Alter Ego

If You Must Forget

Somebody will cry for you

If you must give up,

Someone will stop for you

If you must lose your way,

And I will only hold on for so long,

If you must forget...

This is the underground. The "end", as those who live above ground would like to call it. In other words, a point where those who have sunk so low will hide their discreditable faces from the world. Where no one can possibly find happiness.

Or so they think. I float among the ethereal shadows, studying each visage that glides by in open wonder. No pity or pessimism is present in my soul as I mingle freely through the crowds. I am merely an innocent, free to tiptoe on the blurred lines of humanity.

And so passes each day, where I am referred to as "kumotta" - cloudy. Since I have no name anymore, I suppose that it's fitting. Nobody knows me well enough to say. Perhaps it is my presence? My appearance? My nature? I know for sure that it is not in reference to the sky, which is not by any means visible here. I have not even seen it in so many years, that it is difficult to remember.

But today is peculiar. I can smell an invigorating scent in the air, something foreign, something crisp. It is obvious that it has been kissed by the sun - not only to me, but to several of the shadows nearby. Although heavily fatigued, we perk up right away at the aroma, the small group dispersing through the darkened tunnel ways, in search of that hope, that infrequent spark of luck.

The only escorts I have are the echoes of my breathing and the shuffling of feet on the chilled cement. I have purposely wandered farther away than the rest at this position. This brilliant purity, standing as the prize, summons me - no, entices me. I am content, but I crave more. And the fragrance amplifies the more I hunger after it, taunting me with each step.

At last, I reach it. After what feels like an eternity of entranced wandering, I am finally here. I gaze up, a slight twinge of fear lingering in my throat, at the seemingly deserted stone steps before me. They lead up into the light, I know for certain. The only thing holding the illumination back is a dense door of cold metal. While I am curious to see if the outside world remains exactly as the day I left it, I shrink away. I cannot leave here. No one would want me there.

A smear of green skips up and down in my peripheral vision. Refusing to move out of distrust, I continue to observe the action out of the corner of my eye. Up. And down. Up. And down. The pattern follows the same basic movements. It remains unbroken, each toss and each catch in perfect synchronization. I feel mesmerized by the effortlessness it seems to exude.

Suddenly, the movement stops. Shoes make contact with the concrete. Shoes - someone is here who isn't supposed to. Maybe by accident, or for some specific issue to address with us, it doesn't matter. This is highly unusual.

"Hello?" The voice is deep, masculine, but cautious. It holds a slight hint of youth, almost hidden in the complete sound.

I refuse to answer. He is definitely here by mistake.

"Hello? What are you doing here?" He crosses in front of my face. His clothes are strange to me - a clash of casual and...something I can't describe. I don't believe I have been exposed to much of it before. The edges of his jeans are frayed, a collection of rings embellished with dark images like skulls are scattered among his fingers. Yet with his fusion of clarity and shade, like me, he clutches the green apple in his hand - not too tightly, but enough to ensure he will not drop it. It is not clear to me why this fruit is so significant to him. So I give in and ask.