25 Word-Prompt Challenge

Subject: Re: 25 Word-Prompt Challenge Tue Mar 20, 2012 2:04 am

25. Aging

Sevrïn feels old. Old and tired and more sad than he wants to be. He is laying on their bed, simply staring up the ceiling as he listens to the sounds of morning. Neither of his Equim are beside him, but he doesn't need to be a brilliant engineer to understand why that is. The occasional crashes and shrieks coming from the kitchen are all that he needs to tell him what's going on. And, despite the hard weight coiling in his chest, he cannot help the smile that comes readily-made to his lips. However, he also cannot help the tears that trickle down his cheeks as he breathes out a bittersweet sigh.

He has had a good life. Harrying, but all worth it in the end, in his opinion. He's been blessed with a kind and caring brother, two wonderful, supportive partners, and a whole flock--Brood? Pack? Pack sounds more adequate, he thinks--of glorious children. He would not trade his life for all the riches and fame in Anoris Sanctis.

All life must end. Sevrïn knows this. He also knows that his own existence will not be ending soon, but with each passing year the shadows creep a little closer, and he has drawn very close to the finished, revised, and published version of the blueprint of his life.

He has fear. He has uncertainty. Before, he knew what lied after the pain. But that one detail of the great beyond has now managed to elude his knowledge, and that chills him to his core. It grips him around the legs, tugging him down and trying to suffocate him just as that pond did long ago when he was a child.

Suddenly, with a loud bang and lots of screaming of the word "Surprise!", his family bursts through the door, the entire pack of children rushing towards the bed as Phawnne and Knox support the weight of a large tray between them. On it is piled the most absurd combination of both edible and inedible food, along with a rather battered-looking cake (covered in marks from where several tiny fingers have stolen frosting). Sevrïn sits up, sniffing and taking the opportunity to wipe away his tears as he pretends to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"For me?" he says, clearing his throat in disapproval when his voice comes out hoarse and gravely.

"Happy birthday!" they chorus, everyone piling onto the giant mattress as his lovers settle the food down in front of him, all the children vying for a place in his lap.

And in that moment, he feels himself resurface, pulled there by the multitude of hands (both big and small) that lift him from the water's crushing depths. And he can breathe again.