Memoirs of an open mind

Jag ville bygga ett träd.

Men det ville sig inte, ty träd planterar man.

Jag försökte tvinga en sten att flyta, men inte heller det gick vägen. Stenen ville inte lyssna och sjönk prompt ned till bottnen.

Så till sist valde jag att så en ros, och det gick vägen. 

Ibland oroade den mig för i vind och blåst tordes den verka lite ledsen. 

Så en dag smidde jag en plan. Av mina drömmar blev en liten tunn textil. Jag lade varsamt tråden i gräset runt rosens rot.

I ringen kunde jag sedan spegla mina egna förväntningar och se dem speglas tillbaka. Glädjen över denna syn kunde jag inte uttrycka i ord så jag fick istället uttrycka det i arbete. Så jag fortsatte vattna, plocka, klippa och fylla på med näring.

Många år har gått.

Rosen står kvar än idag. 

Men är det av ringen den magiska krafter fått för att leva och frodas, eller av den styrka som den givit mig att fortsätta ombesörja den?

Det hela började som en vanlig dag. En sådan där dag som man glömmer bort för hur vanlig den är. När någon frågar vad du gjorde under en dag som den här kommer du låta blicken vandra och försöka minnas vad det faktiskt var som du gjorde, men i ett desperat försök att fumla efter de halmstrån som finns i ditt minne inser du att det mesta bara helt enkelt är bortglömt och utsuddat. Så du svarar att du inte vet, och tur är väl det? Din återberättelse skulle ändå bestå till större delen av din egen fantasi.

Så vanlig var den dagen.

På just den här vanliga dagen vandrade en vanlig pojke hem från skolan. Han gick i gymnasiet så egentligen skulle pojken kanske vilja titulera sig själv som man men då densamme inte kommit till ett stadie av att varken få sin första riktiga skäggväxt eller ett körkort i fickan kanske det var mer korrekt att kalla honom för just pojke.

 

Pojken hade precis givit sig in på skogsstigen som han var tvungen att ta för ni förstår, snabbaste vägen till huset var just genom denna skog, och det rörde sig om kanske en dryg kilometer om han skulle gå runt skogen. Latheten förekom helt enkelt hans lätta obehag att bege sig genom skogen. Det var inte ett särskilt långt parti som pojken reste genom skogen varje dag, det kanske rörde sig om en åtta till tio minuter av färdväg men det kunde bli duktigt kusligt på kvällstiden när höstmörkret väl hade börjat tränga sig på med sin kalla, bittra närvaro. Särskilt vid den där gamla parkbänken där lamporna aldrig verkar ha fungerat. Kommunen hade inte gjort något åt det under sex års tid hade pojkens far sagt så det fanns ingen hög sannolikhet att det skulle bli någon förändring i en snar framtid.

Pojken vägrade att lyssna på musik när han gick genom skogen, han hade alltid på känn att någonting lurade långt in bland tallarna och då ville han ha alla sinnen på helspänn så att han inte kunde överraskas av de faror som väntade bakom de täta tallarna. Om han stod riktigt stilla och kisade in längs de snåriga stigarna som man knappt kunde urskilja var de som om träden började röra på sig. Han var nästan helt säker att det var just en synvilla, men bara nästan!

Skogspartiet var väldigt kort just på hans färdsträcka som var söderut om han gick från skolan, men både i västlig och i östlig riktning anslöt denna berikade tall fana till en mycket större och grandiost naturreservat som hade stått orört i evigheter. Såvitt han visste var den oändlig, men ingenting är oändligt, det gick en vandringsled igenom reservatet så någonstans måste den ha tagit slut. Är det inte besynnerligt hur lite vi söker information om vårt närområde? Alla svaren fanns skrivna i böcker och på hemsidor men det fanns inget intresse för att ta reda på dessa frågor så naturreservatet förblev oändligt i pojkens huvud. Det var inte som om det skulle försvinna de närmaste åren och han hade ju hela livet framför sig att söka reda på svaren, fastän han säkerligen skulle dö utan att veta något mer om sin omnejd, eller om de efterkommande platserna han skulle flytta till i framtiden heller för den delen.

 

Denna vanliga dag vandrade han längs med stråket som ledde hem. Pojken, som för övrigt hette Kitai, drog sig till minnes första gången som hans far hade lett honom till skolan längs samma stig han idag färdades helt själv och hade färdats de senaste tio åren. Hur han inte riktigt hade önskat gå till den läskiga byggnaden som låg så långt hemifrån men hur hans far, dels med ett tålamod härdat i stål med en beslutsamhet utan dess like, dels med ett raskt tempo hade dragit honom in genom skolporten. Den tunga ekporten hade knarrat förfärligt när de steg in på vägen in i framtiden. Det hade hans mor älskat att säga: ”Du skapar din egen framtid och det är vår uppgift att ge dig verktygen att lyckas.”.

Han kände sig nog inte så lyckad då och han kände sig inte heller särskilt mer lyckad den där vanliga dagen heller. Inte nödvändigtvis misslyckad heller.

Efter första skoldagen hade Kitais far ömsom följt, ömsom släpat Kitai till skolan i två veckors tid. Varje dag hade det blivit lite enklare att självmant gå utan att ha någon som kärleksfullt men bestämt drog honom bakom sig.

Ändå kunde inte Kitai minnas denna tid med värme i sitt bröst. Eller det värmde, men han var inte säker på om det inte var skam som han kände. Han ville nog inte gå den vägen, men alla färdades samma väg sade hans far och så skulle det även bli för Kitai. Så Kitai drogs, därefter följde efter, därefter gick självmant framåt. Evigt framåt.

När blev det ren automatik det han gjorde? När slutade han känna någonting för resan och bara genomförde den som en vanlig dagsrutin? Det kanske var en del av att växa upp, tänkte han. Att helt enkelt sluta känna saker för resan och helt enkelt bara bita ihop och bege sig framåt.

Så alla dagar förblev vanliga, ingenting som Kitai kunde återge efteråt. Han lärde sig saker i skolan och han blev duktig på en del av dessa saker, men om någon frågade vad för särskilt han hade gjort en dag så svarade han nog oftast som oftast ”Åh, nej inget särskilt.”.

 

Vägen sträckte sig framför honom som ryggen på en lång boaorm som precis hade börjat röra på sig, den slingrade genom skogen mellan träden. Inte för att Kitai egentligen reflekterade över detta, det var ju bara en vanlig dag. Vägen skulle vandras, det förväntade sig hans föräldrar, precis som hans mentor förväntade sig att han skulle närvara på morgondagens lektioner imorgon.

Men när han kom till den gamla, nötta och solblekta parkbänken så stannade han plötsligt. Stoppet var en lika stor chock för Kitai som det måste varit för någon som såg honom, om de hade sett honom. Han hade inte riktigt satt ner båda fötterna på marken och snubblade till så att han nästan föll mot marken. Fast bara nästan, om han föll skulle bara hans mor bli besviken.

Plötsligt kändes vägen framför honom något främmande. Han kunde inte förklara känslan bättre än att den kom från maggropen och spred sig till resten av kroppen. Det var som om han var hungrig, men inte på måltidens om var resterande resan hem, han vände sig västerut och blickade in i synvillan som var tallarna. Som de dansade långt in. Var det en stig han kunde urskilja?

 

”Vad gör du?” frågade Kitai sig själv högt när han plötsligt tog ett kliv av från vägen.

Han kunde inte förklara varför han agerade så irrationellt, varje molekyl i hans kropp hade blivit lärd att allting som inte var vägen till och från bestod av ett stort obehag, av en otrygghet, osäkerhet, massvis med substantiv som började på o!

Fast idag, på denna vanligaste av vanliga dagar kunde det inte kännas mer än rätt. Kitai kände hungern, en aptit som bara stigen i fjärran kunde urskilja.

Han visste inte vart denna stig skulle leda, inte heller vad hans föräldrar eller lärare skulle tycka om att han valde den men han visste att han bara var tvungen att sluta ha vanliga dagar. Han visste inte för första gången i sitt liv vad som fanns i andra änden och fastän det skrämde honom blev han även omåttligt glad av att pröva den okända leden. Vart skulle han hamna?

Det var det ingen som visste, fast det var väl hela tjusningen. En sak var säker, middagen hemma skulle få vänta.

Ett ljus.

Ett ljud.

Någonting lätt rör sig genom rymden. Det letar efter en plats att slå sig till ro. Men för vem?

