Emerald Paralysis

Away from here, on the break of existence. They say it is here where the void can be found. Whatever it is. Whatever it was. Whatever it will be in the end. It's a quite place. Not much happens that's really worth mention. To them though it's worth total coverage. To them it is their lives, and to be rather honest, it's all they're cognizant of. Sad maybe, but to call it pathetic is wrong. In a sense, they enjoy life more than you or I could ever possibly fathom. With no sense of reality, a loose grasp on how the world works can sometimes save you. For when that clasp is so tight, energy will be used up increasingly in that effort to hang on. Energy will eventually run out. That is nothing but inevitable, and when it comes down to it, the ones who put less energy into actually hanging on will hang longer. Now imagine this. This is their lives, just so far away.

            He lightly followed her through the forest. She was alone, quite well off in fact. As she stepped on countless leaves her mind took notice to the familiar sound they made. He too took notice. Not only to the sounds of her travels but the lack of sound in his own. She was an abundance of sound and glory. Yet he lay the opposite. He was to be inaudible. He was to be set aside. She was alone, but not as alone as he.

            The forest could be lonely. Even among company, there was a wonderful sense of desolation about it. Everything within it's boarders glistened with emerald beauty, as the sun breached through the tree tops creating a glimmer of fantastic exuberance, in which those around him never took for granted.

            "Tis' such a beautiful day, isn't it?", she asked of nobody in particular.

            "Tis' my love.", he whispered. "Tis'"

            Still oblivious, she walked onward, admiring the breath-taking view that was all she knew. The trees towered higher than anything man could create himself. The bushes were adorned with the sweetest berries that could be found. To even hold them in your hand was considered divine. There were stories that his grandfather used to tell him. About the deities that created this place for him. How he wished he could remember the stories he heard. His grandfather's words seemed so distant now, and the older he grew, the farther away the words went. Where they went is a mystery to him. Why can't I remember? What did grandfather say to me? He used to warn me all the time about those evil people....

            She, all the while incognizant to the trailing testosterone behind her, walked gently through the wondrous wood. There were no mirrors here, so she wasn't aware of the true beauty she possessed. Her face was soft and gentle, and her lips were full, and always grinning in that innocent way that young children do. Innocence. Living here kept her safe from the outside world, and what it does to the soul. For years. Pure of evil. Pure of sickness. Pure of woe and suffering too. All of that, and pure of unfairness. For she is the most fair a lass could be. Only he knew though. She was no longer alone.

            "You don't have to walk alone you know?", she smiled at him from the distance between them. It seemed so vast, almost endless.

            "I know.", he said. He felt uneasy. His stomach began to feel weird, as he grabbed it lightly.

            "What's wrong?", she asked, concerning herself with his pain. God is she pretty. No, that hardly describes her. No word possibly could.

            "My belly feels off.", he replied.

            "Well walk home with me.", she again smiled. "I have many roots and herbs there.". He fell silent and soon went craven. I can't. She wouldn't.

            "No, no!", he stepped back. "I really must be off.", he said as he began to sprint away, nearly forgetting the pain he was feigning. "Bye!"

            "Bye!", she called after him. "What a strange boy.". She walked forward uncaringly, yet with only a hint of concern for the boy she just sent running away. They knew each other well, yet they seldom spoke a word in exchange. In each other's presence they also made little eye contact. He knew that if he were to look at her for too long, his eyes would become covalent to her and would cease to ignore the hunger deep inside of him.

            His stomach growled with fierce intensity, yelling at him for walking away. It was scolding him brashly, leaving no room for him to think. He wanted to think. He wanted to so badly, but his hunger made his thought process hasty and unmanageable.

            Oh how I yearn for ye, your heart and the one inside of me, together we can be, one. Logic creates no force upon me, and soon we shall live happily.

            He recited poems to himself inside of his solitary mind. Improvisation. Am I good at it? The act of it seems hard to judge based on any sort of quality. Saying and acting on impulse. No logical direction nor is there a set topic. Who told me about it? Grandfather? Oh please tell me one more time. I promise I'll listen this time.

            He never did listen though. "In one ear and right out the other", his parents would always say. They loved him dearly yet questioned his logic. They all did. Is it that off? His grandfather kept trying though. He would daily sit him down, and tell stories of old times, when everything was exactly the same.

            "Lend a hand?", a voice called from his peripherals. He looked toward the familiar voice and landed upon an area of fertile soil, and Milo resting on his shovel.

            "If you are in need of one.", he replied, standing stolid.

            "Come forth, Stephen.". Stephen walked toward the fertile ground and noticed the change in texture beneath his feet. "Come on boy! You're wrecking the soil." Stephen stepped away unapologetically. "Are you going to help?". Stephen answered by picking up a lone shovel that had been tossed aside. He grasped it tightly and used it to pick up the earth and mix it with the soil. With each new load of soil, he inhaled greatly. Then, after releasing the weight, exhaled lightly.

            "Bah!", Milo cried. "It's not that strenuous!". Stephen chose not to reply, but continued mixing the soil and dirt.

            "You know the tribe is worried about you.", Milo uttered. Stephen heard correctly, but wished he hadn't. Nothing made him worry more than the skepticism of others.

            "Aye?", he replied.

            "God-dammit Stephen!", Milo yelled as he thrust his shovel into the ground. "I'm trying to help. Could you please take this into consideration instead of throwing it out on impulse."

            "That's why they call it an impulse.", Stephen replied as he continued to shovel. Milo sighed, and picked his shovel out of the dirt. He looked at it carefully, examining it as he twisted it in his palms.

            "No.", he stated firmly as he continued to shovel. "You're just unable to accept logic.". Stephen took little notice to Milo's comment and continued along with his work. His hands however soon began to ache, so he put the shovel into the ground and rested upon it.

            "Do you ever wonder, Milo?"

            "I wonder all the time.", he laughed. "Mostly about you.". Don't take me so seriously. My words are enigmatic as you are not so comprehend-able.

            "No.", Stephen stated. "I meant in general. Do you wonder?"

            Milo looked at Stephen for a moment, analyzing him observantly. 

            "Everyone wonders, Stephen. It's just our nature."

            "What do you wonder about?", Stephen questioned with a random outburst of curious excitement. 

            "I don't know Stephen. My wife. My children. My land. The things that I love", Milo said as Stephen picked up his shovel.

            "Oh". He continued to work, remaining utterly silent, but voracious within the ever expanding corridors of his mind. He could travel through them as he pleased, and they were forever changing. As he walked down the copious hallways the lights would illuminate quickly around him. However, the lights quickly went out behind him the second they were so, and when he tried to go back, the lights remained off, and he found himself lost in the absence of color.

"What do you think about, Stephen?", Milo, asked with a hint of wonder. There ya go!

            He took some time to re-adjust himself. His eyes had been closed and the light of day nearly blinded his weak pupils.

            "Wonder", Stephen corrected. Milo sighed. He was growing weary of Stephen.

            "What do you, wonder, about, Stephen?". This is my chance to see if I'm the only one. Maybe, if I word it the right way, Who knows? Stephen lifted his arm slowly, and pointed towards the end of the land. Milo starred out, hoping to see something other than what Stephen was clearly pointing out. He shook his head in sorrowful disapproval. "Aye."

The End

0 comments about this story Feed