mine.
I don’t have time to answer before I hear whispers in my mind.
“I’ll show you.” His breath puffs against my lips. The whispers grow louder and I realize they’re his. That they were what I heard outside the forest and approaching the house. That he was the one asking for help all along. Not her.
The whispers weave around my mind like vines and then something happens to me that never has before. I live his memory.
Chapter 9
I am Tristan. I am hiding in the house, in a corner by the fireplace. I am one with the darkness. I have no body. I feel the dull, exhausted ache that comes after the fade of intense pain. She has just fed on me. I am weak and can’t move.
The candle flames around me begin jerking as if dancing a jig. I feel them changing. I know that means I am losing focus and losing time. Hours have passed suddenly. I feel better. Stronger. I drift out of my hiding place and through the door. I think it was the door. I can’t see it. But I know it’s there.
It’s thrilling to glide. I feel like the bottom of my stomach is perpetually falling out, giving me shivers inside. But then my gliding slows to jerking. Jerking to thumping. I can hear footsteps. My footsteps. My body is returning. I am walking.
I can feel the cold. I look down at my hands. White-hot pain sears my arms where my scars are. I don’t have the strength to fight it. Not right now. So I accept it and let my scars remain. My sleeves hurt them. I roll back the fabric. They feel a little better now.
The woods are dark, but I still have my spirit senses. I don’t need to see where each tree is to know it’s there. It is a rare cloudless night. I stop in a clearing. I can see the moon and stars. I am filled with wonder. From the tips of my fingers to the depths of my heart. It consumes my mind and senses. I lie down.
I gaze up at the crescent moon, attended by stars. Time passes. It is just the grass and the wind and the heavens. Just the joys of being alive. I can’t remember anything before this moment. There is only the moon and the outside. Clouds stream in and veil the sky. I wake up. Am I a tree? Am I grass? I move. No, I am man and the moon is gone. I am disappointed. So disappointed that I sulk for some time. Until my clothes are damp with dew. Then I am restless. I get up and start walking. I don’t know where I am going until I see the lights in the distance. The village.
I approach quietly, resting my cheek on the bark of a cedar. I can see nearly a hundred houses. They glitter like little flames. Warmth and family. I want to be in one of those little homes. I want to feel the fire. Smell the soup. Hear the baby trying to talk. I want to see happy faces. Where did my happy face go? Someone used to smile at me. Who was she?
Wait, what am I doing here? Where am I?
A door closes. I see a young lady. She has a scarf on her head. The hair underneath is yellow. She is shaking out a blanket. I can’t look away. She is alive and young. She is bones and rushing blood. She is warm. I step towards her. Step. Yes, I have legs. I am a man. Now I remember.
She folds the blanket up. I want something. I feel cold and hollow like a jack-o-lantern. Because I want. I want. I want her… to feel me. So badly. Because unlike the others, I can feel her. Warm strength like fire. She slows in her work. I know she can sense me. She can help me with the emptiness within. She can hear me calling to her.
I lift my foot to take another step. I hear a voice behind me. It is a man. I dart back behind the cedar. I notice the light from a lantern in the woods, several yards away. Then another light. Hunters. I look back to the girl, but she has gone inside. The hollowness is now a hole. I am alone. No one listens. No one listens.
The hunters are my friends. They take care of me. They leave me food. They are kind men. I slip through the forest towards their lights. I don’t make a sound. I am good at being quiet. Is that what I am? Am I
I don’t have time to answer before I hear whispers in my mind.
“I’ll show you.” His breath puffs against my lips. The whispers grow louder and I realize they’re his. That they were what I heard outside the forest and approaching the house. That he was the one asking for help all along. Not her.
The whispers weave around my mind like vines and then something happens to me that never has before. I live his memory.
Chapter 9
I am Tristan. I am hiding in the house, in a corner by the fireplace. I am one with the darkness. I have no body. I feel the dull, exhausted ache that comes after the fade of intense pain. She has just fed on me. I am weak and can’t move.
The candle flames around me begin jerking as if dancing a jig. I feel them changing. I know that means I am losing focus and losing time. Hours have passed suddenly. I feel better. Stronger. I drift out of my hiding place and through the door. I think it was the door. I can’t see it. But I know it’s there.
It’s thrilling to glide. I feel like the bottom of my stomach is perpetually falling out, giving me shivers inside. But then my gliding slows to jerking. Jerking to thumping. I can hear footsteps. My footsteps. My body is returning. I am walking.
I can feel the cold. I look down at my hands. White-hot pain sears my arms where my scars are. I don’t have the strength to fight it. Not right now. So I accept it and let my scars remain. My sleeves hurt them. I roll back the fabric. They feel a little better now.
The woods are dark, but I still have my spirit senses. I don’t need to see where each tree is to know it’s there. It is a rare cloudless night. I stop in a clearing. I can see the moon and stars. I am filled with wonder. From the tips of my fingers to the depths of my heart. It consumes my mind and senses. I lie down.
I gaze up at the crescent moon, attended by stars. Time passes. It is just the grass and the wind and the heavens. Just the joys of being alive. I can’t remember anything before this moment. There is only the moon and the outside. Clouds stream in and veil the sky. I wake up. Am I a tree? Am I grass? I move. No, I am man and the moon is gone. I am disappointed. So disappointed that I sulk for some time. Until my clothes are damp with dew. Then I am restless. I get up and start walking. I don’t know where I am going until I see the lights in the distance. The village.
I approach quietly, resting my cheek on the bark of a cedar. I can see nearly a hundred houses. They glitter like little flames. Warmth and family. I want to be in one of those little homes. I want to feel the fire. Smell the soup. Hear the baby trying to talk. I want to see happy faces. Where did my happy face go? Someone used to smile at me. Who was she?
Wait, what am I doing here? Where am I?
A door closes. I see a young lady. She has a scarf on her head. The hair underneath is yellow. She is shaking out a blanket. I can’t look away. She is alive and young. She is bones and rushing blood. She is warm. I step towards her. Step. Yes, I have legs. I am a man. Now I remember.
She folds the blanket up. I want something. I feel cold and hollow like a jack-o-lantern. Because I want. I want. I want her… to feel me. So badly. Because unlike the others, I can feel her. Warm strength like fire. She slows in her work. I know she can sense me. She can help me with the emptiness within. She can hear me calling to her.
I lift my foot to take another step. I hear a voice behind me. It is a man. I dart back behind the cedar. I notice the light from a lantern in the woods, several yards away. Then another light. Hunters. I look back to the girl, but she has gone inside. The hollowness is now a hole. I am alone. No one listens. No one listens.
The hunters are my friends. They take care of me. They leave me food. They are kind men. I slip through the forest towards their lights. I don’t make a sound. I am good at being quiet. Is that what I am? Am I
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