Med en mjuk, nästan övernaturligt lätt rörelse stannar den bara någon enstaka meter från en gräsbeklädd mark.

 

Duns.

Föremålet dimper ner, med en enkel beröring tar människan sitt första steg. Hon är helt naken, hon vet inte vem hon är eller var hon är, bara det hon ser är något hon kan veta. Hennes sinne lättsamt, hennes hjärna helt tom. En tabula rasa förkroppsligad.

Enkelheten i ovissheten fyller henne med en första känsla. Liksom allt annat runtomkring henne är den ny, vad kan hon kalla den känslan? Hon finner ett läte, ett kluckande läte. Ett skratt. Hon är lycklig.

 

Hon springer så fort benen bär henne.

Men benen bär inte riktigt så väl som hon vill, utan ger vika och hon faller handlöst mot marken. Gräset dämpar slaget, men smärtan tränger igenom. Hon känner en tår rinna ned från ögat över kinden för att slutligen sugas upp av den bördiga jorden. Är det smärta hon känner?

 

Ängen övergår till en brant sluttning. Nedanför sluttningen ser hon en sjö sträcka sig så långt ögat når. På andra sidan det klarblåa vattnet ser hon någonting växa. Hon vet inte om det ännu men hon skådar en lövskog i allt sitt vackra alster. Även vattnet är obekant för människovarelsen så hon beger sig ner försiktigt för backen för att ta en närmre titt. Självklart snubblar hon och faller pladask i vattnet. Hon känner hur någonting bultar hårt i hennes bröstkorg, bara känslan av bultandet gör henne mer skrämd än fallet ned i det okända och våta. Till slut bestämmer hon sig för att inte bry sig mer om bultandet, för det verkar ju avta, och reser sig upp ur vattnet. Hon förstår inte varför hennes hud nu är våt, men hon gillar den varma känslan av solens strålar mot hennes kropp som får vätan att sakta försvinna.

Människan vågar inte riktigt bege sig ut i vattnet, hon kan inte se någon botten och känner en viss oro för faran som kan lura i det okända.

Vid vattenkanten sätter hon sig istället ner och lutar sig över den blanka ytan, solens skepnad reflekteras i vattnet, men även någonting annat.

Hon ser sig själv för första gången. Men människan har svårt att förstå vad hon ser. Med en darrande hand sträcker hon sig mot bilden och ryggar tillbaka när den klara spegelbilden plötsligt blir bruten av dussintalet ringar på vattnet. Hennes hand är blöt. Hon börjar se kopplingen mellan vatten och fukt. Hon skrattar igen och förundras över alla dessa nya intryck.

 

Efter en stunds plaskande med handen fortsätter hon med att begrunda sitt ansikte. Handen letar sig den här gången mot kinden istället för reflektionen. Hon ser sig själv känna efter i ansiktet och förstår vad det är hon ser. Insikten slår som en blixt från klar himmel och människan ställer sig upp och skuttar runt förtjust, skrattandes. Varför bilden gör henne så glad vet hon ej, men hon vet att hon tycker om det, så hon vill ha mer.

Tiden passerar obemärkt förbi, där sitter människan och ser på sig själv. Solen börjar gå ner och med det blir det allt svårare att urtyda reflektionen på vattnet.

Hon känner sig missnöjd och frustrerad. Människan tror att det är solens fel. Solen har flyttat sig märker hon, om hon bara kan nå solen och knuffa upp den igen kanske det blir som förut?

 

Hon börjar vada ut i det mörka.

En instinkt säger nej. Men hon överträffar den. Om det känns så bra att se på sitt ansikte måste det vara viktigare än rädslan?

Vattnet når upp till naveln. Hon huttrar. Varför värmer ingenting längre?

Allt detta är solens fel. Hon snubblar till när den botten som bar henne fötter plötsligt försvinner, men plaskar envist ut en bit till. Människan förstår inte varför hon inte kan hålla sig ovanför ytan. Hon pustar och plaskar med armarna vilt. Nu vill hon tillbaka till stranden, men kan inte flytta sig. Hon förstår inte varför och blir rädd.

 

Med ett skri försöker hon desperat hålla sig ovan ytan men misslyckas. Under ytan vill hennes kropp instinktivt andas in mer syre, till slut kan hon inte motstå kraften och vattnet forsar in.

En sista stund.

En sista stund.

Ögonen blickar mot vattenytan.

En reflektion. Inte hennes. Något vackrare. Tusentals eldklot. De ser ut att dansa framför hennes ögon. Hon ser färgerna blandas i en munter palett och sväljer eldkloten, en efter en.

Hon är inte längre rädd. Hon är lugn. Allting är bra. Allting är bra.

Allting svartnar sakta.

En sista tanke.

Hennes ansikte var så vackert.

Hon var vacker. 

 

Old Teller lived way up high.

It was a way to survive.

Once he got up to the very top of the tower he never went back.

However strange it seemed, he had gotten used to the loneliness. It was a way to survive.

 

Old Teller had nothing in his possession but a tiny little white watch made out of plastic. It had a long time ago died – due to Old Teller never having changed the battery, he had only thrown out the old one – and was now more so than ever a decoration lightly weighing down his wrist. It was his reminder of the vast emptiness without and within, the nothing he had come to expect among the clouds.

 

He opened the door and went up the stairs. The stairs ascended to the spire where a small lighthouse had been installed by Old Teller. The body itself – where the stairs were fitted, without any windows – pierced through the cloudy surface in such a way that if you kept up residence below the lighthouse you could still see the ground below, but would only see the smooth milky surface of the heavenly clouds above.

Downstairs was where he lived. Upstairs was where he had worked forever. His duty had become to watch over the skies far and wide, a way to survive.

 

His shift was over, with a deep sigh he looked at the watch (still twelve o’ clock, as it had always been), and turned around, heavily shifting his feet in the direction he intended to go, where he knew the stairs would appear as soon as the sun would settle on the horizon, embedded in the soft almost pillow-like texture of the cumulus clouds. He looked at his watch once more – still twelve – and started descending the narrow spiral below.

 

Old Teller had a night routine, which was no more different from his morning routine than, well, anything. He would take of his clothes, stare at the blank space of wall above his bed for a couple of minutes, then go to sleep. In the morning he would do the exact opposite.

Sometimes he would dream. In the dream his name was Eric. Eric would wake up and walk down the stairs where he then usually would be greeted by his lovely and caring wife Ellen – she usually woke just a few minutes before him – and then they’d eat breakfast together. He would kiss his wife and with a smile from ear to ear he’d be off to work. That was it. That was the dream.

Eric would not think of noticing two extra chairs in the dining room, neither would his wife and they wouldn’t talk about it. But why would Eric think of something as absurd as two empty chairs? It wasn’t like they had lost both of their children in a tragic car accident a few years back. Nonsense!

Then Eric would come home, but the house would be empty. And he didn’t understand why.

 

As Old Teller woke up the day after he would usually not remember any part of this dream, curious as it was he actually had the picture edged in his head – as clear as day – this time. He pondered for a while but couldn’t find anything logical or reasonable about it so he let it go. But the feeling lingered.

Pain festers…

It is a way to survive.

 

He ascended the tower and lit the lighthouse. His watch had begun. He looked down at his wrist to realize the strangest of things! It was now five past twelve, but how?

Old Teller tried not to think too much, as thinking would not matter. He continued to watch for any irregularities, but he found none. For the first time in his life he realized that the normally soothing feeling of having nothing change, ever, was actually making him a little bored. This did not make him comfortable at all and he found himself soon looking down at his watch over and over again, but the time had not changed. Why would it? There wasn’t any battery. He assured himself that he must’ve turned the screw during his sleep. It had never happened before.

“It would happen someday.” he mumbled.

 

The sun started to set once again and as the twilight struck his lighthouse he too stopped the old engine and turned for the stairs. Like clockwork the door appeared and he once again went down to his little room in the vast nothingness.

As he underwent the usual night-not so different from day-routine he wondered what the next day had in store for him. Maybe he wondered in secrecy (since you can actually hide feelings from yourself) if not the next day would surprise him a little more? Not that he actually wished from an answer from himself, he did not want nor did he need it. He needed only to survive. Such where his thoughts as he lay softly in bed and let the drowsiness take over.

