Random Word Inspiration 14

"Are we sure we can trust the Jackal?"

A perfectly normal question in such a situation. The Jackal was known to be a paranoid little bastard. He'd probably have scoped the meeting place sixteen times and just once more fifteen minutes before they even went to drive out into the middle of fucking nowhere. Problem was that his paranoia made him kill strangers at random, just in case they concealed a miniature nuke. Jason smiled as he remembered that specific day when the news reached their little gang, deciding to answer his loyal little minion "Not even if we were his lovers. Only time when you can trust a Jackal was when there was a risk of both dying. Like now."

The Lavender Prophet spoke about civil war being instigated from the neighboring countries. Jason wasn't one for superstition, but considering the Prophet's previous predictions came true he had to at least entertain the thought. The deal was simple, get him, his family, his gang and their families the merry mother of fuck out and they wouldn't send a loaded flash drive damning the Jackal to hell and back to the police. Now Jason wasn't an ass, so he gave a generous payment as well. For him, the payment was the deal, and the flash drive insura-

*BWOOM*

A massive explosion rocked his world, his spinning world before he crashed painfully on the dirt road, he couldn't feel his legs.

In fact, he couldn't feel anything besides his neck and head. Strangely, it felt very relaxed, as if in slow motion, how his gang got ambushed by none other than the Jackal and some military fucks he didn't recognize. He felt his world going black surprisingly quickly. At least he was going to die without time to consider his cir-

Psst, hey. Did you hear? The rumor about the jackal? They say it comes out at night, prowling through the woods, through the streets. It always has a sweet lavender smell to it, or so I've heard.

Now I know what you're thinking. How can there be a jackal in a suburb like this, when there's no desert? After all, this isn't Egypt. But hey, listen. This jackal? I heard it's the god of the dead. Yes, much like Anubis, the god with the jackle head.

I know, this isn't Egypt. But I heard that the jackal comes to those who are pure of heart, just when they're about to die. For you see, I heard that it can weigh someone's sins just when they're about to die. So if you smell lavender, it might be too late for you.

Why do you look at me like that? I'm only telling people what I heard, what I witnessed. Yes, for I have seen the jackal and he told me to spread his words to as many people as I can. What words? Well, he wanted people to know of his existence, to let them know that he is still relevant to this world. Nobody believes in him anymore, yet he comes and takes the pure of heart to the promise land.

Ha! You think me mad? Who can say? All I know is is that the jackal will come, but not for you.

His staff stabbed at the dry ground as he scaled the incline toward the summit of the mountain. His feet were rough and blistered from the endless walking through the barren lands to arrive at the place of his calling.The lavender fields and the softness of their alluring scent seemed a hundred years removed, instead of the mere days that had actually passed. Their beauty had given way to the ever green forest, where the calls of the many inhabitants had called to him during his solitary journey. The swallow and the jackal shared the spotlight as their distinct calls rose into the silence. Those sounds were his only friends but they too had left him as he emerged from the forest and onto the barren scorched land that separated them from the mountains beyond. His mind was full of sorrow and grief, and each step he took felt like a heavier load was placed upon his shoulders. Now finally he was about to see the reason for his call and he welcomed it. His mantle blew in the wind as he neared the apex of the craggy mount. He was thirsty but hunger no longer called to him. His eyes beheld the city sprawling before him and he could see people moving about as tiny ants going about their various tasks and duties. A swift gust of wind blew his beard and hair as he watched, then he lifted his eyes and awaited instruction. He heard the message clearly and his eyes fell to the ground and both hands wrapped around the staff for support. He would deliver the message, such was the calling of a prophet. To have the burden of the truth, and the knowledge that few would heed and even fewer yet would act. His head lifted and he began the slow decent to the city.

They call me a prophet. I don't know why, really. The things I know are just common sense, but to them, it's inspired, by some god of theirs that I don't even believe in.

And me, I'm just like a jackal, a coward. I won't disagree with them. They're showing me respect, they're giving me food, shelter, the best they have. My bed's decorated with roses and lavender, smelling much better than I actually do.

If only the guilt would go away, because the cowardice isn't.

