He lumbers, his gangly body leaning heavily, up an uneven slope inclined upwards for as long as his eyes can follow its length without turning away with deference from a whiteness that challenged the sun’s reign over the heavens, proud on top of its throne.
Raising his arm, he seeks sanctuary in the back of a wavering left hand, exhaustion weighing heavily on eyelids that temporarily yield, permitting him a glimpse into the darkness that would commence his liberation. Bowing his head, he murmurs into his chest words of a fading tongue and the world stills for a moment to listen, in reverence of his soul, his purpose. He had set out on his trek with a small bag of food, now a limp sack abandoned along the road, his tranquil guide. Yet each step he plants into the hill takes root and creeps unbidden up his stiff legs, tugging him back into the earth, as he slowly treads his own path through the vacant landscape, his breaths thin trails in the cold air.
His body knows where it is, movements quickening as it picks up the smell of grass at odds with the yellowing field, gauges familiarity in the flowers of dying trees, remembers his destination dearly while his tired mind drags along, a stranger to the feeling. Each blink is a beckoning by the lost child of a memory, interwoven with the blurring sights his vision affords, and as the ascent grows arduous, he grasps at the easy escape and exchanges worlds between feeble heart beats.
He turns dazedly, his whole being sharply, vividly drawn to a blur infringing upon the left edge of his vision. Within seconds it leaps into focus - a small boy with hair as white as the divine light he bound towards, the wind that rushed to pacify him whipping uselessly through the thin fabric of his tattered garments, as a laugh rings out delightedly, melodious yet untamed.
Something about the boy’s light steps, awkwardly scattered along a straight line until he realized they were fragments of a rhythm, a dance, something about the boy’s right arm, thin black lines carved so closely together that it looked like a sleeve of pure ink, something about how the boy looked back, eyes bright and smile stretched wide, wider than the rays of any light would ever touch, wide enough to eclipse the world until he was all that was left, made the man blink, once, twice. When his eyes flitted to the boy’s thin lips, saw his own name wrapped in the brilliant smile, tendrils of an inexplicable sadness crept around his dying heart, squeezing out a rasping whimper, coaxing out a trickle of stinging tears.
As the boy made of wax runs toward the sun, melting into its warm embrace and leaving him alone once more, he steadies himself, straightening his back with a slight heave, pacing his breaths so they were less ragged. The dignity that once defined his lone figure at the forefront of lost battles seeping back into his bones for one last war, he whispers the words he has always uttered as he takes another step forward, continuing his ascent.
In his years, he had been a man of little faith - in the gods, in the world, in himself.
Yet still he clings to the memory of warmth from one night long ago, the last time he faltered on the boundary between worlds and chose the one where he was destined to be alone, as he hears a loudening voice call to him, resounding at intervals like the chimes of a clock, quickening his pace until the world is the blur engulfing him.
When in the sky we walk -
He begins to run, limbs desperate for earth as he scales the hill, as it sears itself deep into his being, the sudden knowledge that he has forgotten something he never should have forgotten. He runs like the momentum of each step is lit by flames - the world encased in a familiar chaos - chasing the end, hoping it could lead him back to the beginning.
He runs, numb to everything but the words echoed back to him, cold palm cradling a burning cheek, soft smile fading into a perpetual haze.
- let us meet again.
I’ve been trying to write a novel.
…In all honesty, it hasn’t really been working out.
This is a little less then a tenth of what I do have though - I’m pretty proud of it.