Wishful Fiction

Trimboldt knew he might very well be in trouble. Synkrindan had been hammered on for weeks by the New Age Plant council, pestered by the ever increasing population of small children who adored his shenanigans, and hounded by the Tax Collectors branch of the Enforcers Union. It had been inevitable that the balance would be tipped. Hardly anyone knew of Synkrindan's true power if he was unable to maintain that precious balance. Taking an afternoon hike in the woods to calm down, Trimboldt and Synkrindan had come upon an open glade where small shrubs and little woodland creatures were burrowing or furrowing the land, depending on their kind. Trimboldt had accidentally brought up the Enforcers Union when suddenly Synkrindan doubled over as if in pain. His already pale blue skin became more pale and began to shimmer and glow with an ever increasing luminosity. Trimboldt knew that the Good and Self-Control that Synkrindan always employed had finally been toppled by the immensity of circumstance. The balance was falling, and with it would come the potential for incredible destruction. Trimboldt could only hope this was one of the lesser episodes.

Knowing that to stay was to risk injury, possibly mortally depending on the ferocity, Trimboldt fled for the nearest large tree to seek shelter. He could see that the woodland creatures could sense the impending doom to their glade for they had all disappeared. Synkrindan was by this time glowing brightly; a halo of his body spreading outward concentrically was lit with St. Elmo's fire. Unable to contain himself any longer, he reared back screaming to the heavens as a shockwave of unmitigated power and energy coursed outward, decimating all in its path. Trimboldt barely managed to make the tree before the pulse passed him. He felt the tree shudder and pine cones rained down, only to be swept away in the blast. Synkrindan was still screaming, releasing his pent up rage. A good man, he had been cursed with the burden of so many others so that they could lead normal, good lives. The consequence was the inability to manage so much for any given amount of time. It was possible he would go weeks or even months without the need for the release; his containment was impeccable. But every so often, this happened.

Trimboldt heard Synkrindan suddenly grow silent. Turning around from behind the tree, he looked back into the glade and stood there aghast. Synkrindan was kneeling in the middle of a crater at least as tall as one of those small children who had hounded him. No shrub or blade of grass could be seen for several dozen meters. Glancing at the tree that had sheltered him, Trimboldt saw that the bark for several inches had been scorched or blasted off, for there was no sign of fire but for the heat of the tree. Slowly, Trimboldt went up to his friend and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, asked if he was okay? Synkrindan looked up with a look of both relief and dismay and only replied with, I pray every day for this not to happen for the effect it has on others.

*sigh* sometimes i wish i could actually release my pent up angst.