When I was twelve, my daddy had a farm. It was a tiny little thing. Just pitiful really, but it was my daddy's pride and joy. The farm didn't really offer much in way of crops, but we had some pigs, a billy goat and an ewe. The pigs were mainly there for compost and the like, but my daddy loved the goats. He gave them names and everthing. Timothy and Sadie, were their names if I remember correctly. Anyway, my daddy took big precautions to keep his little farm up and running. He built a barn with the help of our neighbors and he always fixed the fences when they got damaged. But one day, he had to go to the city for something. I don't quite remember what it was but he left me in charge of the farm and he told me to fix the hole in the fence beside the barn. Now I was a teenager back then and my only concerns in life were doing what I wanted to do and foxing a fence wasn't on my list. That night, I woke up to the most awful sound. It was like a shuddery wail and a guttural snarl. I grabbed the gun out my daddy's room and heads d to the barn only to find the torn, bloody bodies of my daddy's most prized possessions. The culprit was a skinny little jackal that had slipped through the hole in the fence that I neglected to mend. TBC

I love the smell of lavender. A soothing scent that settles my mind and soul. I tend to get anxious and a whiff of the stuff will calm me down just enough for me to leave the area.
I ruin things when I get anxious or scared.
I can't help it because its like a flame to a short fuse and boom, things light up.
Last night I found out that lavender does not smell very good when its burning.
I did not mean to light up but he made me nervous then when he put his hands on me the fuse lit.
I couldn't stop the fire. Even with my tried and true methods of calming down like deep breathing or counting to 10.
When that idiot touched me where he shouldn't have, without invitation, and would not stop when I pleaded with him....the fire came.
A body burning smells worse than lavender. Sadly, I am used to that smell.

"Why is it called the Lavender River, Prophet?"

A sense of dread came over the aged elder's face, hearing the youngest of his disciples ask him of the past. Born in tribes and huts tucked by Berlin, they knew nothing of the world outside of myths, folktales, and whatever nonsense the Confederation spoonfed the pure boy. Feeling his grey beard tighten, the six-foot seeker of knowledge lowered his mace slowly, staring off at the winding river, one of the few beacons of fresh water still left in the world.

"It is said two jackals, one red, one blue, laughed and clawed at each other at this spot. Their tears turned into blood, their game into a dance, their dance into war. When the dust settled, no laughs were heard, no jackals were seen...only the flow of the Lavender River."

"But, Grandmaster Prophet, why did the two jackals do this to each other?"

A pause lingered, the elder's face turning into a sad, soft grin. Gazing at the bewildered boy, the wrinkled elder spoke somberly yet with an ounce of dark humor, as if the world found comedy in tragedy.

"Sometimes the simplest of games we play holds the most complex of consequences."

"How long?" grumbled the child who shifted impatiently in shoes that were one size too large for her feet, but no answer came. Irritated, the young girl huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "It's rude to ignore people. You said so yourself Prophet." she growled, now letting her furrowed gaze fall onto the elderly man. Why wouldn't he answer her? Why wouldn't he look at her? He always had answers to her questions... that was his job after all wasn't it? Her gaze lingered on his still form with his knees upon the floor, his robes splayed out around him. "You said the stars were going to fall tonight. How much longer?" she demanded, the intensity building in her voice. But still, she received no answer. "Father enough! Why won't you answer me!" her voice echoed through the quiet room, but still nothing. Anger drew her forward towards her father, when a blinding light pierced through the darkness before her.

Shielding her eyes, she stumbled back as a silhouette appeared in the light. "He cannot hear you child." a booming voice called out. Squinting her eyes, she tried desperately to make out the shape that stood before her. Was that... a jackal? "Who are you?! Why are you here?!" she shouted, still shielding her eyes from the blinding light. "You may call me Anubis, but I'm afraid we must go." Eyes widened and her feet shuffled back another step, "Go? Go where? Why should I go anywhere with you?" she questioned, though the fear that she had felt only moments ago was beginning to fade, as if the light was burning it away. "I shall answer all of your questions, but first," the voice was soothing, musical almost. Anubis extended a hand, "Take my hand, we haven't much time." All fear had left her, and without so much as a second thought, she reached out for him, stepping forward until her hand grasped his. "Where are we going?" she asked softly, her voice void of the anger and confusion it had been so full of only moments ago. "You shall see." he said in all but a whisper as he pulled her into the light.

Stepping into the unknown, she let her gaze fall back upon her father, only now she could see the picture in it's entirety. Clutched in his arms was a limp form, chocolate brown hair cascading over his blood stained arms. Tears poured from his eyes that were swollen and red with sorrow. "My sweet angel, my darling Lavender. Forgive me, for I have failed you."