Uhuru (Freedom.)

In the oppressive darkness - caressed by the nurturing touch of a gentle breeze - a lone figure stood completely motionless. He was a tall man with unblemished flesh of ebony and midnight. Bathed in the translucent light of the phantasm beams of the overlooking moon, he appeared an ethereal being; not looking as if he belonged on this Earth.

 

Obsidian eyes looked upon his surroundings with the intense weight of spiritual reverence. Those gem-like irises touched upon the gently swaying grass that seemed to ripple like the calm surface of a moon-kissed lake that was far from society’s destructive grasp. They gazed in wonder upon the millions of stars that seemed to flash brilliantly against the dark sky; diamonds of such calibre that they far bettered any of man’s greatest treasures.

 

He shifted slightly, moving from foot to foot, as he seemed to consider his surroundings for a brief moment. Even with that smallest of movements, the muscles in his legs seemed to pull taught, shifting beneath his skin in a primal show of might. His small - yet broad - shoulders squared, as he seemed to come to a decision after looking this way and that with a critical eye.

 

With graceful movements seldom seen in humans, he walked forwards with purposeful and fluid steps until he came to a halt, only metres from where he had previously stood. Now standing above a slightly raised hillock of soil and grass, he used the small escalation in the terrain as a superior vantage point to better take in the wild lands spread before him.

 

Although there appeared to be nothing significant about the small patch of earth, his shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight had been dropped down upon them. Below him, streaks of scarlet intertwined with the green and brown of the surrounding flora like some artisan had deemed Gaia’s work not fit enough and added his own creative touch. It was a gruesome addition, telling a tale of spilt blood and slain souls " phantom screams whispering and hollering along the wind.     

 

“I shall miss you, my brother.” He muttered quietly to the empty air, touching his long fingers to his heart and then bending down to touch the crusted soil above where he stood. “The years shall be harder to withstand without your presence beside me, strong and irreplaceable.” His deep voice cracked halfway through and his head dropped down until his chin rested against the heavy muscles of his exposed chest.

 

A strong gust of wind tore through the air and the man smiled gently - a bittersweet curve to his full lips - his chest vibrating as a small chuckle rumbled its way up his throat.

 

“You have done well for yourself, brother.” The disembodied voice seemed to sweep through the air like a comforting brush of flesh against flesh - its baritone notes seeming to fill the very recesses of the trembling man’s mind. “You are strong, you have stood against many obstacles . . .” The voice faded out as the gust of wind slowed to a gentle touch. “You are free.”

 

“A freedom that I would not have gained without your sacrifice, it is no cause for celebration,” the man replied, a heavy weight behind his words; guilt forcing his shoulders to further droop underneath its oppressive mass.

 

“Feel no sadness in this moment, brother.” The voice gently reprimanded him, “You have sacrificed far more - lost far more - than those of us who have joined our Great Mother and her Warriors.” There was a small pause before the male voice spoke upon the wind again. “Do what you have come here to do, brother. I grow weary and I cannot wait for you to struggle with your guilt. It is senseless, feel it no more.”

 

The man nodded to his disembodied companion, “As you wish.” The atmosphere seemed to thicken as he reached up to pull a tuft of honeycomb fur from around his neck, where a worn chord of black leather had held it. There was an almost reverent air to his motions as his fingers stroked through the coarse fur.

 

The very night seemed to hold its breath as he reached into the back pocket of his dark jeans, withdrawing a small, red lighter. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, before they snapped back open; black orbs flashing in the moonlight. His shoulders rose as he inhaled the night air deeply, seeming to take it far within himself - savouring the moment until it was imprinted upon his very soul.

 

Another brief pause before he brought the lighter to the tuff of fur and a small click resounded around the silent plain. “Farewell, brother of mine; I shall be forever in your debt.” His softly murmured words faded into nothing, a slight wavering flame licking at the tip of the honeycomb fur, sending a small tendril of smoke spiralling into the stagnant air.

 

He watched the innocuous blaze, eyes burning with a thousand conflicting emotions; sadness, regret guilt . . . and release. The minuscule inferno lapped at his ebony skin, leaving a stinging pain along the scarred tips of his long fingers - but he paid it no mind, lost within the scorching light that moved rapidly along the strands of tawny fur.

 

Silence for a moment, then, “Farewell, bother.”

 

As ashes of the fur fell gently to the soil, he released the remaining centimetres to be caught up in the passing breeze and carried gently away to join the earth of which they had been created from. The two voices melded together as the night was once again filled with the sounds of the night.

 

“For Uhuru.”

 

The small flame flickered, and then went out.

Author's Note

Again, Grammar errors do not need to be mentioned as I know that they are there.

Reviews

[gardenia70]

Hi Tash - new here. I think you've evoked the feeling that you want to with the descriptive words and pace of the piece. The third paragraph is my favorite, although I'm not sure what you mean by "a primal show of might." This is probably an unhelpful piece of advice because it's vague, but I think the piece would be enhance by fewer adjectives and more action / verbs.

I also think the piece would be enhanced if you gave it some context within the first paragraph - I'm having a hard time picturing his surroundings. Is he in a field of some sort? When you say this: "Below him, streaks of scarlet intertwined with the green and brown of the surrounding flora like some artisan had deemed Gaia’s work not fit enough and added his own creative touch." I'm having a hard time picturing the source of the scarlet, green and brown. Is the scarlet blood? Is the green grass?

[Tash Hill]

There is a reason it is written with so many adjectives, as the book picks up in the first chapter. Remember that it is night and he can’t really see the entirety of his surrounds. It is so very vague because those questions and obscurities are answered later on in the novel.

“Even with that smallest of movements, the muscles in his legs seemed to pull taught, shifting beneath his skin in a primal show of might.”

I am actually not sure how you can be confused by that statement? It makes sense to me and the
many others who have previously read it. Is it that you don’t know what the words mean individually?

“Those gem-like irises touched upon the gently swaying grass.”

I stated in the second paragraph that there was grass.


“Below him, streaks of scarlet intertwined with the green and brown of the surrounding flora
like some artisan had deemed Gaia’s work not fit enough and added his own creative touch.
It was a gruesome addition, telling a tale of spilt blood and slain souls – phantom screams whispering
and hollering along the wind.”

As a reader you aren’t yet supposed to know all the minute details – as I stated previously. This is a prologue for book one in my “Soul Companion,” series. Although I do believe “it was a gruesome addition, telling a tale of spilt blood and sain souls” that it was pretty obvious what the red was.

Thank you for taking the time to review this. And while I appreciate the effort, I just don’t
understand how you did not understand all of the above?

Tash

[NoelHC]

Wow, Tash, this writing has a very poetic feel to it. I found myself picturing the scene, the man so well. Quite evocative. Does this form a piece of some larger work? I can certainly see this as the prologue to a longer novel.

I don't know if you ever read any of Judy Nunn's stories but this story reminded me a great deal of her novel Maralinga, she introduced major sections of the novel with a short piece written from the point of view of the aboriginals living near that testing site. This writing really brought that same feeling out in me as I read it.

As I am a big admirer of her writing, I think you can accept that comment as high praise for this story.

Well done, keep them coming.

[Tash Hill]

Thank you so much for reviewing yet again. I have absolutely no idea who Judy Nunn is, lol. But I shall have to look her up. and you are spot on, this is indeed a prologue for a novel (hence the obscurity and unanswered questions.

Tash

[NoelHC]

It is a bit funny a Canadian telling an Australian about an Australian author. She is also a (? Star there. Check in a bookstore, and look at the start of Maralinga. Your haunting piece is so much like her work, and that is a positive thing. Her novels are so excellent.

[NoelHC]

Response above was from my phone, I see this morning I hit alt and not shift, so (? should read TV, here is her website. judynunn.com I see you have added anew work, I will check it out later today. Have a great day.