 

Old Teller had a dream that night. In his dream his name was Eric. Eric woke up from an irregular and discomforting sleep only to find himself soaking in sweat. He did not know why. The room did not feel right at all, instead of the bright cream-white colors he was met by a dark-lit room with a grayish quality. After a quick shower – for he must certainly be in a hurry by now, although for what he did not know – Eric went down the stairs, expecting his wife to greet him with a loving peck on the cheek. But there wasn’t anyone in the kitchen, nor did he find her in the dining room, or living room for that matter. Besides, she wouldn’t have left the house without opening the windows (the air was damp) or at least leaving a note? Eric stood in the living room, frozen for lack of a better word. He hadn’t the faintest clue what to do.

If this was a practical joke it wasn’t very funny. He quickly realized that wasn’t the case. Even Eric had to understand the direness of the situation. His house – their house – seemed as if nobody had lived there for a long time. A tear ran down Eric’s face, he felt sad without any recollection of why. He could not understand where his wife had gone, nor why there had been four chairs in the dining room instead of two, why he had seen old dusty toys in the living room, or why there had been kid’s drawings on the wall in the hallway.

He went outside – in his pajamas – half expecting her to stand there laughing at him. “You dummy! I’m just joking with you!” but nobody came.

It rained. He slipped and fell on the wet pavement; Eric could hear a crack as he landed. Something was broken?

 

Old Teller woke hastily with a gasp. This wasn’t what he wanted at all! He wiped the tears from his face, realizing how discomforted he had become from dreaming, but he couldn’t tell why. He stroke his long, grey beard, pondering what it was. But he could not figure it out. Old Teller rose up from his bed and almost forgot the morning routine before going on watch.

His hands were shaking, but he didn’t know why. He hadn’t looked at the skyline a single time, but he didn’t know why. He hadn’t observed the sun playfully jump out of the clouds as if playing a game of hide and seek, he knew he wanted to observe but didn’t know how. His one thought, only thought was the god damned watch. Hands shaking he gazed quickly and then looked away.

The clock had started ticking.

The clock had started working.

The clock worked.

 

Eric knew he had lost something. He knew very well what it was.

Eric and Ellen had tried for a new child – a new start – after many years of mourning the loss of their previous two beautiful little gifts of joy. But not only had that attempt been squashed so mercilessly (as if fate just wasn’t in the mood to deal them any good cards at all), but he had lost her too. She had lost too much blood the doctors had explained in a sterile tone Eric just couldn’t stand. He had punched one of the doctors over his jaw and gone out in the rain.

The clouds were blue and the sun had just risen above, like a comforting guardian, promising to protect its citizens from harm’s way. Eric knew now, it was all false. Its comfort but lies and its protection nothing more than empty promises.

In a drunken drowsiness he had driven way to fast on the highway, almost driving headlong into the concrete when driving off the intersection. As threw himself out of the car he had promised to never forget what fate had done to him.

Eric didn’t know how it had come to this.

Old Teller didn’t remember what Eric did.

 

Eric came home.

Old Teller ascended the stairs.

He quit his job.

He started his watch.

He closed the door.

He awaited the stairs.

He drank.

He went through his routine.

He forgot.

He slept.

 

He couldn’t recall what for he lived such a life amongst the clouds.

He couldn’t recall what for he lived such a life.

He couldn’t recall what for he lived.

He couldn’t recall what for.

He couldn’t recall.

He couldn’t.

 

He had only survived.

 

I språnget faller hon.

Marken är kall och våt av dagg. Tårarna rinner.

 

I skogen ekar ett uråldrigt läte, som om träden själva rörde sig med hennes sorg. Hon kunde känna trycket som om atmosfären gick att ta på, som om hon plötsligt hade fallit ner i en barnsaga.

Flickan såg in i avgrunden som var den mörka skogens stig, vart den ledde visste hon ej. Bara bortåt. Bort från minnet, bort från tårarna. Hon behövde inte läka, hon behövde bara fly.

 

Benen bar inte längre. Benen kunde inte förmå sig att ta ett steg till. Stapplande föll hon ned på knä. I luften virvlade små små partiklar av damm, förgyllda av ett ljus bara hon kunde se. Ty skogen var inte mörk där hon tittade, ty hon såg med oskuldsfulla ögon. Men hon var berörd och ljuset höll på att slockna. Det som glittrade i luften skulle snart dö bort, kvävt av en vuxen värld, av vuxna händer, av vuxna falska leenden. Flickan kunde inte förmå sig att le en gång till, det leendet hade någon stulit.

 

Tystnaden trängde sig på, ett eko av tomhet som speglade tomheten inombords. Hulkandes grät hon för sig själv där ingen kunde störa henne. Hon behövde fortsätta sin flykt djupt in i den gamla skogen, där träden inte längre var kapabla att avslöja hennes spår, där de uråldriga väsen som en gång härskade över denna värld kunde omfamna henne med sin kalla närvaro. Men benen bar inte.

Utmattat lade hon sig mot en rot. Hon torkade av tårarna med sin tröjärm och lade sig tillrätta mot en fläck av mossa. Ljuset hade slocknat, så även den flackande flamma inombords. I mörkret märkte flickan inte att hon huttrade.

Sömnen förde bort henne från denna värld. Men i skogen stannade hennes kropp kvar. Kvar blev den bredvid den gamle eken, på mossen. Vem hon hade varit spelade inte längre någon roll. Hon var inte kvar längre att minnas den tiden. Vad som hänt henne var bortblåst. Ett ting för jordvarelser. Flickan var äntligen en med naturen. Så nätt, så varsam. Blyg och oskyldig flög hon in i evinnerligheten.  

Varför just jag?

Många hade ställt sig den frågan, varför var det jag som hade överlevt längst?

Fanns det inte andra som förtjänade den äran, det privilegiet så mycket mer än mig? De hade kanske rätt, jag visste inte riktigt längre.

När händelsen inträffade var jag, liksom många andra, inte direkt förberedd. Det fanns ingen bunker för mig att söka skydd i, inga konserver förvarade på något hemligt ställe för att föda mig och inte heller en egentlig mening för mitt liv att fortsätta. Jag var inget annat än en lågavlönad revisor på ett företag vars namn du skulle ha glömt lika fort som jag berättade för dig. Så varför var det mig som ödet valde att fortsätta livnära med möjligheter i denna nya men ändock så föråldrade värld?

Jag sökte skydd under skrivbordet, som av en slump blev min räddning. Det och min rädsla.

Min feghet drev mig till att stanna kvar i lokalen långt efter att alla övergivit den, där livnärde jag mig endast på matrester från matlådor samt automatens godis. Till slut, när maten oundvikligen tog slut, begav jag mig ut för att skåda eländet.

 

Död. Ond bråd död. Kaos, panik. En evinnerlig låga brann klar på himlen, men där fanns ingen sol att skåda längre. Ingen visste vad det var som hade inträffat men av att dömma hade dess inverkan orsakat en katastrofal biologisk förändring på jorden. Senare kom teorin att orsaken bakom, som allt annat, var av mänsklig kraft. Att solen var kvar samt att den lågan som brann klar var rester av något annat... Sedan stannade alla teorier upp, för ingen visste egentligen inte. Någon informationsspridning fanns inte heller, allt intranät slogs ut i samma sekund som händelsen inträffade.

 

Var det måhända för att jag inte hade någon familj som jag överlevde? Alla jag hade känt i detta livet hade givit sig ut på en hopplös jakt för att hitta sina nära, den var sällan särskilt långvarig. Antingen sköt hoppet hos människorna bara upp det oundvikliga svaret, eller också skulle deras familjemedlemmar dö av en efter en likt pestsmittade patienter under medeltiden. Ingen visste heller varför.

 

Sjukdomen spred sig. För den som lämnade storstäderna ökade chanserna för att överleva en dag till, men också risken för att svälta ihjäl. De som levde i glesbygden var sällan benägna att dela med sig, särskilt inte till den våg av människor som trängde sig på. Utstötta i sitt eget land likt nationella flyktingar var de som försökte sig på att knacka dörr. Desperation ledde till konflikter, död och åter död.

Människan är ond när han sätter sig själv framför andra. Och det gör han alltid.

 

Utan familj eller något egentligt mål begav jag mig av, mest av rädsla för sjukdomar. Jag stötte på en lika förvirrad ensling som ackompanjerade mig ett tag, men våra vägar skars abrubt av en dag när han i ett försök att stjäla av min mat råkade skada sig själv så allvarligt att jag inte lyckades rädda honom. Det var sista gången jag grät.

