[Author's Note: This is a story I started working on a while back, but got hit by some writer's block, so I'm starting to try getting back into it. I can't promise how often releases will be, but I'll be doing my best. I might also be Rewriting the first few chapters sometime later and Ironing out the flow and such.
Each Chapter will be roughly 3-4k words, though I might break Those down into smaller chapters, depending on Reader feedback, so please tell me what you think!
Also, if anyone is interested in helping edit it some what, I'd really appreciate it. I go over every chapter several times, but I don't always see everything. If you'd like to help, contacting me on NUF would be the best way to get a hold of me.
With that being said, I hope you enjoy the story! Be sure to leave lots of Feedback and tell me what you think or where it could be improved!]
The man lay on his side in the faintly lit sewer tunnel as the light sound of water dripping filled the air, eyes dull and unfocused as the water slowly began to pool under his head. Empty pill bottles and beer cans lay scattered around him; some still wet while others so old and dry it was like they’d been there longer than he had.
His clothes were rank with the filth of the sewers around him, but upon closer inspection, one would see a careful and thoughtful neatness to them; even in their ruined state, the man had not allowed them to become disordered. If not for the slight tremor of his eyes as they watched each drop fall, one could mistake his sunken cheeks, fish white eyes and pale skin for that of a dead man. He did not care though; he had long lost that ability.
The water continued, one drop at a time, as the man watched, each drop seemed to come slower and slower, the ringing of each drop growing louder and louder until the last drop, stretching out into eternity, the sound of it hitting the puddle akin to the sound of the world shattering, and then darkness.
The man lay in the shallow puddle, his eyes no longer following the slow drip of the water above. A silhouette blocked off the light from the nearby sewer grate exit. The silhouette approached reviling the form of an olive skinned middle aged man in clean street clothes and a baseball hat. He looked completely unremarkable – just another face in the crowd you wouldn’t notice. His eyes were the exception, they glowed with a gentle light, flickering with “something” indescribable. The man slowly approached the fish-eyed man with heavy footsteps that echoed down the chamber. The newcomer squatted down on his haunches looked at the man and with a deep sorrow in his voice he said.
“It is by the flame that gold and slag are separated, but when the flame dies, all that results are ashes.”
The newcomer reached out and closed the fish-eyed man’s eyes with deliberate slowness, and stood up letting out a tired sigh. The newcomer was silent for a moment and closed his eyes as if in prayer, before turning around and walking back towards the tunnel entrance. He spoke in a low voice with a smile,
“But while there is still even a single ember burning, there is hope for the Flame to be rekindled."
The newcomer left the dim light of the sewer and stepped back into the sunlight. He began to whistle a soft tune and walked leisurely up a hill and down the nearby road. A small raccoon hiding in a nearby bush popped its head out as the newcomer walked away. Deeming it safe, the small animal briskly ran towards the entrance of the tunnel hoping to find a stash or scraps. To its surprise though, there in the dark tunnel sat a small pile of nuts and fruit as fresh as if they had been just picked. The small raccoon ran to the pile and began to fill its stomach chattering excitedly, not minding the otherwise empty tunnel.