Karma--The Darkness Within

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MadameBougie

Senior Member

09-10-2012

By MadameBougie.

Many people, when in the presence of one who has mastered the art of meditation, mistake their calm, blank expression for one of contentment and peace. However, that is not always the case--we are imperfect, flawed. We are like jewels from the earth, multifaceted in our personalities, some of us beautiful right from the ground, most of us in the need of a little polishing. Some of us are hard like diamond, but never forget that diamond is made from tortured coal, and what is now beautiful and shining has a past that is blacker than a moonless night. Some of us are like rubies; sleek, shiny, but with a vicious crimson color about us that can only be compared to freshly spilled blood. Many of us are like opals; simple, common, but each with our own original combinations of all things unoriginal, which is the true description of beauty.

~

Chapitre 1.

Life was never easy for Karma, though it would be unfair to call it hard. Sure, one had their own personal and communal struggles, as we all do once we leave our mother's hearth to venture out into life barely having lived much of one ourselves. Her parents owned a small antique shop, full of curios and baubles that had been either donated, bought, or found at sometime or another by the small family of three. There were shields, swords of the great fallen, busts of famous Yordles and many old leather-bound books, for what is an antique shop without the smell of old tomes? Of course, Karma's favourite items were two fans, both made equal by the hands of their crafter in both beauty and style, for with them she could manipulate the most gentle of elements, air. With one swift, graceful wave from her two fans she could perfume a room with the sent of the local trees and gardens that neighbored the shopping district of her small village, or she could make leaves and petals alike dance with the fervor and passion of new-found love.

No one knew, however, that her fans also acted as a shield from the terrors of the night, those most gruesome terrors that small children dream up when mother and father have long gone to bed. With one swift, sharp wave, without the grace known to those without fear, she could imagine all the terrible claws and maws of monsters blowing away and out from her home.

It was with her fans that she discovered meditation. She would sit cross-legged for hours and study the intricate and delicate design with such intensity that soon logic and concentration were lost to silent contemplation. She could find no other item in her parent's small curio shop to rival the perfection of her two fans. In them she could see the stars, the moon, the fresh flowers of spring, the beauty of a virgin snowfall, the majestic colors of the autumn forests, and the soft trickle of water from a nearby creek. It was later after she had assumed the role of the town's caretaker that she reflected on those many hours of wonderment and realized that the beauty she saw in the fans was truly the beauty within herself, for she was all of the beauty of nature incarnate.

However, there is a balance to all things in life, and what is highly beautiful must also be balanced. Karma saw the first tinge of evil not when she, in order to protect those she loved and swore to keep from harm, went to war on behalf of her village, but when she, on a warm yet cool autumn day in a small grove where she meditated in private, had through self-contemplation had come to understand the evil of unhinged anger. Anger in and of itself is not evil; it is merely an emotion that we experience, and much can be learned from experiencing it. But, as with all things, anger can be a medium for evil when it is not regulated. Like an unmonitored dam, anger can build up and break our resolve, flooding our lives and the lives of others only to wreak all that we hold dear to our hearts. This contemplation had stemmed from an event that she has witnessed in her village earlier that day; a fisherman had not found luck in the waters that day, and had only brought home one meager fish, not yet quite an adult, but one that would help quite the rumbles of a stomach that never knew the feeling of full. The fisherman had set the fish onto a table to prepare it for cooking, when suddenly a homeless cat, not too far off from being a kitten itself, leapt up and knocked the fish to the ground in order to eat it. The fisherman, overcome by his anger, an anger that had manifested slowly over a life of injustice, took his small, handcrafted oar, bellowed angrily and dealt a lethal blow to the cat Karma, who had been entranced by her fans, once again, nearby, was forced from her awed concentration and witnessed the poor demise of the feline. Overcome with a sudden rush of emotions that were unknown to her, the very act of having a rush of emotions being foreign, she ran to her special grove, her sanctuary, where she would spend many, many a day contemplating life, the world, and how it all could taint us all to the point of needless killing.

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Please tell me what you think by leaving a comment!

A few notes:

I had a friend read the opening paragraph, and he said it reminded him of Taric. As is such, I may either be incorporating him into this lore, or making on of his own. In fact, I might branch off from Karma in this thread, make him his own story, and then bring the two together into one story.

Please tell me how you liked the writing style. I mainly write metaphorically, which means I really use comma's too much, so please let me know if you liked it!

Also, in the opening paragraph, I used the term "blacker". You might wonder why I used that instead of "darker". I used "blacker" because coal is black, and I feel that darker offers the notion that the light might be able to overcome it, but we all have times in our past or future that the light will never truly overcome, and that was the reasoning behind using the term.