 

Solen stod högt när jag fick äta mitt första mål mat för dagen. Jag hade lyckats fånga en ekorre som jag grillade under en liten låga som kom från min mobila grill jag skapt med hjälp av en öppen aluminiumburk och lite kol. Ytan var kanske en smula sparsmakt men lösningen både fiffig och enkel om man behövde göra sig osynlig för farorna som lurade ute i periferin. Behövde någonting stekas kunde jag nyttja locket tillhörande burken, allting tjänade ett syfte.

Köttet var mört men smakade otroligt bittert. All smak hade förvrängts samt korrumperats ända sedan händelsen. Som om sjukdomen den här världen nu bar på genomborrat allt levande och fortsatte plåga de sista som denna jorden tvingades vandra, till dess att vi bara var blott urholkade skal av våra forna jag. Jag suckade.

Än så länge hade den vilda naturens kulinariska upplevelser inte påverkat mig särdeles mycket, mer än att ge mig en temporär mättnad och energitillgång. Dessutom fanns det inte mycket val om jag skulle fortsätta leva, ett beslut jag redan hade tagit för länge sedan. Det må inte funnits mycket till argument för mitt leverne, men kunde jag klara mig bättre än de flesta så skulle jag banne mig också försöka! Om det så innebär att jag aktivt skulle söka en poäng med denna post-existens, så skulle det vara så mycket bättre än att bara ge upp!

 

Det många månader sedan jag sett en levande människa, men nu hade också mängden hot börjat sina. Slutligen hade jag börjat märka att även mängden djurliv började sakta avta. Vad var det som tog kål på oss så sakteligen, så smaklöst och smärtsamt? Vem ville se världen lida in i det sista?

 

Jag suckade och reste mig upp för att bege mig de sista stegen in i diset vars höjda ridå tydde på något illavarslande som låg i omnejd av staden. Dess gråa betongblock till byggnader, vars rutor för länge sedan brustit i kras, reste sig hotfullt mot skyn och kastade en oinbjudande skugga över mig. Obehaget gjorde sig påmint, men även jag påminde känslan som trängde sig på att det också var länge sedan det fanns något att känna obehag över.

 

”Jag får vara på min vakt, oavsett.”   

Bortom gränserna tänder vi ständigt nya ljus. 

Utan vetskapen för vilka vi släcker när vi trampar upp spår på den svarta stigen. Flimmrar lyktan? 

När vi vänder oss om, ser vi då alla lågor klara? Eller förblir vi evigt låsta mot framgången som oss lycka skall bringa? 

 

För vi blir alla nöjda, lite till bara... Låtom oss gå, treva och fumla. Vad är det som krasar under skon? 

Så kvävs den sista flackande låga i horisonten och vi får treva i blindo. I det eviga mörker finner vi ingen ro, ty det har sagts att vi alltid kan nå bortom det evinnerliga. Vad händer då, när vi inget längre ser? 

 

Fingrarna fumlar, läpparna smackar. Oron bildar en droppe på hjässan. Finns det en tändsticka i min ask tro? Eller har jag förbrukat alla, utan att egentligen veta vad jag skall ha dem till? 

Nej, ännu finns det hopp kvar, jag tänder lyktan. Hur många tändstickor som förblir orörda ser jag ej, kan inte se. Har ingen tid att kontrollera. 

För under mig har det slutat krasa, svetten har torkat ut. Var det en evighet sedan jag stod omringad av mörkret? 

 

Nu söker sig blicken vidare, dimman ger plats för framtiden. Stegen ekar allt tydligare. 

Men bakom, där höjer sig ridån. Men inte märker jag att ljusen försvinner allt djupare in i intet. Ryggen har jag dem sedan länge vänt. Ty framtiden väntar.

 

"Du kan bättre."

De mörka molnen sprider sig längs himlavalvet likt en droppe bläck i ett glas vatten. De varnar om kalla dagar framöver, om hemska blåsiga vindar. Om ondska.

 

Familjen har sedan länge flytt torpet och jag är den enda själen som lämnats kvar.

På det kala berget står en förfallen fasad, kämpandes mot väder år ut och år in, som en skadeskjuten hjort har den sakta men säkert börjat förstå sin ultimata dom. Där finns ett hopp om förbättring, om jag bara finner orken att förstärka upp mitt gamla hem.

 

Men icke. Istället väljer jag att fly in i den djupa, mörka granskogen. Istället för att göra det som sägs vara rätt föreställer jag mig att trygghet för stunden kommer överträffa alla former av långtida planeringar. För varför skall man göra något långsiktigt om man inte kan vara trygg just nu?

Där sitter jag, i mitt ruggiga tält och inväntar den evinnerliga stormen.

 

För här är jag säker, det är det enda stället jag känner igen. De sedan länge föråldrade minnen av ett vackert torp med barnaskratt och hundkskall under varma sommrar har bleknat bortom allt hopp om att någonsin ge mig en minsta insikt i hur det var förr. Med föräldrarnas bortgång försvann även kärleken.

Nu är det bara jag, torpet och skogen. 

 

“In my restless dreams I see it in front of me. The cottage in the woods, where you used to take me when I was young. You had just found out about my sickness back then.
Do you remember how you carried me inside when I didn’t have the strength to stand up, and how you wrapped me in that old blanket, the one that smelt like vinegar? You kept me warm whilst trying to light the fire.
We both grew older and with time your strength faded, still you carried me. From strange receptions to similar rooms, through sterile white corridors filled with smiling women, I could never understand why everyone seemed to know the problem but me. Your hair started to change into a pale white color as time moved on. I’d like to think each straw of hair turned white for every good deed you had done in your life, for there were many.
Do you remember how you held my hand with tears in your eyes? How you couldn’t find the courage to say goodbye. After all; you were supposed to leave the world behind before I did, not the other way around, wasn’t it? Could you remember the words you said to me?
‘Not like this. Never like this.’ I liked what you said, it meant so much to me.
Still, if only you knew how grateful I was for all you did to me, even though I never had the strength to speak.

I hope you are no longer in pain, now that your life has become less of a burdened existence now than back then.
I will always love you dad.

Love
Carol”

Dad found the letter in the mailbox on the day marking 11 years since she had passed away. New Year’s Eve. For the first time since then, he actually managed to smile, if only for a little while.

Part six: The bigger they are

 

As she wandered along the old rocky road she could not help but think how sad the scenery was in this part of the world. The trees weren’t as green and the ground wasn’t as moist. No colors seemed as lush as they were outside of her village.

Celica suddenly felt a long way from home which sadly was not far away from the truth. She realized how much she missed her mom, the small village in all its imperfect glory. Perhaps her actions today would be meaningful enough for the community to exist somewhere else, if she did fail she knew there would remain little of her family and friends when she returned. If she returned, there might not even be time for returning home, she figured.

 

The road ended as suddenly as it had begun and suddenly she noticed the towering brick wall in front of her. It appeared as if out of nowhere and seemed to expand whilst she observed it. A true colossus in a strangely familiar shape, it was human-made after all.

Celica leaned against the wall for a little while. It stood firm, a truly intimidating structure.

She threw a rock at it, then a larger rock. Nothing happened. The sound from rocks colliding against hardened clay spread in small echoes throughout the forest and scared some birds who flew away.

Celica sat down again against the wall to rethink her plan, only to realize she hadn’t had any plan to begin with! What was she supposed to do? She looked up and saw a thin white line at the end of the skyline. Time was short.

She threw more rocks at the wall, all it did was create more noise. Then Celica started climbing up a tree with a moderate stone to drop from above, hoping the velocity of the object itself would be enough. She miscalculated her throw a bit, when she released the rock she also lost her balance and fell backwards onto the hard ground. She heard her ribs crack as they hit the rocky road. Celica could no longer feel her legs or move them it seemed. She started sobbing.

 

The first rays of sunlight could be seen on the horizon, she had failed and all was lost. It was over, she knew it as sure as she knew anything.

“I’m so sorry mom, I’m sorry Sir August. I failed you all.” she said as tears ran down her face.

Then Celica stopped crying, so suddenly it even surprised her. She figured it wasn’t all lost after all.

“But how?”

Her body had given up, her brain seemed to do so as well but her heart was of another belief. What was it she had forgotten?

“Oh… I’m so stupid.” she said. Then again but this time she said it a lot louder. “I’M SO STUPID!” she shouted.

Celica still had two wishes. She thought about them hard and long. Then she finally said: “I wish for Rrx to appear together with all fairies this world contains.”

She heard a small pop just behind her. Then something hopped into her line of sight as she lay on the rocky road. “Y call?” Rrx said.

