Ancients of 318

My vision is overwhelming with images that are both ancient and contemporary. This haunt is littered with castles from the Dark Age set as skyscrapers of today in a skyline beyond the mountain valley filled with proletariat progeny. The remnants of a failed culture glorify the west with ruins of iron and processed stone left lifeless with nothing animated to speak of. In the streets of the kingdom city gather thousands in celebration. They rejoice in their new found peace and offer lip service memory to those who fell dead to attain it. The tallest tower, of the grandest wing, of the furthest castle, plays host to a magnificent ball room made of marble and granite, where the rulers of this new age gather for their own personal celebrations. They are young, too youthful to remember the cost of the times in which they revel. But in the far corner of the room rests a small round table with three very old men settled in the chairs around it. The centerpiece of this table is a holographic projection displaying images of the old men’s past. They each take turns recalling memories of their fallen friends as they pass around a smoking-pipe and a bottle of booze. A young girl walks over to the old men’s table and asks to partake in their smoking. The elder closest to the girl looks up at her, his face is grey, worn by time and scarred by war. His hair is peppered and his eyes are deep red. The old mans voice is rough and crackled as he says, “Of course my dear.” The young lady sits with the old men twirling her pink fingernails around her scarlet hair and politely pretends to be listening to the old men’s stories as she continues to partake in the smoking pipe rotation. Of course, time does pass and eventually the smoking pipe is extinguished. After the pipe is put away the girl quickly jumps up from her seat kisses the old man, who invited her to sit, on the forehead and says, “Thanks papaw!” and promptly skips off without realizing that she just left the table in mid-conversation. The other two old men look over at the girl’s papaw with eyes of disapproval. The girl’s papaw simply states as he smiles, “I know, you don’t have to say anything. She’s only a few hundred years old. Give her a couple of more centuries and she’ll learn.” The old men then stand up from the table. They each grab their over coats and drape them over their aged bat like wings that are now too weak to fly. The old men then remove their wide brimmed hats from the table and place them on their heads. They then leave the party with out saying a word, realizing that no one even noticed that their guests of honor were leaving. Once the elders make it out side, they enter their chauffeured vehicle. The wolf faced chauffeur lifts his snout into the air as he looks back at the pepper haired papaw and asks, “Have you been drinking, Emperor Oberon?” The scarred old man shouts, “I’m not the Emperor anymore, that’s my son’s job now. Besides that, it’s not your business what I have been doing. I’m ten thousand years old and I have the right not to be questioned by the likes of a worthless werewolf. So just take us to the memorial, now!” Oberon’s friend to his right lifts his bald wrinkled head and opens all three of his eyes wide as he asked, “Why are you so prejudice against werewolves? In case you forgot your brother was a werewolf.” Oberon looks at his bald friend and scolds him, “My brother was a proud and brave Lupine! Not a werewolf! There is a difference McClain!” The skinny old man to Oberon’s left then speaks as he takes off his hat and passes his fingers through his short ghost white hair, “Your brother was my best friend Oberon, and I don’t think he would approve of how prejudice you have become in your old age.” Oberon then snaps back at the old white haired man, “Puck, when I want your opinion I’ll give it to you. You know opening your mouth when you shouldn’t is how you lost your fangs, remember.” Puck grimaces at Oberon’s comment as he adjusts himself to face forward and says, “You didn’t have to bring that up you bitter old coot.” The drive continues on without another word being said from the old men. The young lupine chauffeur stops the vehicle as he addresses his passengers, “We’re here sirs, I’ll be back to pick you up when you call.” Oberon steps out of the vehicle and hands a roll of currency with his own face on it to the driver, “I’m sorry if I gave you any shit boy. I am just not in the best of moods today.” The three old men walk towards the gates of the western ruins and stand before a gigantic statue of a dragon with its head held high towards the sun and his wings spread wide casting a massive shadow underneath it. The statue stands on a marble podium with a single phrase etched into its face which states, “Here Lies A Hero”. Past the dragon statue, throughout the ruins of the ancient city, are many other smaller statues memorializing the warriors who fell to their deaths during the battle which took place there. The old men walk the field searching for their friends resting places to pay their respects. McLain stops by a statue of a dragon with long flowing hair holding a flower while in a seated position. The marble slab on which this statue stands is engraved with only one word, “Desera”. McClain sheds a single tear and drops a white rose onto the ground in front of the statue as he says, “She was so beautiful.” Puck wraps his arm around McLain’s shoulder and with few words attempts to comfort his friend, “It’s ok, man.” At that moment Puck looks to the immediate right of Desera’s grave where the statue of a wolf howling stands. He points the statue out to McLain and says, “He died protecting her.” The two old men then look to their right where they see their friend Oberon curled up at the foot of a statue depicting a female vampire standing tall with her wings spread out, her sword held high, and two small children hiding behind her legs. McClain looks at Puck and says, “You know, that was some woman. She died protecting his kids even though they weren’t her own.” Puck then in agreement states, “Yup, she was a hell of a warrior too. Well, let’s go wake up Oberon before people start missing us.” The two old men walk towards their friend as they realize he is not moving, not even to breath, they then notice that they can no longer feel his presence. Puck begins to sob uncontrollably and falls to his knees while McClain crouches down next to him, “Puck, don’t cry for him…He’s at peace now… and he’s with the only women he ever truly loved. You know how long he has waited to be with her again. Don’t cry for him… he’s happy now.” The two then stand up as they look across the valley at the castle where their children and their children’s children are still reveling at the holiday festival. I suddenly woke up from my sleep in a cold sweat and all I heard ringing through my head were the following words… “While the young may revel in the fruits of this holiday, the old only pay respect to the labor which made it possible.”