Red & Blue - forgotten colors [maz]

[tovaana]

((takes place night of the day that he meets Siorreya))

Mazarakru;

There was one flashback of his father; one that he repressed. It was an uncomfortable memory; not that it hurt him to remember, it was simply that he didn’t care. His father didn’t want to have anything to do with him, so why should he want anything to do with his father? He had also been very young when he had seen the fiery red hair and bright blue eyes…he had been so young that the memory was somewhat of a blur, something that seemed less important as the turns went by. So, why did he hold on to it then? Why did he, in his chest of memories, still hold a place for that memory?

He lay on his bed, flipping one of his drawing utensils in his fingers, staring up at the dark ceiling. Maybe, if he thought about the memory one more time, he could let it go?

How old had he been? Old enough to walk, but not old enough to understand what the adults were talking about. Art, he did understand that – he had asked his mother for more things to draw on. She had seemed worried about it then, he was old enough now to realize that perhaps they had not had much money for luxuries such as art supplies. Still, his mom had gone at great lengths, even to call on his father to ask for help…

At the time he had seen his father he had been busy doodling in the dirt to really pay attention to what they were talking about. What had his father seen in that one visit he made? A bright red headed boy, dirt covering his hands and arms, dark smudges over his highly freckled face, eyes of his mother, lost in his own imaginative world… A world where the father did not exist, where fathers didn’t even cross his mind yet. What if his father had known that one day he would be searched and be a dragon rider like him? Would that have created more interest in his son?

Maz hadn’t realized how tightly he was holding onto his art utensil, because the shouting of the man’s voice in his head had increased, and his mother on her knees… It made him sick. Even the memory without words made him sick. The man had thrown marks on the ground before he had left, but at the time Maz had not known the significance of what that meant… that his father had unknowingly funded Mazarakru’s desire to draw and paint (even if it was with very few colors). Because there had been so few colors, he had learned to mix them to create shades for his creative purposes.

His grip relaxed as the vague memory of his father once more sunk into the dark recesses of his mind. Art usually had the tendency to take all of his attention. This included art he had already created, things he could create – dragons. All the colors filled his mind as fell into sleep that night, but red and blue seemed to paint his dreams that night.