Brat - 2

A mini story by S.E.Estes
Part 1 | 2

He lived on rocky, isolated worlds, people had never been part of his life and his dark interlude had only made him withdraw more. Restless thoughts whirled through his mind in the aloneness, a storm that threatened to engulf him, he needed shelter. First he tired reading, something he'd always loved, but his mind eventually spun faster than his eye could follow and he had to put down his books. He watched vids, eventually they, too, were more debris in the wake of his cyclone mind. Music couldn't tame the storm's savagery, it only gave voice to the wind. The storm tore him apart and once again he sought the haven of his father's home. He lay spent, lost in a world of confusion trying to pull together the shreds of his fragile mind but his thoughts raged. In search of surcease he put his hands to keys and let the winds of his mind buffet them.

His writing was a catharsis, a healing. Committing his chaotics thoughts to words helped to bring a measure of peace and clarity to his mind. There was no coherence to his words, thoughts strung together, nor purpose behind his writing other than to purge his mind of the confusion. As clarity came, dissatisfaction came with it, he wanted his words to have meaning, wanted them to say something, he wanted to write. He searched his mind for things to say, stories to tell, but found nothing. Staring into the void was too much for his fragile mind, it shattered once again. His scattered thoughts screamed in his mind until reality blurred and he was lost in a world of illusive ideas.

Out of the whirlwind he caught hold of two thoughts that pulled him from the storm. One was a vision of old, a haven, a place where he could be. The other was the purpose he sought, the meaning to the words that blew through his head. Following the shards of his broken mind he came to a place of healing. There, among the troubled, he found himself and the strength to seek his visions.

He'd been a brat all his life, a nomad, always on the move, out of step with life, never at rest. His vision of haven promised that rest, the stability he needed, and in search of it he came to Trader's Hand. He didn't know it yet but she found him long before, she was in the stormy desert of his mind, she was the tempest, the siren song that led him there, she knew him before birth. She came to him then in a still small voice and awoke his desire for purpose, his growing hunger to create, to write. She came to him on Trader's Hand, the still small voice again and began to give him the words. She was impatient with his mortal weaknesses, she had power to give, but a broken vessel was of no use so she restrained herself. Still, she delighted in his growing strength and his ideas began to show substance, then came his downfall. Ego lured him away from her so she revealed herself to him and placed a thorn in his side. No longer could he roam, he'd found his home, his place to be. He would find it on Trader's Hand or he wouldn't find it at all. He didn't like where, he'd only stopped there in passing, there were too many people there for one with solitary ways. It is said everyone comes to Trader's Hand sometime and the constant bustle of people were an annoyance, it went against everything he was but it gave his muse the voice she needed to fulfill the visions she'd given him and the ones yet to come.

Part 1 2