Celica smiled. “Yes. Yes I sure did Rrx.”

Then came another popping sound, and another, and then hundreds, maybe thousands of popping sounds as the whole fairy population appeared nearby.

“One wish?” Rrx asked.

“Yes it was a wish Rrx. I figured you guys eat stone don’t you? Do you eat brick as well?” she asked. Rrx acknowledged this by moisturizing its bulging lips with that monstrous tongue. “Very well. Tell your friends…” Celica forced herself to pause. Her body was in a lot of pain and she started having trouble breathing. “…dinner is served. I would point at the wall but I think you know what I mean.” she gasped.

Rrx started drooling and nodded.

Everywhere Celica could here hopping sounds and happy cries of: “OBOY!” and “YES!” as the fairies approached the wall. Celica heard chewing and crunching but could not see since she had trouble moving her head without having to endure more pain than her body could endure. She dared not, she didn’t want to lose consciousness.

“Rrx? Could I make my last wish?” she asked the fairy still sitting idly by while its friends feasted.

It nodded and shouted: “Yes! Yes! Wish good. Wish strong.”

“Heal me once more would you kindly?” Celica wished.

It only nodded and once again smeared that disgusting saliva on her skin-the shoulder this time-and she began to feel the healing effect almost immediately. When the pain stopped Celica got up on her feet and looked at the crumbling wall in front of her. Nothing would stop the hungry little monsters from having the buffet of their lives.

“Good wish little one!” Gnarly-Jarl said as he appeared.

“Anything man-made can be torn down by anyone as long as it is a man-or a woman in my case-wishing for it I figure.” Celica said smiling at her friend.

“Exactly! Precisely! This human is a fast learner.”

“You couldn’t have told me what to do then?” Celica asked.

“No, that way the wish would have been mine and it wouldn’t have worked. Now it was all your doing.” Gnarly-Jarl explained. “But I am proud of you human!”

“Thanks.” Celica smiled even more.

 

Finally the wall came down in front of them. The fairies continued eating away in each direction not minding the bright light seeping through the huge crack they had created.

“They will all be fat and joyful for decades to come.” Gnarly-Jarl chuckled.

Celica just laughed.

The light broke through with its fullest might. Celica basked in it, she let it engulf her wholly. She felt a warm tingling feeling spread from her heart out to her fingertips. It was a sensation she would never experience again. She felt like floating in water without the presence of water, like flying through space and time.

Somewhere behind her-it could’ve been a thousand kilometers away-someone said: “Goodbye little one. It was an honor having you as my friend.”

She waved back; cast a smile in its direction. Then it all ended.

 

What happened to Celica you ask? First you need to know what happened to her family.

The whole population of the little village in limbo ended up above ground, out of nowhere it seemed. It was okay really, since none of the now living residents had ever experienced life they deserved it for as long as they had to live. And in their deaths they would all end up in the same place, or pocket. They didn’t even notice because no one ever left the village. They didn’t even near the woods due to the misfortune that was the disappearing of Celica many years ago. Her mother being the one remembering and mourning her daughter’s unfortunate demise the most. As for the rest of the world? No one noticed when the village appeared and no one seemed to care. It all looked very natural, almost as if it had always been there, in one form or the other.

And Celica? Yes the little one remained in limbo for a while, but not for long. She only stayed long enough to say goodbye to all her newfound friends before she too became a resident of the real world. Only her wishes were to continue exploring it and so she did. Celica knew returning home would mean staying home for a long time, she simply chose the world first. There she remained for many years, travelling and exploring, finding new friends as she went along. We spent a lot of time together, the little one and I. I showed her the secrets I knew from walking among shadows and she showed me life from a human point of view.

Yes, yes. It was all very sentimental and nice. Then she returned to her annoying village. When she came home she was already a grown woman. It mattered little as her mother couldn’t have been happier to see her long lost child. Although it took her a great amount of time to understand the stories Celica told her, unfortunately she never really gave herself the time to accept them. Celica’s mother died happy, at peace but ignorant of the many truths Celica had told. Maybe it was for the best to let the little one’s secrets remain her own. I am not one to worry about human matters and humans seldom worry much about my opinion.

Celica became a good leader for the villagers, under her watchful eye they all learned about the world outside of the small walls. When she too died of old age the residents of this boring village finally took the step into the outside world.

Ironic isn’t it? How one human can evolve earth’s most ignorant spot into perhaps the most enlightened? Yes, it is very interesting.

 

As for me, I keep to the shadows. Where I belong, I watch humans come and go. Some intrigue me, others bore me. But they all end up where they are supposed to, in the afterlife I mean. No one’s bothered us in limbo for many years now. Hopefully for many years to come, who knows? Only shadows and Gwarockies are supposed to be able to travel between this world and limbo, it’s the way of things.

Then again belief is a strong thing in a tiny human’s brain. Maybe one day there will be another wall building itself, and maybe then I’ll accompany another little one as well?

Nothing is certain; this world has still got some tricks up its sleeve.

When it all comes around, it is not much unlike a big garden. A garden occasionally disturbed with weeds taking up space and birds eating some of the best fruits. From time to time someone needs to swoop in and clear out the assailants properly. Pull out the weed and scare off the birds. Otherwise this garden might just get ruined, weed would grow everywhere and you’d never get rid of the feathery creatures. A garden overgrown full of feathers would be all that remained. And sure there’s beauty in chaos, you just have to figure out which way you want it to go. It is your choice after all, humans destroy what humans create. And humans can rebuild what other humans destroy.  

 

The End.

 

 

Part five: Two wishes

 

Sir August accompanied Celica through the meadows. It appeared as the knight had explained: No spirit could hurt her, or maybe they wouldn’t? She wasn’t so sure.

They were headed to the other end, Celica had explained it was quite impossible to do so for her tiny legs but Sir August said he had a cunning plan. On their way to wherever Sir August intended to lead her something came to mind.

“Sir August?”

“Yes girl?” he answered.

“How come you spoke so… Funny when we first met?” she asked.

“When a true gentleman presents himself in front of a lady it is most crucial to keep a good appearance, and speaking as one once spoke is only befitting the occasion, wouldn’t you say? That way you can without a problem identify how long I have walked this planet.” Sir August proudly explained.

“Sure, okay.” giggled Celica.

 

“Ah! Here we are!” the knight stated after a little while.

They had arrived to an old hut, no more than three walls left of it though. A molded ruin.

“Why are we here?”

“You mentioned you knew Gwarockies so I figured we had a mutual friend. They are not the talkative kind, there’s only one who is.” the knight explained. Then he turned around and shouted: “GNARLY-JARL!”

Celica reflexively started blinking rapidly and yes, she could see how the shadow around the old hut started moving towards them.

“Your humble servant, Boss-man.” Gnarly-Jarl said.

“Wait a minute.” Celica said in amusement. “No way! Are YOU his superior?”

“Is it so hard to believe?” the knight asked puzzled.

“What are you doing here little one?” Gnarly-Jarl asked. “Oh I get it! Our plan to get you here worked I think.” it said.

“No, you told me not to go here. You wouldn’t even say why, no one or no thing would. That’s why I had to go see this place for myself.” Celica responded.

“Exactly.” Gnarly-Jarl chuckled. “Nothing tastes sweeter than the forbidden fruit.” Celica felt dumb, fooled like a little child. Gnarly-Jarl noticed. “Anyway, don’t beat yourself up about it. It really was the smart thing to do, you are the most intelligent being to come out of your village in over fifty years.”

“I don’t understand why we are here.” Celica said.

“Gnarly-Jarl,” the knight interrupted, “has the ability to travel further distances faster than any spirit. He can also bring you with him on the journey you must make. You will have to go with him and you will have to be back before sunrise, then Gnarly-Jarl will lose his ability and it will all be lost.”

“Why will all be lost?” Celica said.

“If you don’t succeed then we will all be cast out of limbo and cursed.” Gnarly-Jarl said. Then he corrected himself. “Or at least all Christian beings, no one will curse us Gwarockies. So yes, there it is. Tomorrow or the day after tomorrow a new religion will be formed and all Protestants will be cast out down to earth.” Gnarly-Jarl said.

Celica felt her head was going to explode if any more of this was told, she felt like something had been forcefully beaten into her skull. And still she wanted to know more. “What can I do to hinder this from happening?”

Sir August cleared his throat once again.

“This is going to be a good one.” Gnarly-Jarl whispered.

“I do not know child, but I am fully aware that Gnarly-Jarl here knows. He will tell you as you move along.” the knight smiled. “Is there anything else you’d ask of me before I send you both away?”

