Lore, Poem, Scenic, Short story

The fire tree.

We’ve all been at the precipace of nothing. Though few know it. Fewer still have walked away from viewing the horrors of nothing and all that truly entails, only to stand tall, a fire behind the eyes lit, growing stronger still ’til fate sees it extinguished.

But fate can only sap extinguish the flames behind one pair of eyes. It can do little to the flame which makes itself as a seed, eager, ready and willing to grow behind the eyes of others.

As the sole light in the dark of nothing, made by the only something, the flame glows brightly to pierce the darkness. Even if it illuminates nothing but itself, it glowswith pride and power.

The nothing need not be visible to all, for many live their whole lives within it, certain that nothing is everything. But the fire can show beyond. The fire can bring a man to look upon the world and know that all is built upon nothing.

The fire can help him see that nothing is based upon something. And there, the foundations of a true world can be built. One built upon blood, sweat and sacrifice. One which stares into the nothingness, and dares it to set foot upon what has been made hallow by those who hold that fire behind their eyes.

And when the nothing refuses, prefering to keep captive all else, then nothing will face the wrath of flame, illuminated and exposed, layed out and destroyed. And so shall it be.

For the fire tree is not that which is found in a forest or forgotten wasteland. It grows unseen within the minds and hearts of those who know. Those who plant seeds slowly within others, so that sapling might take root.

It grows slowly so that the nothing might not be able to wrench it from the hearts and minds of those who would be freed. It grows slowly so as to be unnoticed.

Until, one day, the fire tree unleashes the glow behind the eyes and in the heart of the one in which it resides, leaving seeds of its own.

The nothing is vengeful in its merciless control. It cloaks itself in darkness, it weaves rumors about itself, each more absurd than the last, so any murmur of truth might be put down as not but an absurdity.

But the fire tree grows in truth, and in the hearts of those who stand, brave, and often, alone.

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