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The trumpet was blown. The horn of effulgence stretched across the stage, shaking every surface to prostrate. A tiny child held that trumpet's mouthpiece at his lips, bent his pale forehead and inclined his reddened ears. And when the crowd's claps roared louder than the trumpet, he stared upon a man who sat atop a cushioned chair, ready to blow it once more, in case he was commanded right before he blinked. Yet, a barrier flowed before them: black curtains shutting a child out from light and most importantly, the man who commands.
That child still squinted towards the chair, hoping for a window in between fabric threads. For how long must he wait? Will this horn have to turn dark from age, his lips blue as oceans turn red and stars to fall into Earth until he may lay? 'Sign of Eternity', he recalled. That this body is only a sign to the road of eternity, how man should look over the skies while considering his true purpose. To see how mountains flatten with a smile, for eternity shall come—
"Tureu!" A voice rang throughout his mind – he disconnected from the trumpet, snapping to see the owner of that voice so fast his long white bangs threatened to jab at his bloodshot eyes. From there, he adorned the sight of his mother, arms open like wings of a dove and a layer of sweat shining along the stars hidden on her teeth.
Tureu gasped, "Ah!" Echoes followed his wobbled footsteps, a hand outstretched, a want tugging forward as if it were a leash. "Mother." Mother. It slipped out from his throat, croaking a laugh. Mother held Tureu's whole hand in her palm, taking a second to crinkle her eyes at him. Tureu flew when Mother hurled him up, swaying his feet and nudging her stomach in the process. Tears swam on Mother's cheeks.
"The Lord heard your prayers, oh child.” Tureu closed himself off from the Earth, resting upon Mother’s bosom.
Dew soaked through his robes, but Tureu played with plants for longer. His fingers twirled leaves of flowers, propped on a soil-covered boulder, bruised knees kicking against turning winds. Tureu knew of the stains sprawling in his white garment. However, there was one small problem with sitting around in the garden: children spoke using his voices. He cackled amongst himselves, bloated about rewards, ripped his physical bodies by fighting. Ah, but who cared anymore? He were entertaining. He detailed stories carved from Heaven, or cupped the devil’s trident and threatened to stab.
Today, most of him held hands, gathered into an eight-edged star, singing along praises for martyrs he had learnt from a previous lesson. Some pecked at each other's ears to tell… something. Tureu heard him before, his purpose was to hear! Yet he uttered gibberish, clicked his tongue, blew his nose. Again, and again, and again. Recited random facts, then winked from one eye to the other. Imitated a bird’s call, then rolled his left shoulder. He could’ve been dancing. A stupid unsynced dance, at that.
"May I join?” Tureu announced, walking towards the group of children, sunlight reflected from his raised chin. His voices dwindled down, so did the once rustling trees. Seven of the children’s eyes twitched and another four murmured slight sighs.
"Whatever."