“Why do you call yourself a knight from Castle Feathergun? I wonder since we had a tavern with that name once.” Celica asked.

“Ah yes. You see girl, we were once three noble knights living inside the walls of castle Feathergun. Our mission was to guard these grounds you lay your eyes upon now, in death it became natural for me to assume charge over anything spiritual as I had assumed charge over the living. The other two knights lost their faith after my untimely death and got themselves into an enormous debate over morals. Eventually this debate got one of them to renounce Christianity completely in order to find his own path in life, the other only left his life as a knight behind and ended up owning a tavern with the same name. In some way it must’ve been to honor our brotherhood. The tavern must’ve existed for at least seven generations before it too was lost and forgotten. One of my friend’s descendants burned in your village. They are all here, in some form.” Sir August considered what he just said. “Oh, but not my friend Callaghan, he renounced our religion so I have no idea where he might be.”

“It sounds a bit sad.” Celica said.

“It all is, yes very sad indeed. But you have the power to make it undone. All of this.” Gnarly-Jarl said.

“But how?” Celica asked.

“Enough with the talking, let’s be on your way.” Sir August said.

Celica said goodbye to the knight and he in return wished the best of luck to both of them.

Gnarly-Jarl told Celica to reach out her hand, Celica wondered how they were supposed to travel great distances. She imagined something of a fairy-tale where the ghost took her hand, but as Gnarly-Jarl seemed to be missing any limbs it was all veiled in mystery for her.

Then it happened. Gnarly Jarl swooshed around her until she was surrounded with a thick transparent shadow, then she got pulled up in the air as though an invisible hand had pinched her. She was now flying at an alarming speed, she barely could tell what was going on a few meters below on the meadows. The air caused her eyes to tear and she blinked, below her she could see the spirits as they flew by faster and faster. They were all one blur after a little while.

 

It didn’t take long before they arrived at the other end of the meadows, mere minutes. Although-considering the speed-they might have travelled a great distance still. Celica had no idea how far, it all felt very surreal.

“Now listen to me little one and listen well.” Gnarly-Jarl started. “Sir August won’t tell you what this is all about because on some level he still believes part of the superstitions to be true and he does not wish to part with them. He will let me do what needs to be done though, as long as I keep him from admitting the truth.”

“What is the truth?” Celica asked.

“Religion is made up by humans. It’s as simple as it sounds. We-us otherworlders-have existed for many centuries and we don’t even know how we came to. Nowadays we don’t bother with the questions and tend to our duties. Although you are a superstitious sort, all you do is looking for answers to things you can’t neither understand nor explain. It just so happens to be that your belief has been fueled by your superstition and it has grown strong enough to create rules in our universe. That’s why you have started occupying pockets which weren’t yours to occupy in the first place!” it said.

“What are pockets anyway?” Celica asked.

“Look at the stars.” Gnarly-Jarl responded.

“Is every single star a pocket?” Celica wondered.

“No silly! They are just stars. I only wanted for you to gaze upon the great sky.” Gnarly-Jarl saw the confusion in Celica’s eyes. “OF COURSE THEY ARE POCKETS. You have trouble with sarcasm little one.”

“Oh…” she understood.

“Yes, and most of them nowadays are filled with different kinds of souls simply because your belief has willed it to be so. If there were no religions in your world then you would all go to one single star, and the evil-doers to another. Two stars instead of twenty, thirty, hundreds of stars being occupied because you quarrel about differences instead of accepting that all humans know nothing until after death.” Gnarly-Jarl explained with a smirk.

“How am I supposed to undo every religion? I am living in limbo and can’t even breach through to the other side where humans live.” Celica wondered. Then she remembered. “Rrx gave me two wishes. Can’t I just wish for all religions to become undone?”

Gnarly-Jarl laughed. “It’s sweet of you to consider the gift of a fairy to contain such a power that it can undo the fabric of time itself.”

Celica’s eyes widened. “THAT was a fairy?!” she shouted. “It looked nothing like a fairy!”

“Well aren’t you the expert on fairies, have you ever seen a fairy before little one?” it asked.

“No. No I haven’t, but I’ve heard of fairies. They were supposed to be...” she never finished her sentence.

“Pretty?” Gnarly-Jarl asked and laughed when he saw Celica nodding. “Oh girl, did you really think you’d be in a fairy-tale?”

“I guess I don’t know. Sorry.” Celica answered.

“No need to feel sorry little one. Now, what lies beyond you is a path made out of a rocky road. At the end of this path you will find a wall stretching far to the east and far to the west. Its height higher than any human could climb. The wall itself is made of bricks, each brick a manifestation of each different category in every religion. This wall did not exist for many years until humans developed, then it started to assemble itself down here in limbo.”

“What lies on the other side?” Celica wondered.

“Your salvation and the end to every superstitious belief, a way for all humans to spend the afterlife together. By destroying a part of this wall you will level the whole thing and thus release what lies beneath.” Gnarly-Jarl said.

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Only humans can destroy what humans create, it’s another silly rule we have to go by.”

“How do I destroy it.” she looked puzzled as she asked.

“I wish I knew, you can only wish. Goodbye little one!” Gnarly-Jarl said as he disappeared.

“WAIT!” Celica cried and fell forward as she tried to hinder the Gwarockie to leave, too late. “Typical. Now what should I do?”

She got up on her feet, turned around and started walking until she saw a rocky road. Then she continued. Celica figured she would think of something clever as she went along.

 

Part four: The world that is and the world that could have been

 

The forest started glowing in luminescent light the further Celica got on her voyage. Mushrooms started to give away a soft and warm glow, ranging from deep blue to bright orange. Trees moved in the warm winds and released leaves shining in vibrant green colors. Even the ground started to live, wherever she looked there were small movements. Some playful, others careful-almost shy-but they were all following her. She could hear laughter echo from nowhere, children’s voices whispering from behind trees as Celica walked by, but when she looked there wasn’t anything hiding.

Now the ground started to give away tones, literally sounding like instruments Celica had never heard! One tone for each step she took, she could also see how the specific spot where her foot pressed against the surface lit up with white circles, disappearing only after she no longer stood there. It was a sensation to say the least, this sensation comforted Celica and filled her heart with joy. She had never seen anything like it, perhaps no human had.

 

Celica could see the trees growing farther apart now, between the cracks she saw the vast sky filled with bright stars. The full moon also made his presence known by casting his light between the treetops, forming shadows eager to join the dance around Celica. In the moonlight she could also see a point beyond the woods were there was a big opening, in this opening she saw flowers moving in the midnight winds caressing them like a lovers touch. The meadows.

Suddenly-as she realized what she saw-all the music and all the vibrant colors seemed to fade distinctively for each step she took closer to the beginning of the meadows. As the last dying light burned out Celica could swear she heard a deep sigh from within the woods, it almost sounded as a warning. But she couldn’t really tell.

 

As she approached the tree line she started to feel something grow within her. A worry that clenched a steady grip around her throat, she swallowed.

The meadows spread for vast distances in every direction. Celica had trouble seeing any end to it besides the woods behind her. It was pretty easy to see in front of her thanks to the bright full moon casting its graceful light down from the big sky.

Hadn’t it been for this worry growing steadily inside of her she might have been disappointed. At first glance the meadows appeared to be nothing but a field of grass and flowers. Then she noticed how the flowers all bent towards her from every direction, no matter the wind. It seemed almost like every growing plant within a two meters radius from Celica seemed unaffected by the blowing wind, instead all the plants leaned and bowed for Celica as if accepting her as their new master. Then when she increased her distance they straightened up and became suddenly aware of the air again. Celica found it strange and increased her pace through the meadows.

Something touched Celica’s shoulder. She gasped. Then she felt another cold caress across her waist, then another through her hair. She could not see the assailant, so she blinked. When blinking she saw the reason why no one ever went beyond the woods, why the meadows had been forbidden. She saw it all.

 

First Celica could only see the spirits flying around her, the ones who had touched and caressed her seemed all friendly. They appeared almost human in their long white transparent dresses, most of them were women. Their faces were blurred out and they had no hands.

Then she saw beyond the spirits surrounding her, she saw an ocean of different creatures. Were they spirits or ghosts? She couldn’t tell. Some looked friendly and calm, others had horns and different war-paintings on their chests. Others were missing heads and others were totally disfigured. It seemed though as the meadows was the meeting place for all spirits, the blessed and the damned.

