A Brush With Death

The brush in my hand was an object I had become very proficient in, the hair I brushed was as used to the brush as my hand was. The Dream-maker and I share this private moment together often, something we cherish, the quiet of the night our only company. It is only in darkness that the Dream-maker assumes his truest, most honest form, as all do. The blinding, burning radiance of the sun, hurts him as much as it hurts all truth under the sky of the gods and their unjust mandate. Behind closed doors and shut windows, with his helmet carefully rested atop the table before him, the Dream-maker is seated in a chair facing his faceplate, the two often sharing expressions that make it difficult to discern which one's face is the real one. As my meager height requires the Dream-maker to be seated appropriately low and in my reach, I approach behind him, the relaxing task of tending to the mane of my hero now properly taking place. It is the least I can do, grooming my saviour, for all the things he's done for me I can never repay. It was one of the days the Dream-maker sought out some conversation, as our temporary home in the desert was but a step away from the unknown territory that was the jungles of the Shar.
 
"We are so close Noct. So close to starting our grand quest." Bellamy said, or at least I believe those were his words, as my frail ears are unworthy to properly comprehend his powerful and virtuous words. I smiled at his enthusiasm, briefly basking at his presence and letting his words sink deep inside my unworthy heart. "The dream is to begin, Dream-maker. A dream of your own making, a dream to surpass all dreams. Bellamy Bashira will be a name to echo in the annals of history for all eternity after our exploits here." I replied, desperately trying to find words to match those of the hero before me, or at least be acceptable enough to be heard in the same room as his own. However, it would appear my words had the opposite effect, one I did not anticipate. Bellamy, a hero of heroes, appeared rather disheartened, my own sorrow and despair seeping into him. Such is my lack of virtue that even the greatest of heroes sunk in my presence. A most disgusting creature is Noct. Despite my everpresent despair slowly filling the room, Bellamy somehow broke through it, fist tightening with immense strength, crushing my despair with the power of courage. "Yes, a hero. That dream will become reality. My own two hands will make sure of this." So said the Dream-maker, the immeasurable power of his spirit now overflowing.
 
With renewed vigor, and my purpose in this tale reassured, I returned to the important task of brushing the hero's mane. A hundred strokes of the brush each side, as was proper. Of course, my faulty hands failed me, the brush eventually getting a bit too close to Bellamy's face. His lightning fast reflexes stopped my hand, reminding me to be careful. It lasted for but a second, yet I felt an eternity away from my hero for this second, enough for me to frown in sadness and disappointment. Disappointment in myself. Disappointment in my abilities. Were I more powerful... Perhaps... My thoughts were swiftly interrupted by the insightful Bellamy, whose heroic gaze always pierced through my thoughts with astounding ease; in fact, he was not even staring at me, the Dream-maker's sight must have peered through eternity long enough to see me. "Go on." He said... "Things happen and sometimes we can't change them. Only work to change ourselves." Alas, the heroic words were too much for my fragile psyche and weak will, leading my eyes to be filled with tears of disgrace. In his infinite generosity, kindness and forgiveness, Bellamy placed his hand on my own and held it tightly, at least enough so for me to drain some of his greatness. I remember that moment vividly, daily, ever since it happened. "I couldn't do this without you, Noct." His words rang true, giving me hope. I was in darkness, safe, with my good friend, chasing our dream together. This is all that mattered. I smiled through despair, my task no longer as daunting. The rest of the evening was spent in silence.
 
As the Dream-maker was about to sleep and enter the world of dreams from whence he came, I couldn't help but stare with my unworthy eyes upon his strong frame, reminding me of his hard work, work that bore fruit, labour that was compensated to its fullest. Everything Bellamy had achieved was through hard work and great effort, sometimes at the expense of his own safety. Was I once the same? Was Noct a hero before? Was perhaps Noct once someone who worked hard enough to attain all he has? Or... Is Noct one who was given what he has, wasting his talents away? One ungrateful being, who has all the power he needs to change the world, yet he refuses to do so? Was my dream so weak? Is it still too weak? I know not. I only hope...
 
I hope Noct is not too weak
Only of evil does he reek
I hope my hero knows what to seek
Only of good does he speak
I hope he never leaves his last breath
I hope he never has...
 
 
*A Brush With Death*