Sibling Stalemate

Furious energy sailed to and fro in a stalemate that refused to end. They faced each other with grim knowledge of their circumstance: he the younger, trapped for he knew she was his better in all measures, and she. How long could she linger before her hand was forced? And so they dueled back and forth, neither willing to relent nor wishing the other great harm. She, a mirror of his own mind, had lived longer and knew better. It could not continue. One would make the move. One would end the fight, and both would lose, and a part would be lost.

She was his elder, his sister and he, her youngest brother. Often they had faced one another in practice and in play, but not this day. This day he was her betrayer, and she, his nemesis. He, her foil and she, his conscience come to have dues paid. Too alike were they to surrender, and too alike was their affection for the other to cause harm. Who could last this stalemate? 

Her hair began to rise, the long length of it billowing upward like a great flame upon a torch. It moved with her mood, her energy mounting with her fury, the only thing left for her to cling to. He couldn’t stand the sight of it. And then, in frustration and desperation, he stepped upon the mine he’d laid. The flame of hair halted and then fell, clinging to her body, wrapping around her as if in comfort. They knew. It was over. He looked to her, as he always had. And in that moment there was found the one thing that could quiet her rage; the sorrow in his eyes. He had betrayed her.

The seconds crawled as his foot began to rise, her movements seemed weighted and sluggish. There was a first time for everything. And a solid blue streak raced between the two, faster than light could be. The explosion sounded dull before the fury came, rushing through the empty air above it. The unbearable heat radiated out, leaving a six foot rounded grave within the once-green earth. And there was she… searching the devastation alone. The flame would not hurt her; it loved her too much.

“Aihsa.” A firm call from the one she loved. Her eyes snapped to his face, and there in his arms was the one she had battled; the one she had lost sight of. As if to compensate for her stalled reaction, she raced instantly to his side, gathering up the unconscious but unharmed form of her brother. Her baby brother. The relief, the gratitude, the self shame, frustrations, and anger all melted and welled up from the same fountain, surfacing and overflowing from her eyes as salt tears. Her savior crouched, gathering them both up in his arms. He held her as she held her baby brother. 

How often must something be lost before the wonder of its existence is realized?