Thank you for reading,

MadameBougie.
_______________________________________
(9/11/12)
Chapter 2.

The sun rose, as all celestial bodies do, slowly and steadily over the landscape. Its buttery beams of light spilled unceremoniously (though is not the sun's rising like a grand cosmic ritual?) over the various flora and fauna that called the forest home. Karma was already awake, sitting on the bamboo mat that she kept under her window in the small living quarters above the curio shop her parents owned. Being up to meditate to the rising sun was something Karma had done for years, for are we not taught the old wise adage of "early to bed, early to rise" from the times where we are too young to truly grasp and understand the fickle trickle of time?

This particular daily cycle of the sun's rising was special, however. Today was the day that marked the eighteenth year of Karma's birth. In her village, the eighteenth birthday of a child was their Day of Deliverance, where they would be formally and publicly delivered from their parents and into the village, where all were to strive to help each other collectively, which would accept them as their new communal family. Of course, as the village custom was this very mindset of working for the greater good of communal brother and sister, the custom was nothing more than that--customary. Karma had been the confidante of the village for years, from the smallest of child whose small toy had been washed from their family's boat to the oldest of widows and widowers who still mourned for the final passing of their most dearly loved, for do we ever truly resolve the grief that comes abruptly with death? For the children, Karma would surprise them with a small gift from her family's shop along with some lighthearted advice to remember that small toys are scared of water, and should be left at home for safekeeping. For those who had lost their dearly loved ones, she merely had to sit with them while they talked, laughed at memories, or merely cried, and certainly a combination of the three, for just her presence alone could soothe the most ailing of hearts.

Of course, even the strongest of us are weak at times, and who does one confide in when they are the confidante? Karma had always listened to others ,for it came as naturally to her as leaves embracing autumn or flowers dancing in the breeze, yet she had no one that should could confide in herself. It wasn't because no one would listen, for the village embraced their custom of helping and loving all with open arms; she just couldn't allow herself to, for even the most humble are fault to compare themselves to others periodically. So, she turned to--and within--herself. This was no surprise--she meditated often enough on the problems of others that her own had bled into focus at some point--but there was a surprise in how scared she felt after. Fear, like anger, is a normal, healthy emotion. Its what tells us to grab the stick and not the snake. But, as like anger again, if left unchecked it can cloud one's life with a plant so deeply rooted that it chokes out all others, leaving no room for the growth of confidence or love. It was fear that drove Karma to question endlessly, powerlessly, the notion of loss, for was not loss the root of most troubles in life? We lose our toys, we lose our loved ones, and we lose control. Loss. Even the word trailed off into hopelessness.

Naturally, Karma had lost things before, be they an item or the more common losing herself in her own trail of thoughts. It was well known that, given something to ponder, she could easily lose track of time working on revealing a new truth. This wasn't the loss that Karma felt. No, she feared a much more permanent loss; the loss of life or home. On days when the sunlight, which spilled easily into the forest and houses of her village, had trouble spilling into Karma, she would gaze silently with a calm visage over her small village. The houses, built slowly over time as resources and money became available, and still highly resembling the shacks that they truly were, wouldn't last forever but would eventually with time crumble into the dust that they came from, for does not even the strongest of our materials in life come from the ground? The beautifully woven draperies eventually mildew or be devoured by the hungry larva of moths? And, wouldn't each and every smiling face, faces that smiled regardless of the hunger in their perpetually empty stomachs or the sun beating down on them, for the most beautiful things in life can hurt us, eventually join their crumbled homes and draperies as dust?

It was this fear, this grand fear of loss, that would drive Karma, many a year after this celebration of her eighteenth year, to volunteer on behalf and for her village in war, where loss is as common as the setting sun.
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Notes:

Please tell me what you think! I promise to start working in some dialogue as soon as I dream up some more events for Karma to experience. I'm also trying to work in bits and pieces of my own life, though obviously highly disguised through my writing, for if we put in bits of our past, present, and heart, do we not give soul to something so simple, yet so profound, as writing?

Have a lovely Tuesday, and please leave a comment or two!


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AerithRayne

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Senior Member

09-10-2012

I don't know enough to write a review on your story yet, but I'd be interested in reading more of where this goes. I will be watching closely, friend


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MadameBougie

Senior Member

09-10-2012

Thank you!!


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IS1c35b91acc2fd88f04ccd

Senior Member

09-10-2012

(ಥ益ಥ)

finally, FINALLY , i receive fan-fiction lore!

....

on a side note (pardon my jubilation.) it's well written.

Good job.


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MadameBougie

Senior Member

09-11-2012

Thank you! I'll definitely be updating it soon!!