I hike up to the Hall of What We Shared under the swirling scarlet and violet sky. I shaped the great walls of wood that stare back at me with now-searing moments. I had come here with three things: a flashlight made of the future, gasoline made of knowledge, and a lighter made of will. I pushed open the doors as they groaned in resistance for what I came there to do.
The place didn't seem the same in the dark. The lights had just shattered not that long ago, and the crunch of the glass under my feet made me wince. I walked through what was with a hollow appreciation. In the pale light of the flashlight even smiles looked like frowns. As both the unstoppable force of nostalgia and the immovable object of pain collided before me, I felt nothing.
The vaulted ceilings and grandeur screamed at me that this hall could never fall. I know they're lying, but I'll buy in for a little longer. I comb the exhibits and find myself in the honorable mentions. What about you, little lights? I steal them, like trinkets from a heist. I had no intention of keeping anything else. It becomes more and more apparent to me that every second I look at one of these exhibits that a pain rises in my chest. I must destroy them before I feel. I know the me that will be is less reasonable than the me that is. I can't have him doing something he'd regret.
I approach the wall. It crackles at my touch, and I stagger in surprise. I'm using to burning bridges. You need timber, or gasoline. You need to start the flame with something and let it grow until it devours all that was. Not in this case. Despite their boasting, the hall knows its time is up. It knows it can fall. The earthquake had already hit, the foundations are gone, and the lights have been shattered. I'm sorry, hall. You and I both don't want this.
I light the hall on fire. My eyes track its spread with heartless precision. Eh, why not. I throw the canister into the blaze and the released heat singes my face. I turn away, and look back. Feisty little thing. I know it's time to leave. But for just a moment, I sit in the fire. I feel the heat build, the smoke rise, I watch as my vision fills with red.
I made it out with ash marks on my clothes and burning eyes. Alive, for better or for worse. I walk away from the building as the roaring of the flames and the crashing of massive wooden pillars erupts behind me. I had pushed in all my chips that this would never happen. I built the hall with my own flesh, blood, and bones. A part of me died with that hall.
In the distance, I see her hall, floating away, being obscured by darkness and distance. I wait there for a very long time. Just as it escapes my view, I watch it start to burn. For some reason, it hurts so much more. I wish I had known now would be the time. I wish I had got to see her one last time. But things are better this way. She's not completely out of reach. Maybe some day when the dust is settled and the ash is clear. But for now, the sky is dimming.
I need to prepare. At some point, I await with pleasing expectation that this sky erupts in violet light afresh and anew. For too long it has flickered and dimmed, in response to my cruelty. I'm sorry, sky. I hope to never see you dim again. You will. Just this time, I will try not to do it to myself.
I walked to the deserted temple, dusty and worn. As I walk in, I hoped that every lantern would come ablaze and I would hear the symphony I desired. Alas, I was met with darkness, and the echo of my footsteps. Fair enough. As I go to light a lantern, my strength betrays me. I collapse on the floor. Hold on, little light.