Artwork by 3D artist Idril Susurra Alba
Sands of time ebb violently and peacefully in a myriad of existences and non-existences. And yet, through a twisted and unforgiving paradox, its way is never backwards. The hourglass that binds every living being’s existence in a planar environment knows no remorse, no pity and no regard towards desires and misfortunes. Adverse change is it’s tool, unruly development is it’s game, singular deceit is it’s rose-tinted veil – together, they form the trinity of time which spawns timeless and defining children of the temporal flux. Many a time a living soul, struck deep by its daggers, have pleaded the ominous and omniscient cosmic divinity to reverse occurred events – requests to be blocked by the forever-onwards recipe. There is, however, the rare soul which questions and helplessly watches time wreck havoc in their life – forever changing their environment. What makes them stand out is their passive approach to the changing events, the tardiness in processing occurred and ongoing events, but – despite the snail-pace in coping with a rapidly changing present – they spring with vigor on their feet once they realize that the past will never again echo into the future.
And so, the the foes of the hourglass reveal themselves – small in number, large in spirit. Their roar echoes with each cope, with each event – the sands of time, in retaliation, shifting the coarse flow of hardships and continuously bombard their metaphysical barrier. Piece by piece, these warriors become beacons of inspiration for the meek and feeble; the victims of the passing of time. In the end, a champion of legend is born only to be absorbed into empty relics of past lifetimes and forgotten with each event that transpires. And yet – the war rages on, in the depths of each mind.
Hear her mourn…
“Not long has passed since our homeland became ravaged by undeath. I feel… I feel nothing.” she claimed on a grief-stricken tone, “For the time we ran… and hid… I felt I was slowly falling in a pit of spikes. When… it happened…” the left hand meets the right, gently caressing it through the sorrowful grace-tinted gauze “…when I was at death’s door and you pulled me away… in my heart…” her voice seemingly starts to break “…I knew you traded me for yourself… dear brother.”
Despite the shattered heart, her cheeks remain as dry as the merciless sands of time. The corners of her eyes, watery and battered by sleepless nights, tell a different story – that of melancholy and grit. “Will you be at rest or will you be bereft of any solace in death?” echoes in her mind, questioning none other than her unrelenting and benevolent adversary. As expected – no answer. She falters not; in truth – she retaliates by joining its silence. The imminent retort to her defiance materialized through bruised knees as she lingered by the freshly dug grave for what felt an eternity; the hourglass of eternity. A wistful gaze is maintained and her lips crinkle from the brisk, cold air. The entropy which surrounds her phases her not, acting as a resource of strength to bolster her inner spirit. Will she cry or will she depart? – remains a dilemma only answered by the constant, ever-changing string of events transpiring in her life.
One thought echoes through her mind with certainty. “Wait for me. I will come. We will reunite in a new, beautiful realm.”
