghostly reflection of what once was... even the stars were embers. I wept, forever I wept...grey tears, the only tears, in a grey world. What had made it so?
Embers made grey from a winter of ashes. Grey embers, near still waters, beneath motionless trees, in voiceless towers, made even the darkness grey. There was no wind to fan them back to life. What was left of the wind could now only be found in my breadth. So I took some and blew upon them. There was a slow rise of reddish yellow color, my blood raced then there was pain. I felt it, life, it hurt but its colors were so beautiful. I wept again. There was something more, below the grey and I could make it appear. I blew on them again. It was like the stir of autumn leaves and soon I was lost in orange dawns, yellow noon and vermilion sunsets. I had not known when I stood only that my hand was on my chest where my heart raced and another upon my cheek where I felt heat. I felt life, it was warm and beautiful but so brief. So I inhaled deep and blew as long as I could. The colors were there deepest yet then I yelped and fell on my backside. You see, a flame, an actually flame sprung up. There was this weird sound as well. It faded too and I looked to see where it might have come from. If my heart raced before now it leaped. What if someone else was out there?
Now I was determined to find out. With the breadth of a wolf I blew again, the flames burst into life and the sounds returned. This time I held my tummy, for it came from there, down inside and so delightful, a gurgling sound, no, a giggling sound. I rolled around to tried to control myself, as my laughter left me and rolled off instead into the deep. Now I was both joyful and sad, alas there was no one else. But my blood was boiling and now that I had found life I would not let it die. Ineluctably, a ritual was born, of me huffing and puffing at the embers, of flickering flames and shuffling feet, flowing tears and fleeting laughter...then it stopped. I held my breadth and felt my sweat. My life was leaving.
I watched it float by in hushed silence, watched it passed in the rising freckles of glowing cinder. Again I wept, for I did not know or had quite forgotten their magic of flight. I cried. Who knew I would've seen colors fly when in all my long shadowed memory I had only every seen the sky weep heaven's soot or hellish ash. Life was beautiful but it hurt, yet all the pain did not matter when I held it there in my hands. Life is beautiful but its beauty is fugacious, that's what makes it precious. I would not let it stay in this grey world. I would let my life go, let the moon see it. Perhaps, if death had stopped her, my life would get her moving again. So from the tower top I blew the glowing cinders to her and I wept. You see, I imagined then my soul would rise with my life, perhaps I would see an inkling of humanity on the other side of the moon or the embers of a dead sun, perhaps I could blow on it and bring it to life, once more. I watched them rise like distant stars in the ghostly light. Then I lost my sight.
There were only embers and the moon. A grey moon encountered the burning cinders of my soul, of my life. Then her grey grew bright, turned white. My vision was overwhelmed in her burgeon light. When it cleared there was darkness. My flesh was made bloodless by a passing wind. The chill was bone deep. I hugged myself. Far below, the silhouette of a person appeared upon the moonlit bridge...