This was all a little much for Celica to take in so she screamed, overwhelmed by all the impressions. She never stopped blinking for a second, Celica intended to observe every single thing moving around since she feared more than one of them wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.

Her scream caused every single thing to swirl and fly in increasing speed and in random aggressive patterns, she had only seen this type of behavior from the village’s bees once when a box was dropped and the hive within destroyed. But these were ghosts, were they supposed to behave like this?

“What made you the expert on spirits?” something said behind her.

Once again Celica shrieked and turned around.

“No need to scare them even more, is it?” said the voice belonging to a tall man behind her. Or maybe it was more the spirit of a man. He had an enormous black beard, shaved head and was wearing an impressive knight’s armor with an insignia of a red dragon bursting in flames on his chest. An honorable knight for sure, had he been alive. Now his spectral form was missing legs, instead he seemed to simply fade from the waist down.

“Who are you?” Celica asked scared.

“My name is Sir August or August the firm. Knight of three from the castle Feathergun. Died many hundred years ago in a battle not far from here against Bartholomew over there, although we’ve been friends for the last decade. Now we laugh about it mostly.” he exclaimed.

Celica realized she had stopped blinking while listening to this specter in front of her. “How come I can see you without blinking?” she asked.

“Really now girl, millions of question going on in your head and this is the question you chose? You puzzle me. Nevertheless I shall answer your question truthfully! Behold!” he disappeared in front of Celica’s eyes, reappeared then swooped down so his face was at level with Celica. “I appear in front of you because it is of my own doing. I choose to appear and thus shall I appear in front of thee!” he sounded proud as he explained.

Celica thought this new found knight funny but she was not as convinced about all the events happening behind her back. She looked around worried.

“No need to fear these spirits girl, they are as afraid of you as you are of them. Consider them as spiders if you may.” Sir August snickered.

Celica seemed calmer which gave Sir August that proud look again. Celica stared at the knight and bit her lip. “How come you can read my thoughts?” she asked.

“Where would I be if I couldn’t? Nowhere is where!” Sir August chuckled. “But surely though, it is but a trait I’ve discovered during my time here. Something for mine entertainment merely, nothing more.”

“You do know it is rude to listen into people’s thoughts without them knowing?” Celica scolded Sir August.

The specter knight raised one eyebrow. “You do know it is considered rude scaring peaceful citizens, dead as they may be?” he retaliated.

Celica looked down on her shoes and stroke her left arm. “No.” she admitted.

“Then we both have something we’re not proud of young girl. Now tell me, art thou here to finally complete the trial?” Sir August asked.

Celica looked confused. “What trial?” she asked.

“The trial of worlds of course!” the knight noticed the confusion spreading on Celica’s face. “And they not only sent a child, they sent an ignorant child! Splendid.” he murmured.

“Hey! I’m not ignorant and nobody sent me!” Celica snapped back.

“No one sent you girl?” Sir August asked shocked. “Then why are you here about the trial of worlds then?” he asked.

“I don’t know, you mentioned the trials not I.” she responded.

“Ah yes, yes. Truthful you are and forgetful I am. Well then, “ he cleared his throat, “the trial of worlds is really a trivial task for anyone to complete. However the result from completing or failing could mean the difference between life and death. New and old.” he waved his index finger in a warning gesture. “The world is changing little girl, and since you are the first human to set foot on the other side of the woods in at least fifty years I’d say it’s a safe bet it will be far too late whenever the next person comes through.”

“Too late for what?” Celica asked.

“Not paying attention are we?” the knight sighed. “Your village was once cursed. You see it burned down completely, I’d say about… Eighty years ago?” Sir August pondered.

“Hundred and twenty!” someone cried.

“Ah yes! Thank you Bartholomew!” Sir August cried back. Sir Bartholomew waved back in acknowledgement. “A splendid chap that man, no idea what our quarrel was about back in the day. No idea… Anyhow, your village burned down over a decade ago and everyone died.” Sir August said without thinking about what impact his words might have on Celica. When he looked at the girl she stood there, eyes wide, mouth open and completely frozen. “Ah well, you did survive. In a way.” the added quickly. “But you are not living among the living anymore. So it’s not all that bad.” he tried in an awkward attempt to comfort Celica.

“Am I dead?”

“No, not really. Well you are not alive if that’s what you’re asking.” Sir August did not expect this issue to become something so sinister.

“What am I then? What are we all?” Celica asked still bewildered.

“You are and you aren’t. This is all very complicated. You exist in the world where your forefathers died in the burning village, however on the day all of you were going to be released to heaven something happened. There was a change of order.” the specter said.

“What change of order?” Celica didn’t really understand.

“Are you Christian?” Sir August asked.

“Yes. We all are.”

“So is yours truly, catholic?”

“Yes of course.”

“Aaah and there you have it!” Sir August exclaimed.

“I still don’t understand.” Celica said confused.

“Around our world we have many different spaces that circle around in deep space, pockets you might call them. In a certain pocket you might find smaller trivial things, like all evil in existence. In another you will find passageways onto different dimensions, others serve as sanctuaries for different species.”

“Like Gwarockies?” Celica asked.

“Yes, yes exactly like Gwarockies. Where have you encountered them girl? Oh it doesn’t matter. What matters is these pockets only exist in a limited amount, they also have a limited amount of space within them. That’s the whole dilemma right there, since there is only one pocket for religious souls who go to heaven and one pocket for those who go to hell the rules over which religion get to occupy them are very strict. Every time a larger religion than Catholic Christianity comes into rule we risk losing more places up in our ‘heaven’. Now it has gone thus far that all of the Catholic Christians are thrown out due to bigger religions ruling.”

“I think I might understand.” Celica said but she really had no clue.

“Good for you, fantastic! So you see, when your village burned down you were all supposed to go to heaven. Apart from that hideous bard of course. But on that night your world stopped existing and the new world of Neo-Christianity got more followers resulting in all of us getting cast out. Your village left in limbo.” Sir August explained.

“What is limbo?” Celica asked.

“It is the dimension left on earth, once it only served as a passageway between worlds for demons and otherworlders to travel with ease. Nowadays it looks more like a waiting terminal for lost souls. The problem with existing in limbo is how frail this place really is, more times than not the invisible walls between our world and the ‘real’ world become so frail we can actually see living beings. And sometimes-God forbids-they can see us. This is especially worrying.”

“So we are not supposed to be here really, but cannot escape because there is no room in these pockets?” Celica asked.

“More or less child, more or less.” Sir August responded.

“So is limbo another pocket?”

“Heavens no! It is just limbo. A very crowded limbo as you might see. All of the meadows, all of the Christian souls occupying it. Sinners and saints side by side, fathers next to their daughters whom they caught in the hay with strangers pre-marriage. Children standing next to adults whom used the Lord’s name in vain. It’s all very tragic.” the knight shook his head in sorrow.

“What does ‘the hay’ mean Sir August?” Celica asked.

Sir August’s eyes widened and he looked at the girl as though he was caught doing something nasty. “Nothing you need to worry your little head with girl!” he responded and in a tone that said it was a closed topic from now on.

“So what will happen to us now?” Celica then proceeded.

“Well, your village is blessed in a way. Your forefathers who burned became the creators of life in limbo. Since they no longer had to follow the same rules as other deceased souls. They defied it all and thus you exist. You are an exception in a wicked world girl.” the knight said with joy in his voice. “For limbo is no permanent residence, if it gets to crowded we will all be damned. Just as if you would die, then you would be damned as well.”

“What happens if you are damned?” Celica wondered.

“Your existence is erased, you never were and will never be. Your soul will be disintegrated at such a microscopic level that no one even has a word for it yet.” the knight responded.

“My father is dead. Most of my family is.” Celica stated.

“I’m sorry girl. But right now there’s no time to mourn unfortunately, think of the lives you might save instead. If you complete the trials you might save all of us. Even the hideous homosexuals out on the field.” the knight pointed with a disgusted frown but Celica could only see bright souls, Celica figured the ones with a more red color were the sinners and the ones Sir August pointed at were nothing but bright spirits flying around in harmony.

“I see nothing wrong with the spirits you call ‘homoseksuals’.” she said.

 Sir August appeared angered by Celica’s comments. “Never you mind girl, don’t let those liars deceive you. However, even their souls can be saved.”

“They do appear to be just as any other soul Sir August.” Celica persisted.

“I’m taught not to see them in that manner.” Sir August replied.

“What is a homosexual?” Celica asked.

