Sketch the Stars

Chapter Five

Why's it easier just to burn than it is to feel?

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"As much as i'd love for you to eat as much as you want, we're going to have to start limiting how much we eat sometime soon. I wasn't able to bring as much food as I would've liked, because of... you know..." I watch his hands as he makes some sort of motion with them, "the whole lack of good food due to an everlasting winter."

"We can climb that mound when we get to it," I reply with a shrug. I like my food right now, and I have no wish to have to limit myself just yet. "Besides, can't we just find more of these strange, silver containers?" I cannot say I have seen anything like it before this moment, well, I may have at home, but I do not remember, nor do I care to.

I could lie to myself, and tell myself that I do not expect Atlas to tell me what the silver contraption holding my food is, but I'm far too tired to do so. While I glance cautiously at the outside of the container, I sometimes let my gaze lift to look at him, in hope he will tell me just what it is. I suppose he could keep it a secret. It would not be strange if he did.

I think he has noticed my strange glances, as now he is scratching behind his... left ear? Or is it his right? I make an L shape with both of my hands and press them into the snow. I glance at them, then at him. My right is his left. My left is his right. Yes, it is his left ear he is scratching.

"You're not even listening are you?" He was talking? Oh, well. If I can be honest with myself, I can be honest with him. I can be honest with him wordlessly. No verbal communication necessary. I shake my head. "I figured that out five seconds ago, no reply needed. As I was saying, that 'strange, silver container' you were eating out of, is a can. it's made out of tin. They aren't exactly a common sighting in the snow."

I shrug my shoulders, as it is the only reply I can muster at first. I never really know how to comment on my own inability to stay focused. If food is his biggest issue, I do suppose I could be of some help. "You may not be able to find those... cans... but, I've found that if you dig far enough into the snow and moontears, you can sometimes find berries..."

"I don't think we could last long with nothing but berries."

Sometimes, I believe that I truly do hate Atlas. He is not ugly in face or body, but sometimes I do believe that he is ugly in soul. Then I realize that so am I. Who is not? I cannot exactly tell, for I have not been this close to somebody in a long time. I am sure others have been alone for longer. These thoughts may make me realize that we are alike, but they do not keep me from scowling at him, anyways. If he notices it, however, he does not acknowledge it.

It makes me angry that he does not, but I do not act on my anger. If I am to be around him, or any others, for some time when we reach the Domes, then I must work my manners. I cannot snap at everyone who approaches. They will think me some snow beast. They might mistake me for an animal and feast upon my bones. At least then I would have some sort of use. I shake my head once more. "We should keep going."

"No, what we should do is rest. You look like sh- I mean- you look tired. You need to sleep; regain some energy. We can continue in the morning." I do not want to sleep, though. I want to walk. I want to keep going until the trees are in my reach and I can climb the highest one. I want to be high enough in the air that I can almost touch the stars.

I do not want to sleep, for I am afraid the winter will steal my life from me. It is a thief, and it constantly takes things from me. It has taken my mother, it has taken my soul, and it has taken away my childhood. I do not tell him that. Instead, I tell him that it is much too cold for sleep. He merely chuckles and shakes his head. I half expect him to open his arms like my mother used to do when it got too cold to be alone.

Instead, he opens his bag, pulls out a cover and tosses it towards me. "This should keep you warm." I am half disappointed, but I hide it with a whispered thank you. While I attempt to sleep, I hope that the cover will not only cover me, but hide me from death, as well.

Try as I might, sleep does not come easily, as it never does, and it never will. My eyes seem blank, but my mind does not. It races the falling snow, and it races my freezing blood. It overcomes the quickest of hares, and leaves the slowest of tortoises in the moon's tears. It cannot afford to be slow, for if it is, I will sleep, and my brain will just not allow that.

It is like the owls Mother once spoke to me about. They slept during the day, for at night they are wide awake. My mind is all the same, and I feel it will always be that way. Perhaps one day, I will be like the owls, not just my mind. Though, I suppose, for that one day to come, there will have to be an actual day, and not just night.

I tend to forget day does not exist in Nivalis. For as long as I have been born, it never has. I was born a few months into the break, when Spring should've been. I sometimes wonder why she did not name me Springs, after the season of beauty and bloom. I suppose, maybe I was to represent the before, to represent the end of all ends.

I will never know, for she is gone and will never get the chance to tell me just why she named me what she did. I do so wonder why Atlas' parents named him Atlas. I wonder what his name is to represent. I wonder if it represents anything at all. Again, I do not know, and I do not know if I will ever, for, if his story is told true, his parents are gone, and will never get the chance to tell him, or me, why she named him what he did.

I suppose I am to lie here until Atlas awakes and declares it time to move. I wonder if it would be easier to tell time with the sun. The sun was the day, and the moon was the night, yes? I am to assume, from Mother's teachings, that everyone arose with the sun, unless they were like an owl, and they fell into slumber when the moon rose, unless, again, they were like an owl.

I imagine how silly it would be if the day came back, and everyone was to be off on schedule. I imagine that it would be that we are asleep when day comes. We would never be able to tell that the day was back! Oh, how silly that would be, indeed. I do believe that it would be us who are the owls, and the owls would soon become like what we once were, awake at day, and asleep at night.

Instead of Mother calling them Night Owls, she would call them Day Owls. That sounds silly even to my head. I wonder if Atlas would find it funny. It is hard to tell if he would find things funny or stupid. It is hard to tell anything about him at all. He is very hard to read. I imagine that is because he is not a book. Even those are hard to read, though. I suppose that is from my lack of proper teaching, however. My home didn't carry a lot of books. I am good at reading for what I was taught, though, as is with my writings.

I briefly wonder if Atlas has decided to peek into my sketchbook, yet. It has been in his possession for a while now, and I cannot imagine why he would not touch it while I am not looking. I suppose that is part of the mannerisms that I have not learned. Well, privacy was never a virtue I valued. It feels more like being alone than having privacy.

I never did enjoy solitary, anyways. It is always much too quiet and lonesome. I prefer the feel of having someone to watch over me, in a good way. Not a ghost that is haunting you, wishing you dead, like the Void. Though, for a while, the Void was a comfort. Now the Void is something I wish away, something that I dread rather than love.

I suppose that is more of Atlas' doing than the Void's. I have grown use to his company and our chitchats. I feel like alone, for when I am alone, my mind speaks of wild things, as it does now. When I am talking with Atlas, it is quiet, unless I think of replies to his strange comments.

I suppose my mind is attempting to learn manners, just like I am. I do not know that, however, and it would be unmannerly to assume such a thing of my mind. Nobody likes someone who assumes, I assume. I have done it again. Always assuming, even of myself. Is it even assuming if I know? I do not know.

I am only confusing myself further. I am tired of listening to my mind. I want to sleep now. I turn my body so I am over the cover, and under it.

Then, I force myself to sleep.

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A/N: ahaha 50 years later and here's this. im screaming. enjoy this folks and thank you for all the reads/views aaaaaaa