29

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
                          
The world consists of splashes of color and a cacophony of noises, filtered through beer suds and knotted wood. Bright, warm hands slam on the surfaces of her being, muffled impacts that light up her senses like sun spots against the back of her eyelids. Feet stomp, the vibrations flowing through her. Chatter, laughter, the words indistinct, unimportant, they are never important. Beings are all around her, she sees them in vibrant hues, cool toned blues, violent crimsons, and lovely buttery yellows, like small suns. The Keeper of the Ways is the brightest, yellow streaked with gold. The beings revolve around him, the center of sparkling solar system, stars winking in and out of existence. She observes the patterns of flashing colors without connection, without care. They wink in and out so fast, too fast for her to follow, except for the Keeper's golden core. 
                          
She did see the sick one, deep shadows threaded through yellow, a touch of chaos inside. A life so brief, yet so close to the keeper's golden glow. The presence is puzzling enough to focus. Focus is hard, so very hard, as if rising from the bottom of the deepest ocean. Focus, she must focus, if she wants to see.
                          
A hand presses against her surface, shocking her with abrupt connection. Yellow threaded with black, like a fading blossom as the being staggers against her. She can hear his words.
                          
'Please, please let me in, I beg  you.'
                          
The light begins to fade.
                          
She opens to him, hyper aware, connecting to him in a way she never has before, not even with the Keeper. He sprawls over her surfaces, trapping her in the moment, sharpening her awareness to a blade's edge as color seeps from him, his golden yellow glow fading while the cool darkness spreads from inside him, across her surfaces. She can feel his life ebbing.
                          
"Melvin!" The Keeper rushes forward, pulling Melvin into his arms. She sees the Keeper's horror, brushes her focused awareness against his. Connection. She is tethered to the moment like bottled lightning, awareness merging with the Keeper's for an infinite moment of agony. Through his eyes, the colors gain rich details, expressive faces and form, recognition. She is holding her heart in her arms. The man's face is tilted up, framed by dark curls. She sees the golden yellow light leaving his eyes, now lifeless green grey orbs. Lifeless.  A shock-wave ripples through her. 
                          
"No," the Keeper sobs. His pain sinks into her like a thousand needle sharp blades, and for the first time in her existence she understands. 
                          
Lifeless. 
                          
She refuses to accept it, reaching, grasping, until she snags the fading threads of the man's essence. This will not be.