The Wandering Bard - Chapter 4

         Violet eyes. No matter where she was, no matter who she was, they were always there. Violet eyes. There must have been some deal with the devil in a life long ago, because those violet eyes never faded, dimed, or went away. Since both were children, he had been fascinated by that rare color. The Bard lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling musing over that time, so long ago.

         It was the time before he had become the Bard, when he had another name that meant nothing to him now. Young, rebellious, and honest to goodness crazy, those were days devoid of responsibility and commitment. Granted, he was very much the same now, only older and wiser. While others had changed with the winds of time, it always seemed to The Bard that time had no meaning to him. Perhaps that was his first hint towards the role he would play upon death.

         She had gone by the name of Maria then, with as pure of a soul as any could find. Not even after nineteen years of friendship, as they grew further and further as people, three words would elude The Bard when they spoke. For ages now, several lifetimes for Maria’s soul, but only one for The Bard, they had drifted apart, and it was those cold, autumn days that reminded him most of those violet eyes. Those lonely days when he felt alone in all of existence, her words would tickle his conscious and draw him out of the dark. The times when he had no idea where to go or what to do, her hand would appear before him and point the way.

         There had never been a woman since that had tickled his fantasy, kept his heart, or driven him to such lengths, as she with the violet eyes.

         Currently she was away, living a happy life with some other man, and The Bard had no intention of changing that. She had suffered, with him by her side, in her prior life, in a world beset upon by war and conflict that resulted in her death. The sight of the bullets ripping through her body, a single specimen having the gall to damage one of those amethyst jewels, crushed him completely, and he wasted no time in hunting down the aggressors. They paid dearly, as the grenade the Bard held over them was sure to kill them slowly, the shrapnel doing far more damage than the blast. He, granted, passed away instantly, leaving very little that could be identified as a body.

         Only minutes had passed between their deaths, but no matter how desperately he searched for those eyes, they never met his. She was somewhere else, and he was where he was. Another failure.

         Sometimes he wondered if she were running from him, after each life, trying to avoid that boy from so long ago. He rolled over, off the side of his bed, and didn’t care about the pain of impact. She was too kind to do that, he knew, picking himself up. Something had to be keeping them apart, like a rival Bard or fate. Both could be fought against, but not without considerable effort. Another Bard would be problematic however, as fights between Bards often spanned across entire universes and even into the afterlife sometimes. Fate would be a much more simple conflict, as time would crumble any foe, and The Bard had all the time that he needed.

         But was conflict really the best way to reach her? In both peace and war, across over thousands of lifetimes, never had he told her his feelings. No, the problem had to be with him, not the setting. So what could he do? Immune from time, change had very little effect on him. He would simply have to keep on trying, no matter how long it takes. No matter the role, as a friend, guardian, or even a random stranger on the street, he would find a way to get his emotions to come through.

         “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.” The Bard spoke aloud to the silent room. The words faded away quickly, leaving The Bard silent.

         “But then again, I never believed in sanity.”