Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > Just Smile To The World
A/N: Many thanks to Within Temptation for giving an old idea a new life. If you feel like it go and listen to 'The Howling', the video may give you a backdrop for the prologue at least.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own them, but I own everything else, for once smiles
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Witch's Sons
There was nothing but dust and rubble; all that remained of a bustling market town. Tears fogged my vision as my happy, childhood home became a mass of singed bodies and shells of wooden cottages. The marble fountain that marked the beginning of the high street was chipped and cracked from the sweltering heat of the raging fire that had torn through the town along with the invaders, slaughtering far more than any group of barbaric madmen ever could. As I walked, sickened and disgusted by the carnage around me, my footsteps rang out through the silence. No birds sang, no children laughed and shouted, no mothers talked animatedly in groups on street corners, no proud, young soldiers paraded the streets in their glittering armour. My own was as blackened and soot coated as the land around me, and to anyone watching I was nothing but a veteran, wandering broken heartedly through the place I'd used to call home. I didn't cry for family and friends I'd lost, my parents had died long ago and I'd never married. My family was the army, my friends were my troops. They'd left long before me, hours ago and soon I would have to leave as well, jump onto my horse and ride off into the setting Sun as I had a million times before. The death and silence was nothing new to me, but this broke my heart.
My horse's agitated breathing fading into a distant memory behind me I carried on walking, not sure what made me meander down the ruins of the high street. A piece of charred linen, still hanging from what was left of a window, fluttered pathetically towards me on the almost nonexistent breeze. I reached out to touch it, my own instincts now no longer my own as my fingers brushed across the material, my feet still carrying me on. I knew, vaguely where I was going, but it felt stale and old as if I didn't need to know, didn't need to be able to think for myself, just let me be almost subconsciously dragged towards the house that stood at the end of the high street. The last house in the town, the Mayor's house and the only stone house in miles. This town had been wealthy, when I was a child I was always proud of the fact our Mayor lived in a stone house, a two storey stone house at that. As I'd grown up and travelled the magic of that house compared with our little cottages had begun to wear off, compared with the towering structures I had seen. But now, looking up at it, black against the blazing horizon, its two chimneys rising proudly up as the fire scorched bricks glowed in the dying light I couldn't help smile again. Despite the carnage and the death the one thing that had made our little town proud still stood tall.
I climbed the rough stone steps that lead up to the door, splintered and hanging limply on its hinges. As I pushed it back a little and stepped over the threshold into the half-light I took a deep breath, suddenly cold and afraid of what horrors I might find. The wind picked up behind me as I stepped forward, lifting my matted blonde hair back from my face and sending it streaming towards the horizon. The door slammed behind me, and it was a feat in itself that it still stayed together, even after knocking hard off the frame.
The place was nightmarish, burnt remains of a metal stove and wooden chairs and a table strewn across the scorched flagstones. The door at the end of the room, into the pantry was only half there and on the walls, even in the darkness I could make out where the fire had reached before the heavens had finally opened up. The smell made me want to vomit - death and decay and rotting animal flesh from the pantry. The fire had left its own, distinct smell of charring elements and all of the smells together assaulted my senses like archers in a battle, wrapping me in a cloud as thick as smoke - choking me. I almost stumbled back, but I was frozen, trapped where I stood and struggling to break the intoxicating spell the desecrated room had cast over me.
It took me so long to move again, to force my limbs to stack up the broken and twisted scraps of metal and wood into a pile and hoist myself up onto the next level. It was something that normally, would have taken me minutes - I lost count after half an hour.
When I finally stood, up in that room I breathed a sigh of relief, closing my eyes fleetingly as I stood on the rotting floorboards, so glad that the fire hadn't reached the second floor. As I opened my eyes, scanning the place fleetingly a short, uncontrolled gasp slipped from my lips as my eyes came to rest on the middle of the room. A woman, with a baby boy cradled in her arms, sat on a mould invested mat in the centre of the floor. Her long, red velvet dress spread out all around her, but for where a toddler stood next to her, his hand entwined in hers. She was crying, tears silently flowing down her ashen cheeks as she gently rocked the little boy in her arms. She didn't look up at me, even as I gasped, and her mouth was moving, a whispered chant dancing from her crimson lips.
