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11:47 pm - 03.03.04
fiction idea 2
When the boy was born, time was ending. His mother smiled at him, a warm smile filled with horror and a deep love. He saw trees, glowing greens and blues. The world seemed so bright.

She stood the boy on his feet, he was swadled up in his mother's robes just a moment ago as her newborn baby.

Mother seemed older now, tired and distant.

He now stood as tall as her waist. She held his face in her frail hands, and spoke to him softly.

"My child, I release you upon the world. You are a son without a father, you are a son without a name."

The boy did not understand or question his mother, but continued you look upon her. Her hair was fading from auburn to a dark gray.

He stood as tall as her neck, she closed her eyes, mumbled something he couldn't understand, and he felt a numbness in his head, a rush of feeling, then nothing.

"I have given you a gift," she said to him. "It will take you far from here, back to the begining. It will give you a life, a chance to leave your mark on the old world."

She had trouble standing now, she leaned on her son's shoulders, now a young man. The world around seemed brighter, lighter, he could no longer seem the form of the forrest. Color faded into whites and grays. Mother seemed pale, she was moving away from him, without moving. He felt a rush in his brain again, he felt like a wind was blowing him backwards. Where was mother going?

The light suddenly engulfed the world around him, his mothers body lay down, fading into light, he did not reach out to her. He fell backwards, on and on, the light swirled in many colors before his eyes. The more his head throbbed, the further backwards he seemed to go. He felt things, saw them in his head, like memories. He looked at his hands, like a man, strong, thick fingers.

He would drift backwards in time, colors and light would slow, forming matter and energy, slowing to earth, fire, water, air. Slowing, steadying, at last he fell on solid ground. He could see trees, hear birds, smell the wind, and the warmth of the sun overhead.

He was in a world, without a mother, without a father, and without a name.

Time would crawl forward again, but he would forever drift backwards in time.

He would never have a name, yet men would call him Teacher, children would call him Father, and Kings would call him Merlyn...


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