SIM:MacKenna The Phoenix Must Burn
((Raft-ONE - "Smiley's" Function Room))
There were few things that could bite quite as hard as sorrow. Like a razor-sharp blade of ice, it plunged shock into the system of any who found themselves an unlucky descrier. Unseen, unmarked, unknown, the wounds were easily left for the flies, the maggots, the vultures to come and feed. And feed they did, upon the fragile psyche of what remained, pecking away at the last tendrils of hope that held together the remnants of one's mind.
A battlefield where the most fanatical pain transfused and merged with the fiercest detachment. Where the tears no longer fell because the void was so incredibly potent that is swallowed such things whole before they could see the light of reality. The pit behind the heart grew, and slowly the emotional instabilities began to manifest as physical symptoms - a dull ache in the chest, a moment of having forgotten to breathe and the subsequent gasps for air that followed, a pounding in the head that felt as if a team of miners had gotten stuck and were desperately trying to extract themselves.
It was all that could be done to fight back enough to just stay upright. With eyes glossed over and staring into space, it was all that could be done to hide the demons that had come out to pick apart every action, every thought, every moment that had transpired since what could be remembered. The ever-growing lightlessness of the Cimmerian shade loomed like a great cloud of obscurity. It threatened suffocation in ways that made no logical sense, but felt very, very real. And there was no amount of absolution that would pay the dues it demanded.
The thin form of one Intelligence officer slipped into the room apparently unnoticed, which served her purposes just as well. The less she had to confront, address, or otherwise interact with, the better she'd be. The fact that she had to be there even was almost more than she cared to face. And yet, obligation, requirement, and that which the uniform she wore demanded of her came first. Always, no matter the demons, unless there was an option to walk into the darkness hand in hand, to be swallowed by the twilight beast, then everything else would come first.
Still, the dark corner was her friend that night. Perhaps with the calignosity that often called to her, she could find at least some peace from which to support those around her. More nails. Ever more nails collected in her hand proverbially as she looked out at the spread. Rodan had done well. He always had done well. Perhaps that was yet just another reason for her distaste in her own existence at that moment. Her lips were dry, her breath shallow, but at least consistent now, her flame red hair fell around her face in just the way it shouldn't, in dress uniform.
But she was there.
Deeper breaths hurt, deeper thoughts hurt, remedies seemed so far away. The dull glaze over her once sparkling eyes seemed like yet another wall against a storm she wasn't sure she would be able to weather. And yet, to anyone looking in from the outside, she simply was a stoic, still, unmoving officer come to join the festivities in a magnificently awkward manner.
Loss, fear, these were incredible motivators. They said that for the phoenix to be reborn, for it to come to its full power, it must first burn. It was to burn in the flames of indignation, of aberration, misjudgment, solecism, and despondency. The flames would blaze hot, a dark immolation of the soul for every sin committed along the way. And so it must be, to learn, and grow, and become whatever was to become next. But there was incredible pain in the incineration. More than anyone could fathom.
And Ash was just so tired of burning.
TBC
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Commander Ash MacKenna
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Arrow
R238605KN0
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