#goodbye xianto...

[a-writable-paradox]

Goodbye, Xiantio... [Short Story]

We were just sitting on a rock in the Fimbletrex Forests holding hands and facing the Red Mountains.

Five miles due south, a soldier reached into her satchel pulled out a bullet, with the a symbol showing two circles intersecting with an eight-sided cross in the intersection. The symbol of Capatia. Due to the gieakronian's unique nature - that they could not die until 1000, at which point they immediately did - the Capital had to design a special bullet that accelerated the growth of its victim, although only temporarily. If the bullet was removed before and the victim made to not bleed out, it sent them to age 1000, their body would regress back to what age it had been before impact, as was the nature of the gieakronian gift/curse.

Five miles due south, the end of Xiantio's world escaped the barrel, pushing through the atmosphere of Gieakron, and making it towards the target. The Blue Fields zoomed on by; the bullet did not hit a single blade of grass.

100 metres, and Xiantio reached out his hand towards my face.

50 metres, and my face is facing his, eye to eye.

25 metres, and he moves his face toward mine, cupping my head in his hands.

10 metres, and our lips touch, if only for a second.

5 metres, and contact is made. Ecstasy runs through my veins, as paradise builds itself here, on this ground. Heaven on earth.

2 metres, and we are oblivious.

1 metre, and Xiantio jerks his head slightly, feeling something shooting towards him, but it is too late.

0 metres, and the bullet has pierced Xiantio's skull. 0 metres, and the forests on Xiantio's head have exploded into a fire, sending sparks into the stratosphere. 0 metres, and the smile on Xiantio's face, which always lit up my day, fell just as she fell down behind the log she was sitting on into the bracken below.

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Five years earlier- before the War had begun and the Second Imperealis ascended - me, Xiantio, and Kraster were sitting in the same location. The sun, which our village called Zi'tia, was blossoming in the rich green and blue sky, baking the trees of Fimbletrex in beautiful orange fire. The wind ran through the woods, exciting all the little nebouri* and making them turn their small heads to look up for oncoming gryfosks**. Standing there, watching Xiantio fall, I could think of nothing I wanted more than to return to that life. A life of exams, of research, and of peaceful adventure. A world without fascist leaders, even if they were not perfect. A world with no war, and little violence. To me now, that world of yesteryear felt like a utopia, but to me then it just felt normal. You know what they say, you don't know what you have until you loose it.

*(pronounced neb-or-ee) a squirrel-like creatures with colours that reflect that of a nebula, and who's tail extends into the fourth dimension to allow very exact grip

**(pronounced gr-eye-fosks) a small fox-like creature, with vastly varying colours (predominantly blue or red) and wings. They hunt nebouri

Another time, I'm not sure if it was before or after the previous scene, or even if it matters. Xiantio was playing with my hair, stroking it gently and getting out his brush whenever she encountered a knot, which was embarrassingly often. Her hand reached down over my shoulder and rested atop my chest. A warm feeling, call it love, pushed itself through me, burning me. And the fire burnt away the memory to reveal, on the floor, Xiantio. My emotion-induced paralysis faded away, and the adrenaline kicked in. Save Xiantio. Save Xiantio. Save Xiantio.

I turned Xiantio over on the forest floor so that the wound was exposed to the air. Gross and pus-oozing, the cut reminded me of of the one corpse I had seen in my life, of my uncle Rava'thorn who had died at the natural age of 1000, but fell of a cliff in the process. I looked back on the minor medical training we had all been taught at the Academy, and put one leg on each side of Xiantio's body, and moved my chest down towards his head, placing my shirt firmly down upon the cut. My shoes were soaked in his blood, which was cascading down from the cut like the many tributaries of a river. I knew what this bullet was for it to have harmed him, and I knew how to remove it. Reaching down, I picked up one of the many flintstones from the floor and risked it all. I took the flintstone and brought it down underneath the bullet, hacking away at it. I knew this would release more blood, but without it he'd just keep on degrading and die. So I pushed and pushed the flintstone, which in turn pushed the bullet up like a see-saw. Push, and blood and pus eek out of the cut. Push, and the bullet gets closer to the surface. Push, and veins and arteries break, spilling open new sources for this bloody river. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the bullet rose above the cut, and I pulled it out, throwing it away. Without stopping for breath, I took of my shirt, crumpled it up, and placed it over the source of the bloodbath. Applying all of my weight into my hands and over the fabric, I held still, watching the blood continue to trickle slowly out of the wound. After some time, the bloodstream slowed down, but by this time his face had lost all resemblance of life. I wasn't even sure if he had survived, but I pressed on.

After fifty seven presses, the blood was just slowly trickling down.

Fifty nine, sixty. No blood.

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Now, I understand at this point you may be confused. I've just been pressing hard onto somebody's skull, that's gonna do damage. And you'd be right, if us gieakronians were mortal. But we're not. As long as we're not 1,000 years old (which the bullet can induce, along with failing the regenerative process) we can always regenerate, or "heal" from wounds. So the mission here was to stop the bloodgushing and remove the bullet, everything else would fix itself.

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But this was not the end. He could still have died minutes earlier. So I picked up his arm, still positioned over him, and put my forefinger to the vein next to his hand, on the underside, and the heavens opened, celestial glories enveloping me along with the transparent bullets of water from the sky. But these bullets wouldn't harm us. At first I thought it: I've got a pulse . Then I whispered it: "I've got a pulse". And in case the universe was playing a sly trick on me, I screamed it above the treetops: "IVE GOT A PULSE!". I jumped up and down, dancing around and, throwing my arms about. The crusty look that I hadn't even notice develop all over Xiantio's skin faded away as the wound closed itself up, and Xiantio stirred. Almost immediately I was at his side, and as soon as he could look up at me he smiled, and pulled me into a kiss, murmuring "where were we?"