07-27-2015, 03:25 PM
There is no one else who knows.
No one else who knows the unique fear they exist within, the ingrained knowledge that their survival is a slap in the face to evolution itself. That they should not exist, should not survive – and certainly should not thrive.
(Does he thrive? He is alive. He has been alive for years. He has seen waterfalls and touched a wolf-girl and wondered what else there was.)
He does not try to explain it to the few he exchanges words with. He does not know how, and besides, it would come off as whining, as macabre, as bemoaning his lot. He is lucky to be alive, and he knows it, but he knows there is so much else, so much he can never do for sake of his papery skin and glass bones.
“Here, some,” he says, for he spent many days and weeks in the meadow, drifting. Then, “and the falls. I met a girl – Tyrna – and she took me to her kingdom. It’s safer there, I think.”
He’d seen the waterfall, there, and has since dreamt of its beauty, its power. It scares and thrills him.
“And what of you, Adaline?” he asks. He does not tell her he’s feared for her every day, but she likely knows it. She knows so much of him.
“Where did you go?”
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark