The Rebellion and the Exile

Just as the dream had started, it ended with soft rain comforting Se’jus’ cheek. Her sky blue eyes opened, only to find complete darkness and the cold splash of the sea and the sprinkle of rain. The rain had started. The seas rebellion was now an all-out war, raging their offence against the dock and throwing Se’jus side to side with only a pillar to grasp. In a manner of mere moments Se’jus was utterly helpless, unable to find her bearing or walk off the dock. Incapable of sight by the rains increasing battle against her and its ally with the wind, Se’jus could barely muster a yell; “Numah!” she cried, trying to grasp for breath amongst an ocean of rain.
Numah, sleeping soundly in the cottage was awoken not by her yell, but by a clasp of thunder that shook the entire foundation of their home. Jerking awake and noticing not only that the ocean had seemingly taken residence in the air, but that his wife was not in their beloved bed; put Numah on red alert with the realization of where he left her.
Bolting like fire from the heavens, Numah jolted out of the door into the war of sea and sky. As if Numah had dove into the ocean, he was dripping wet from head to toe by the time he made it to the splintered dock. Se’jus was gripping the pillar tighter than Numah could the danger involved in his unplanned rescue, when he sprinted across the dock to his beloved bride.
“Se’Jus!” Numah yelled, as he reached her rattled and shaken posture, “We have to go dear, grab onto my shoulder!” Weakly, Se’jus un-pried her hands from the pillar and flung her arms around Numah’s neck. Limply with scarce strength, Se’jus managed to hold on to Numah as he carried her across the dock.
The wind, constantly blowing Numah off balance and constantly picking up, was flinging the sailboat back and forth hitting the dock in an almost perfect rhythm of wood shattering knocks. The sails were still up. An amateur mistake. The sailboat was going to be torn apart if he didn’t lower the sails, he couldn’t afford to let his vessel go, not when the storm was getting this bad. Once Se’jus was safely on shore, Numah raced back to the sailboat to try to save it; though the wind was battering the bow and stern in an almost perfect seesaw dance.
I must cut the sails, thought Numah. The mast was fighting in the resistance, as if it was outstretching its arms, defying the wind with its right and left arms, but Numah had to kill the resistance; the battle was over when it began. Slipping to and fro around the dock Numah gained his boundaries for a moment long enough to leap in the boat and take its will. Like a bloodlust, Numah fetched the knife under the cabin, and with the wind and rain taunting him to execution, Numah started cutting the mainsail. But just at that moment, like a designed plan seized and orchestrated by the storm, Se’jus screamed out for Numah who, as a result, looked up to see the prophetic anguish of his wife.
Not even a second after, a bolt of fire lit up the sky and pursued judgment on Numah and his little resistance ripping the pillar apart that was anchoring the boat and thus knocking Numah unconscious by the remnants of the fleeing unity of pillar and port. The winds vengeance was almost complete and with the boat loose and almost Devine direction of sea and wind, Numah was carried off ravenously into the void of Open Ocean.
Just like the dream had started, it ended with the nightmare of isolation and exile. Though the fog had lifted in a traitorous aid to the storm, the warning was sent. The deed was done. The gods went to sit on their thrones and left Numah in a windless, dry cage surrounded by false hope. With no cloud in the sky; a painting of stale water colors frozen in a dreary horror. Numah, with awareness rekindling inside his slashed head, sat up slowly softly speaking his bride’s name, “Se’jus?, Se’jus?” As if hearing himself say that word lifted the veil off his marred consciousness, panic, then, was allowed to seep in the cracks which, in turn, seemed to create the catalyst of full realization and remembrance. Numah wept. The saltwater was purged from his eyes, and then rejoined its brothers in a pool of sea and sky at the bottom of the boat; all individualism lost, and qualities forgotten. Numah’s eyes burned and raged at the destined fate of his unplanned sojourn, and when night fell, he slipped- in resistance- into a dream that was to be his beacon.
On the other side of the fog, still thick in vanity and loyalty to the storm, Se’jus laid on the shore, weeping at her injustice. Echoing in her ears was the sound of the silence now felt and heard all around her, as the waves mocked her with impertinence. Something that couldn’t even be rendered as a moan, escaped Se’jus’ lips with grave loyalty to her lost unity. One word, a desperate cry of awareness, and a mournful call to remembrance, “Numah.” With that, Se’jus collapsed again, in an almost lent against living, a fast in the ash of a once whole home; her wedding shroud, merely sackcloth. She dreamt all night, until the sun was shown in the grey hues of the lingering winter.