She was alive. I knew who she was, of course, everyone did. She was the Mayor's wife, and the two boys where his sons. I shivered when I thought of what could have become of our friendly, red faced Mayor but why then, had they not killed his beautiful wife? She should be dead, lying sprawled on the floor, raped and ravaged by the bastards that had ruined her town. Her two boys should be cold in their graves now - but they weren't. They were alive - the last survivors of a flame devoured town.
As I thought, she looked up at me, her big, doe brown eyes filled with tears and she seemed to freeze me to the core. Trapped again by an unspoken spell I was rooted to the spot once more, feeling helpless. She was a witch, of course and everyone knew it. Not only was she a foreigner but she had birthed her two sons without pain, so the midwives said. She could cure anything and no matter how the years flew by she never aged; still as flawless and pretty as she had been when the Mayor's mother had brought her to that town when I was just a boy. Neither of her sons stirred as she spoke to me, her voice cracked and tired - not as singsong as I always remembered it.
"Take them." She whispered to me, her eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow. "Take them with you - take them away."
My breathing seemed to amplify as she got gracefully to her feet, her dark hair flowing down her back as her dress rustled with the movement, creased as if she had been sitting there for days. She stepped towards me, her bare feet making no sound against the wood and gently passed the baby to me. The linen stood out, white and pure against my blackened armour and dirty, blood stained cream shirt. The older boy still clung to his mother but she prized her hand from his grasp and laid it into my other hand. I didn't move, just let her give her two little sons to me with a heart-rending smile. She seemed to nod when she had finished and then looked back up at me.
"Jared." She pointed to the baby, her fingers white and slender "Shannon." She continued, gesturing to the infant "They..." She seemed to pause, searching for the words she needed to make me understand her. "Will...save you." She finished, smiling fleetingly as she reached up and gently laid a kiss on my cheek. Her lips were warm compared with the cold of the room and the kiss lingered for too long afterwards.
Then she was gone. Disappeared into thin air, one moment she was there and the next she was not, evaporated like a dream. But as Shannon started to cry, still holding onto my hand, I knew it was a dream I would never wake up from.
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Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own them, but I own everything else, for once smiles
---------------------------------
Witch's Sons
There was nothing but dust and rubble; all that remained of a bustling market town. Tears fogged my vision as my happy, childhood home became a mass of singed bodies and shells of wooden cottages. The marble fountain that marked the beginning of the high street was chipped and cracked from the sweltering heat of the raging fire that had torn through the town along with the invaders, slaughtering far more than any group of barbaric madmen ever could. As I walked, sickened and disgusted by the carnage around me, my footsteps rang out through the silence. No birds sang, no children laughed and shouted, no mothers talked animatedly in groups on street corners, no proud, young soldiers paraded the streets in their glittering armour. My own was as blackened and soot coated as the land around me, and to anyone watching I was nothing but a veteran, wandering broken heartedly through the place I'd used to call home. I didn't cry for family and friends I'd lost, my parents had died long ago and I'd never married. My family was the army, my friends were my troops. They'd left long before me, hours ago and soon I would have to leave as well, jump onto my horse and ride off into the setting Sun as I had a million times before. The death and silence was nothing new to me, but this broke my heart.
My horse's agitated breathing fading into a distant memory behind me I carried on walking, not sure what made me meander down the ruins of the high street. A piece of charred linen, still hanging from what was left of a window, fluttered pathetically towards me on the almost nonexistent breeze. I reached out to touch it, my own instincts now no longer my own as my fingers brushed across the material, my feet still carrying me on. I knew, vaguely where I was going, but it felt stale and old as if I didn't need to know, didn't need to be able to think for myself, just let me be almost subconsciously dragged towards the house that stood at the end of the high street. The last house in the town, the Mayor's house and the only stone house in miles. This town had been wealthy, when I was a child I was always proud of the fact our Mayor lived in a stone house, a two storey stone house at that. As I'd grown up and travelled the magic of that house compared with our little cottages had begun to wear off, compared with the towering structures I had seen. But now, looking up at it, black against the blazing horizon, its two chimneys rising proudly up as the fire scorched bricks glowed in the dying light I couldn't help smile again. Despite the carnage and the death the one thing that had made our little town proud still stood tall.
