Broken Warfather -5minutefreewrite (x3)

For https://steemit.com/freerite/@mariannewest/the-weekend-freewrite-322019-part-3-the-dramatic-twist-1551502537

There is no doubt that this unquestionable order will come to pass...

The days and nights will pass without excessive delay. The chrome blades of heaven will fall on all who wonder and all who wander will ask where has the shield gone? They will last unanswered.

Shira read this at the base of the statue in her father's home. The five walls of his Combasq rose red above her head. The ceiling of red clay was so far above her that she could not even make out the tile dragons embedded in it. She pulled the red hood over her head, and hurried out into the snow.

Father had not spoken to her since she began speaking back. She hated her mind for learning to speak. She missed her father's voice. It was hard to remember the precise accent and tones of his voice, but she remembered laughing and giggling. She remembered he made funny faces. Some deep down part of her knew that with his voice he'd told her he;d loved her.

But then she'd grown up, and now she was a thinking, reasoning person, and her father could only speak to the thinking, reasoning people who were his actual advisors.

And so, she had begun to train in the arts of war so that someday she could advise her father and he could make her giggle again. The snow

December in Dublin is remarkably high spirited. The Dubliners have forgotten their past. When they were merely a bit of Europe, lost and lonely, they were a drunk sort of people. Not drunk on liquor, though that was certainly the stereotype, but drunk with silliness and foolishnesses like love and passion and happiness. If they remembered, they'd be ashamed of the joy they took in the everyday.

Instead, today, they only take joy in their success in combat. They lived through the downfall of humankind. They survived. And now, in December, they remember, for one night, what it once was to be human and at peace.

The peace the Irishmen bring with them home is filled with nutrition. They read the old statues, and pretend to wonder what is a

The loose floorboard, pried up, reveals a doll. Poor Shira. She wonders and wanders like those who are lost in the writings. Her little brother put this doll here when he became a logical, reasoning person, talking, and no longer able to hear his father's voice. He hid his doll down here. He knew he couldn't have t any more, but he wanted to always know where it was. Shira looks at it. Reminds her self of what love felt like. It felt like this.

I have to . I have. to.

How did you know How did you not know?

This is the worst of all moments. That moment That I've been taken away from the voices of my ancestors. It takes me away from all and everyone and every thing. I don't know. I know not. It all is everywhere and everything.