Pandora’s Box - Gift

From a deep dark place in the woods, the sound of thunder cracks like a whip, piercing the darkness and snapping the silence within its density. The nocturnal critters and animals alike scurry for shelter. A blasting wind follows, rushing violently through the thick brush, streaming past the tall trees, chipping the bark from their trunk, and abruptly halts to a gentle breeze. Out from under the mist emerges an unknown figure.

It’s still unclear whether this form was human, male, female, or quite possibly something else. The shape continued onward in its path, through a mix of evergreen trees. At first appearance, the silhouette seemed to move unaware trying to collect its directional bearings, lost and unsure. Then from out of the blackness, we begin to see the human in plain sight showing full awareness of his location and his surroundings!

Barely standing before him laid the partial ruins of an abandoned cabin. Cautiously reaching the entrance, he pushes the wooden door ajar peeking around the crack, hoping to get a better visual. He’s greeted coldly with a blanket of blinding darkness and the stench of spent ammunition; gun powder blended with freshly spilt blood!

He diligently stepped past the divide then quietly closed the door behind him. His next few steps were taken lightly trying to avoid trouncing on areas that may require increased attention.

Deliberate in his tracking pattern, meticulous with each step when he promptly stopped. Something rose in him, creeping over his skin, like the tickling feeling of tiny insect legs crawling on the back of his neck.

He quickly jerked, spinning to face his bloody gut instinct, snapped his arm at the elbow, springing his wrist and fingers to life. When a spark shot from inside his open palm, igniting like the twinkling flame of a candle. The tiny ball of fire flared, erupted, and spread rapidly around his fingers then the flame engulfed the rest of his hand into blazing orange.

The room brightly illuminated into view and it hurt him to see the devastation and carnage left behind. He felt disgusted with himself and believed he may have been at fault.

Looking across the destruction he realized the truth, he could never control the choices and the actions of others. The only part he would play was deciding to change and help those he still could. Glancing abroad the chaos within the four corners of the room, it was hard to tell how many soldiers entered this cabin, he could however see the remains of three, possibly four male bodies, strewn and strung out about the wrecked space.

All he could hope for was to correct this tragedy. He bent down slowly to gauge the extent of one soldiers’ injuries. Carefully assessing the lifeless body, he delicately rolled the cadaver onto its side; it was riddled with bullet holes, some lodged deep within the muscle tissue of his chest while others exited through parts of his torso and back.

Flicking his wrist, the orange flame burst brightly, cackling louder with a rush of added oxygen then suddenly transformed in colour. A cool calming blue flame replaced the more vigorous orange.

Placing his hand widely on the dead man’s chest, the lifeless form kicked up as it had just been jolted with a three-thousand-volt charge from a defibrillator. The body started up and continued to vibrate, almost to a hum. The aqua flame gathered momentum smothering the deceased in a crystallise.

By some strange force or profound law of nature, the deep holes began to soak and fill with pools of blood, squishing noises like a wet sponge lifted into the silence. Then miraculously the bullets unearthed, revealing themselves spinning reversely in a counter-clockwise fashion, one by one they tunnelled out from their entry.

As the unusually gifted Samaritan continued to purge the rounds from its victim. The glowing ember surrounded the soldier and the unknown civilian moved onward in his search to carry another opportunity for another.

Shifting some debris around, he sifts through the remnants of crushed appliances and splintered furniture scattered about the room. He uncovered the next set of remains, but the bodies were so badly ravaged that they were beyond his ability to restore. “Only God can help them now” he muttered.

Pushing a cabinet aside then sliding some more rubble clear, he discovers another soldier lying flat on the floor and presumably, face down. A slight breath of relief fills his lungs with the sense of another possibility to help heal somebody else, but the idea was short-lived and unfortunately, the only thing he found was a disappointment.

His latest find was one of the gruesome proportions, the headless remains of one major Kramer! Bowled over by heartache, he forged ahead, plugging away to clear more garbage from his path. The determined individual kept vigilant, hunting for persons he could revive and just a few feet from major Kramer's decapitated corpse was another soldier.

Leaning in to further inspect the limp body, he saw that this one had numerous bullet wounds, many across the chest, one lodged in his neck, and another entry wound at the base of his skull.

“At least this guy has a head,” he quirked to himself trying to ease the moment, but he knew the seriousness of this delicate scenario and the extent of the injuries to this man would take far more time to reverse.

With another quick jolt of his right arm, a blue flame ruptured from the centre of his palm. He tenderly placed the hand upon the dead man's face holding it by the head; it started to jitter in his grasp. A quick alternating jerk from his left wrist and a third colour blasted outward from the middle. The burning deep red flame started glowing brighter, warmly lighting up the room.

The head became submerged beneath the radiance of both hands. Under his touch, the two colours converged creating a fourth. The blend formed a secondary violet flame. The gentle simmer from that light engulfed the head while the original blue flickered along, crawling rapidly surrounding the body, shrouding it completely.

And identically to the first soldier he discovered, corralled him also under a sapphire healing phase. The man’s body had also begun to relinquish those same piercing fragments that ended his life. One by one the slugs vibrated from the flesh it penetrated, dislodging themselves from captivity.

A sudden snap, click, clack sound severed the once tranquil silence...

“You don’t want to do that” spoke the strange gentlemen, when simultaneously the gun was fired, a single shot rang. The hurtling projectile raced towards his direction but somehow didn’t reach the mark. The bullet burst igniting like magnesium, burning out and falling short of the intended target.

There across the way, miraculously stood the primary soldier. He was afraid, confused, and astounded by the improbability of his survival. Worriedly he asked, “who are you?” trying to maintain the pistol in his visibly trembling hands.

“Put your gun down!” the healer calmly insisted, while he continued to aid with repairing the carnage left behind by some others frightening gifts. He began to explain, “all you need to know is, I’m here to help you,” he said, “but I’m also here to warn you,” he closed.

He stood up, turned to face the jarred soldier, and then glanced at the gun, now held by his hip.

The healing stranger motioned to the left with his eyes, suggesting that it would best if the soldier lose his firearm. Recognizing the request, he pushed the safety in place and tossed it aside.

“Tell your superiors to stop looking for us!” he spoke with some agitation.

“Us?” repeated the soldier curiously, “but ho?”

“Yes!” he responded abruptly, cutting off his questioning. Then proceeded to say, “Some of us, do not wish to be found, we only want to be left alone, to live our years normally, like you.”

“But how...” the soldier paused momentarily gathering the scene around the room and the devastation that surrounded them, before finally completed asking, “did this happen?” following his question with another, “And why are you helping us?”

He genuinely replied, “we’re not all this bad, but as I mentioned moments ago, there are some not interested to be investigated, bothered, or sought after.” He said while making a path towards the door.

“How many of you are out there?” the soldier fearfully questioned.

Struck by the query, the Samaritan said, “some days I think we’re not enough.”

“My name is John,” blurted out the soldier, “John Wincott, by the way,” passing along his name to the stranger before he made his exit.

“And what’s your name?” the healed man stammered over top of his words.

“Call me, Midas!” he responded.

“Midas?” he echoed.

“Why Midas?” with confusion sweeping across his face.

Aggravated by the extra questioning, he composed himself to answer “I choose to conceal my true identity, to keep those I care about out of harm's way and from organizations as yours, so when I say you’ve been warned, I mean it!”

But before John could thank him for saving his life or rather bringing him back to life, the man named Midas disappeared, stolen between the flash of lightning and the sound of rolling thunder.