I climbed the rough stone steps that lead up to the door, splintered and hanging limply on its hinges. As I pushed it back a little and stepped over the threshold into the half-light I took a deep breath, suddenly cold and afraid of what horrors I might find. The wind picked up behind me as I stepped forward, lifting my matted blonde hair back from my face and sending it streaming towards the horizon. The door slammed behind me, and it was a feat in itself that it still stayed together, even after knocking hard off the frame.
The place was nightmarish, burnt remains of a metal stove and wooden chairs and a table strewn across the scorched flagstones. The door at the end of the room, into the pantry was only half there and on the walls, even in the darkness I could make out where the fire had reached before the heavens had finally opened up. The smell made me want to vomit - death and decay and rotting animal flesh from the pantry. The fire had left its own, distinct smell of charring elements and all of the smells together assaulted my senses like archers in a battle, wrapping me in a cloud as thick as smoke - choking me. I almost stumbled back, but I was frozen, trapped where I stood and struggling to break the intoxicating spell the desecrated room had cast over me.
It took me so long to move again, to force my limbs to stack up the broken and twisted scraps of metal and wood into a pile and hoist myself up onto the next level. It was something that normally, would have taken me minutes - I lost count after half an hour.
When I finally stood, up in that room I breathed a sigh of relief, closing my eyes fleetingly as I stood on the rotting floorboards, so glad that the fire hadn't reached the second floor. As I opened my eyes, scanning the place fleetingly a short, uncontrolled gasp slipped from my lips as my eyes came to rest on the middle of the room. A woman, with a baby boy cradled in her arms, sat on a mould invested mat in the centre of the floor. Her long, red velvet dress spread out all around her, but for where a toddler stood next to her, his hand entwined in hers. She was crying, tears silently flowing down her ashen cheeks as she gently rocked the little boy in her arms. She didn't look up at me, even as I gasped, and her mouth was moving, a whispered chant dancing from her crimson lips.
She was alive. I knew who she was, of course, everyone did. She was the Mayor's wife, and the two boys where his sons. I shivered when I thought of what could have become of our friendly, red faced Mayor but why then, had they not killed his beautiful wife? She should be dead, lying sprawled on the floor, raped and ravaged by the bastards that had ruined her town. Her two boys should be cold in their graves now - but they weren't. They were alive - the last survivors of a flame devoured town.
As I thought, she looked up at me, her big, doe brown eyes filled with tears and she seemed to freeze me to the core. Trapped again by an unspoken spell I was rooted to the spot once more, feeling helpless. She was a witch, of course and everyone knew it. Not only was she a foreigner but she had birthed her two sons without pain, so the midwives said. She could cure anything and no matter how the years flew by she never aged; still as flawless and pretty as she had been when the Mayor's mother had brought her to that town when I was just a boy. Neither of her sons stirred as she spoke to me, her voice cracked and tired - not as singsong as I always remembered it.
"Take them." She whispered to me, her eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow. "Take them with you - take them away."
My breathing seemed to amplify as she got gracefully to her feet, her dark hair flowing down her back as her dress rustled with the movement, creased as if she had been sitting there for days. She stepped towards me, her bare feet making no sound against the wood and gently passed the baby to me. The linen stood out, white and pure against my blackened armour and dirty, blood stained cream shirt. The older boy still clung to his mother but she prized her hand from his grasp and laid it into my other hand. I didn't move, just let her give her two little sons to me with a heart-rending smile. She seemed to nod when she had finished and then looked back up at me.
"Jared." She pointed to the baby, her fingers white and slender "Shannon." She continued, gesturing to the infant "They..." She seemed to pause, searching for the words she needed to make me understand her. "Will...save you." She finished, smiling fleetingly as she reached up and gently laid a kiss on my cheek. Her lips were warm compared with the cold of the room and the kiss lingered for too long afterwards.
Then she was gone. Disappeared into thin air, one moment she was there and the next she was not, evaporated like a dream. But as Shannon started to cry, still holding onto my hand, I knew it was a dream I would never wake up from.
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