Dear reader,
Every now and again I am inspired to a great degree, and this inspiration finds itself in the form of a short story. I have attempted to write to you multiple times without avail, so instead, breaking my pattern of poetry or philosophy, I offer you this story of death and rebirth. I hope that it is an encouragement to you in this particular season, on this first day of winter.
-J
Here, JTY
Died
My eyes
strained to see through the black solid that surrounded me. Air it was not – in
fact, I could feel the matter slide in and out of my lungs as I inhaled and
exhaled. The inky, silky undergrowth beneath my feet could be made out by a dim,
green outline: I could see each individual blade of grass. The nightmarish
jungle that I was pushing my way through was mostly dark, with maroons, deep
purples, and sickly blues accenting the putridity on my every side, but all
these things weren’t the greatest hallucinogen: even though I was entirely
alone, the voices of hundreds of people filled my ears. I heard no individual
word, but still they droned on.
The tendrils
of a dark mushroom coiled around my feet as I stood still for a moment, heaving
for breath, cold sweat pouring from every pore of my body. Panicky, I shook it
off and stumbled a few more steps forward, but one last vine had caught my
boot, and I crashed to the ground. My face landed inches from a tree with black
bark that had disgustingly dry Spanish moss hanging from every possible limb
and leaf. It soaked up every inch of the solid air – if air it was – around me,
and after a short few seconds the dripping sweat from my brow began flying up
to the moss at an absurd speed. I could feel the liquid draining from my body;
I was unbearably thirsty. I tried to pull away, but couldn’t escape.
Inexplicably, my face was drawn closer to the tree, and fading into my view,
scratched in bloody letters in the rancid bark, were the words, “Here, JTY
Died.”
A scream –
maniacal laughter. The wind whistled
through this forest, the metalic clank of a child’s swing-set above my head,
and I could see the dilapidated fort of my past eaten alive by the tree above
me. I tore away from the tree as fast as
my legs would carry me, breaking loose the tentacles that had worked their way
up my thighs. A molting owl screeched
overhead and dove towards me, driving me away from…wherever it was I was going. I knew I had to get there, but if I tried to
correct my course the beast would cut my head and hands with his talons and
beak. Suddenly I was hurtling through
razor-sharp bulrushes; splashing through murky water. Tiny green thorns cut my skin, and yelping in
pain I pulled away. My arms, scratched
and torn, letters appearing in blood, “Here, JTY Died.”
I was still
moving, heard splashing ahead, a faint cry for help. I couldn’t save myself, I knew, but if I was
breathing I’d ensure that they weren’t lost.
I tore through the rushes, the haunting phrase etching itself in blood
on my legs and hands and face, when I suddenly broke into a clearing. The marsh I’d been struggling through
crescendoed into a cesspool of dread, and faces – more nightmarish than
Tolkien’s bloodiest dreams – broke the water every few feet. Faces of my past, unmarked faces of my
future: all broken, all dead, eyes staring, unseeing, upwards. And there, in the middle of the pond, was a
black island of grass and rock, with a single body laying sprawled, limbs at
odd angles, as if it had fallen from a great height.
After a
moment’s hesitation I plunged into the water, but instantly fell many feet
downwards, as if I had stepped off a cliff.
I wasn’t wet; in fact, the pool seemed dryer than the air I had recently
left, but the nightmare of the upper world continued as I descended lower. I regretted my decision to save whoever was
suffering on the island now many yards above my head, as Frodo regretted his
choice to follow the lights in the marsh.
And just as with him, hundreds of ghostly faces hungrily rose to meet me
and usher me to my doom – their long hair wrapping around my neck and pulling
me ever downwards. I could not fight
against them, my hands grasped for whatever they could find, and just when I
knew all hope was lost, a silver rope found my grip, and I hauled myself
upwards. Many of the ghouls fell off my
body as I started to climb, but a few stubbornly held on as I approached the
surface. The line began to shimmer the
further up I got, until it was nearly blinding; a blast of light sent the
remaining three ghosts hurtling back to the oblivion from where they came. Clawing my way onto the land, I lay there
gasping, now soaking wet, struggling to breathe against the fetid air. Almost immediately I wished I were back down
with the specters, where my surroundings were easier, even if I was steps away
from death.
“The silver
lining finally saved you, huh?”
Perplexed, I
turned to see who was speaking. Why was
I here? I looked back towards the pond,
and the rope was nowhere to be seen.
…what rope? I couldn’t remember.
“Hindsight
isn’t always 20/20, you know.” The boy
coughed, his pale skin accenting his blue hair.
He wore pajamas, the old kind with feet, and a tattered red blanket was
tied around his neck like a cape. Solid
white eyes looked at me through a purple mask, and he attempted to smile.
“My name is
Sam. The Darkness and I were friends
once, you know.”
At his
words, the space seemed to close around us, and I could see nothing more than
his body and the sparse grass at his sides.
