after all this time? you wonder. after all this time, the grass still smells of green and the sky still weeps blue. everything has changed except the dirt under the soles of your shoes. you watch clouds of memories appear before you in a dark, damp wood. the wind blows them away in an instant, nothingness taking the place of a familiar face, once smiling. you can't remember anything. with nothing behind you, you progress forward. the wind that stole your life pushes against your eardrums and beats against your cheeks. your tears are stolen as well. this wind takes your clothes and your hair. it is all you can do to stay on your feet.
the trees cheer for you in the voices of your past. it makes you cry even more, though you don't know exactly why. all you know is you must keep going. otherwise they've won.
eventually you come to a peak. you leave the howling forest behind. it is the hardest thing you've ever had to do. but now you are where you needed to be, overlooking a wide blue bay full of ships and homes and ants that could be people. you see other islands and two suns that touch your skin generously. one of those suns is black, hiding behind the other. you never knew the stars to be such playful things.
why am I here? you wonder. to your left there is a pile of clothes neatly folded, soft linen that smells of gardenias. inspecting the fabric closer reveals to you that the threads are inlined with the sun's path. how interesting, you muse. you pull on the clothes and feel comfort in the privacy that has been awarded to you. you pray in gratitude, leaving your eyes closed when you finish to bask in the sun, to savor the lack of wind, the presence of tears. cry now, you think, so you do, just a bit. just to try it out.
to your right is a pomegranate. you eat, grateful again, piteous again. your spirits have been lifted and so you lift your body, deciding this small coastal village is the next step on your journey. you have no idea what to do, so you take even the most minuscule clues the gods leave for you.
your descent is rocky but you do not let yourself wish for shoes. at least you have left the wood, where the weeping of the willows resounded in your very soul. or maybe it was your own cries, too loud, too strong to bear yourself, so the trees took on your sorrow to aid you. you thank the trees, if that is the case, while you climb down a mountain. it takes you the whole afternoon. by the time you're at the outskirts of the town, the bright sun has fallen, leaving only the black one behind. there is a moon circling the black sun, so the shadows of this island jump and move and speak. one grabs your finger and you gasp.
"oh!" someone says. you look at the shadow but it shakes its head. you look around - the nearest house is some distance away. you stand in a rice field. the moon reflects in midnight dew. you stare at it for a moment too long, and then something other than a shadow touches you. in your shock you swing around, defensive, hand curled and tight, bracing for impact, but you stop just short of a nose belonging to a boy with wide eyes.
he holds his hands in the air and scrambles backward. "yield, I yield!" he crows.
your body is taught, adrenaline coursing through every vein, even in the threads of your shirt. who are you? you wonder, what do you want?
"I - I'm August," he says in your silence, "this is my family's farm. Are you okay, are you hurt? I won't hurt you. So please," he grins sheepishly, "don't hurt me."
you look to the shadow, but it's gone. you trusted it more than you trust this boy. shadows cannot lie. you wonder if this boy can.
he takes your silence and wonders what to do with it. the boy always roams his fields at night, for he had heard tales of the shadows and always wanted to touch one, talk to one. it was said they felt as soft and cold as silk. he dreamt of their world. he felt part-shadow sometimes, in the land of the awake. he was always most alive at night.
he gives you a good look. "what are you doing here?" he asks. it's his field, after all.
you let your fist fall to your side. you flex your fingers - you hadn't realized you'd been holding them so tightly. you wonder what to say. you haven't tried speaking yet and you wonder if you even can. you've had enough of yourself, though, and this boy - there may be something about him. you need to find out if you need him.
I'm, you begin. but then you stop, brows furrowing. what are you doing here? you're not sure how to answer that question. he was supposed to help you figure that out.
that's it! you look to the boy, really look at him now. brown pants that hang just above the ankles and a black shirt that reveals collarbones and forearms. a pronounced nose, short black hair, tan skin, dark eyes. freckles - you step closer to him.
"huh?"
his freckles hide a story, you realize. you move closer and closer until he steps back. "whoa, hey, what are you doing?"
that question again. it annoys you. you stop trying to read his freckles and grab your arm, rubbing it in thought, wondering how to proceed. you haven't spoken in 1,000 years, it feels like. you know that's not true - can the way you screamed in the woods count as speaking? but the gods would not leave you without a voice. there would be no way for you to progress in this world, this quest, this life. whatever this is.
you steel yourself. feel the grey of your eyes harden. you meet his own eyes, black, black, black. infinite. like the sun above. "I'm," your voice cracks. you feel the scar on your skin sting and grasp your cheek. "fuck."
"okay!" he says, looking concerned and flustered and confused, "you're definitely not okay. do you want to come back to my house? I have soup, and bread - or well, no bread, but we could probably get some. there's also beds and, um, I have a, uh, bathing pool? and mancala, if you wanted to play."
your eyes widen in surprise. "Mancala?" you say.