He seemed extremely familiar.
“JTY came
here to die.” It wasn’t ominous. It wasn’t derogatory. It was obvious to me from his tone that
whoever this JTY was knew what he was doing.
“He didn’t
have to. I tried to save him, but he
forgot me.” The boy’s injuries were
substantial – several broken limbs, haggard breathing, blood pour from open
wounds, but he didn’t seem to notice. He
was too concerned with me.
“You’ve been
friends with Darkness too.” An
observation of fact I innately knew to be true.
He squinted up at me; we both knew I couldn’t save him. “Don’t…don’t forget me, ok?”
“Of course
not.” I fumbled for more appropriate
words, but nothing came.
He untied
his mask and handed it to me. “Don’t
forget You.”
He stopped
breathing, and his body disintegrated into the sooty soil on which he lay. His whispering voice echoed in my head, “Otto
can take you to shore. Don’t go back to
the depths of despair.”
I
straightened from where I had been kneeling over him and tied the mask around
my head. My field of view widened, and
there, at the edge of the island barely obscured by the mist, was a worn old
dinghy made of wood, without a moor. The
name “Otto” was painted on one side in black letters. My breathing was still labored in this dense
air, but taking the word of the boy, I tried to lose the thoughts of the deadly
appealing waters that surrounded me.
Climbing into the boat named Otto, I glanced over the side and caught my
reflection.
I had blue
hair; my skin was pale, and pure white eyes stared back at me through the
purple mask.
The boat
began moving on its own, taking me into the fog, across the water. The solid air pushed my wavy hair back as we
progressed – I could feel it slide past my face. Otto slowly came to a stop at the edge of the
cesspool, and I climbed out. I could
feel the red cape billowing at my back as I stepped ashore. Otto creaked and turned back towards the
island – waiting. I looked down at my
hands and legs. The bloody words had
turned into small white scars: still visible, but fading even as I
watched. Some mysterious force propelled
me forward into the bramble of twisted dark trees, as if there was something
calling to me. The voices continued in
my head, swelling in volume even though the words were still incomprehensible,
and as I walked forward, one voice rose above them all, singing one unwavering
melody.
In the
distance I could see a single point of white light. It was near the height of my stomach, and it
shone like a star through the foul wood of blackness around me. I began to pick up my pace from a walk, to a
jog. In moments I was tearing through
the undergrowth yet again – I had to get to that light. The voices got louder and louder in my head;
over the din I could still hear the single song beckoning to me. Trees reach down to stop me, ghastly hands
rose up from the ground, hands I recognized, but still I pounded through the
forest, determined to be requited against the foul world of Darkness once and
for all.
At the
thought of his name the entire land was brought to bear on my mind, on my
body. It became nearly impossible to
move, as if I were walking through molasses, and cackling screams of malevolent
joy overtook the beautiful voice ahead.
I fell and the star flickered; it threatened to go out and leave me in
despair. “NO!” I screamed with all my
might and pushed myself off the ground.
Stumbling forward a few more steps, my surroundings immediately changed,
as if I stepped from one world into another.
The voices
ceased, and all I could hear was the song, gently urging me forward. All around me was pure, soft white. The tree trunks, which were formerly crashing
down upon me, weighing my body down with their black boughs, now stood
upright. Their leaves were a dull gold,
and a soft, warm wind blew through their branches. I felt exposed and vulnerable – my greenish
skin and blue hair standing out starkly against the spotlessness of this
hallow, but I felt perfectly safe. In the center of the clearing, hanging on a
cane implanted in the ground, was an Evenstar.
The cane on
which the Evenstar hung was the only black object here, its head an antelope,
made of silver. A long chain held the
jewel suspended, and as I looked, a pulse of energy blasted outwards from it,
forcing the evil and Darkness away, leaving me alone. I took a tentative step forward, encouraged
by the voice, and stretched out a hand towards the Evenstar. For a brief second, as I was inches away, I
could hear whisperings, secrets of my childhood, and imaginings of the future –
incandescent happiness playing on the edge of my consciousness, and I grasped the
jewel.
There was a blinding
flash, and I retracted my grip. The
black forest, which had previously been just steps away, was completely
gone. The shimmering white wood took its
place as far as I could see in every direction, and where the cane had been,
She stood. The Evenstar hung gracefully
from her neck, and she wore a long blue dress that flowed with the caresses of
the wind. She smiled at me, and ran a
slender finger along my cheek.
“My dear
Goldenheart. How far you’ve come for
me.” Her voice was like a creek
playfully slipping over worn stones, the crisp leaves of fall in a pile, and
the song one never forgets that is written on the heart. My weary bones were instantly put to rest,
and I fell into her embrace. Tears, both
of joy and of a great toil come to rest, slid down my face.
There, JTY
Died. But here in Her arms, he came back
to life.