“A man who commits sin, a man falling in love with a man and a woman falling for a woman, it’s all very gruesome really.” Sir August said.

“I don’t see how it would be a problem.” Celica said with a smile.

Sir August seemed very annoyed by Celica’s innocent thoughts. He remained speechless for a little while until Celica felt really uncomfortable, she could not understand what had angered the knight so but she felt it wasn’t her place to wonder right now.

“Can we save them?” Celeste wondered.

“Yes. Everyone can be saved. Even sinners.” Sir August confirmed.

“How?” Celica asked.

“By creating the world that could have been.”

 

Part three: We don’t go beyond the forest

 

The following day nothing truly amazing happened. Celica could not get over the impression from encountering this Gwarockie called Gnarly-Jack; almost like it all was one big dream for her. And the more time she spent thinking of it the more she actually started to think it had all been some part of her imagination. Considering she hadn’t let her imagination flow since she barely could reach the second shelf in her mother’s house, this extreme outburst of fantasy could be a side-effect.

She dared not ask anyone for they would call her silly and laugh at her for not knowing any better. No, Celica was once again on her own. The way she had always been and perhaps the way she most often preferred.

Uncertain if it had all been a dream or not Celica spent most of the day helping her mother with tasks in the household. She knew it would pay off, letting her go out on longer trips later.

That night Celica did not sleep very well.

 

“Up n’ about again are you missus?” the watchman asked. “Lost her doll has she?”

“No, I’d just like to go out and visit the road for a bit.” Celica lied.

“Isn’t anything on the road for a young lady innit?” said the watchman heartily.

“Nevertheless I would like to go.” Celica persisted.

“Ah. The spirit of the young, now who would I be to stop them ladies from venturing forth? A cruel cruel man would I be, aye so I would.” The watchman said. “Then again I belong to them watchmen, being my job to look after them fo’ks innit?”

“I will only go a bit down the road, I’ll be back before noon I promise.”

“Now don’t you go doing all that mischievous thingy you teenagers do, hear me well missus?” the watchman asked with a worried voice.

“I promise.” Celica lied.

“Rightey-o then. On your way you be! Don’t make me regret this.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back soon!” Celica cried.

“Something’s telling me I’ll regret this big time.” the watchman said.

He would…

 

Celica couldn’t hide that she did feel a bit scared when she finally entered the woods. Her first destination for the day was to visit “The Feathergun” and talk to Gnarly-Jack, she didn’t find him there though. If he wasn’t there then perhaps it was all her imagination?

So she circled the village until she came to the southern part and went to the woods. The southern watchman wasn’t as watchful as his northern colleague, being asleep and all. Celica took her first steps, admittedly they were the hardest. She felt a strong force within her screaming for her to stop, but she didn’t. When her body gave up and let her walk forward her heart started raising, begging her to turn around. She wouldn’t. Finally her mind started to play tricks on her, conjuring shadows at the corner of her eyes, scaring her to reconsider. She didn’t want to.

In the forest grew many things she had never seen before, there were these things people used to call mushrooms but she had never tasted any. She could recognize them from the tales though, they had feet, sometimes large, sometimes small. Then came the funny-looking hats in different shapes and sizes, they too varied in colors Celica noticed. Nobody had told her this and she was amazed from just how many variations of mushrooms there could be. Some were edible and others weren’t she had heard, but which one?

Celica saw a mushroom with the most beautiful vibrant colors, it was white with red spots all over it. It almost glowed in the rays of sunlight cast between the trees, this particular mushroom looked very delicious. She figured if it looked good it probably was. So she picked one up to try it, just a small nibble.

As she progressed to take her first bite the mushroom suddenly got struck out of her hand and crushed under an invisible weight. She gasped and put her hands to her mouth to force herself from screaming. Then she remembered to blink, so she blinked.

Suddenly she saw a faint movement amongst the trees, it tried to blend in amongst the shadows but it only enhanced the current shadow making it noticeable. The more she blinked the more she saw it moving about.

“I know you are there!” she said loudly.

No one or nothing answered. Celica was a bit disappointed. Then she smiled a little, being the clever girl she was she thought about provoking whatever was following her into doing the same thing again. She had no clue the mushroom she just tried to eat was referred to as toadstool and that it was one of the most common poisonous mushrooms found in forests. She only knew that it didn’t want her to eat one of these mushrooms so that was exactly what she would try to do once more.

She ventured a little deeper into the woods until she saw another one, not identical to the previous one but similar enough. She plucked it and this time started to bite it, nothing smacked it away from her this time. Disappointed she took a big bite and swallowed. Nothing…

Celica sighed.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” a voice echoed through the trees.

 

“You should not have done that.”

She blinked as fast as she could, it was there alright. Always in the corner of her eyes, keeping its distance.

“Show yourself!” she demanded.

“Oh no no no! Why would I ever do that?” it answered.

“Gnarly-Jack, is it you?” she wondered.

“Wrong! Although I’ve heard of him, isn’t he a bit shady for your company?” the voice chuckled.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Who are you then?”

“For humans it’s a bit hard to explain, you grasp only parts of the world. I am and I am not, I exist among you but I also exist somewhere else. I tend to the trees and keep them from harm.” it said.

“Like a gardener then?” Celica asked.

“A gardener?!” the laughing came from all directions at once. “No young human, a gardener I am not. However if it amuses thee I won’t stop you from recklessly degrading my tasks.”

“Are you a Gwarockey?” she then asked.

“Wrong again.” it sounded amused. “For Gwarockies can easily be seen using your eyes, see you can manipulate them. No, I cannot be seen as well as them. It is my strength… And my weakness.”

“Why is it your weakness?” she asked.

“I can never stop moving around. It’s the way I’m created see? If I ever stop I’ll die.” it said.

“Sad.” Celica confirmed.

“Far from it I’d say. Many of my kind don’t like it, me however? I love my abilities, no worries there.”

“So what’s your name?” she asked.

“Elgar.” it answered.

“That’s pretty much a human name!” Celica said giggling.

“Because it is. My kind does not use names, I have simply chosen one fitting this situation and am likely to change it when I encounter a human again. Now human, would you tell me your name?”

“Don’t!” something whispered inside her head. “Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him!” it continued.

“My name is-“ Celica started.

“-don’t tell him-“ the voice interrupted.

“-my name…” Celica froze for a second.

“Yes? Your name?” Elgar asked.

“Is Emma.” Celica finally said.

A snickering echoed left to right, right to left. “No it isn’t. Tell me your real name girl.” it almost demanded.

“Why do you care what my name is?” she asked.

“Now we are friends yes? Friends need to know each other’s names.” Elgar replied.

“We are hardly friends and you don’t even have a name!” Celica said.

“Now you listen...” Elgar suddenly sounded uncontrollably mad. Then a sigh came through the whole of the forest. “The mushroom you just ate is poisonous, I can help you but my powers are limited. If you don’t give me your name then I won’t be able to help you.” Elgar sounded calm again but the edge was still there. “I tried to save you once but you ignored it, remember?”

“Lies!” multiple voices this time. “All lies! Don’t listen, don’t believe his wretched lies!” they encouraged Celica.

“And if I don’t give you my name?” Celica asked.

“Then we can’t be friends and I can’t help you.” Elgar’s voice seeped through Celica as if it was drenched in poison itself. She felt discomfort.

“No friends. Can’t be friends!” the voices cried.

“Can’t or won’t?” Celica asked.

“What’s the difference?” it exploded in furious anger. Elgar’s voice shattered into million smaller voices, more high pitched. “WITHOUT ME YOU WILL DIE!” they said. Then they united into a distorted lower voice. “You won’t survive.”

“I don’t trust you.” Celica said.

Elgar shrieked, the sound could shatter glass. Then came a sonic boom which threw Celica backwards into a tree. She hit her head and fainted.

 

When she open her eyes again it was dark outside, she had a fever. Her insides felt like they were soon going to be leaving one way or the other. Celica knew from the start that Elgar hadn’t lied, at least not about the poisoning. She had never been poisoned before and she would make damn sure it would never occur again. But right now she was sure of it as she had been sure of anything in her life, this had to be poison. Only problem was she had no clue how to get rid of it.

“Elgar?” she murmured softly. But no answer came.

She blinked for as much as she could endure before getting too dizzy to continue. She could neither see nor sense any presence besides herself.

Celica was afraid, she hadn’t prepared for a situation like this. To be all alone in the woods past noon without anyone looking for her or knowing where to look for her. She knew she had no strength to return home, albeit she wouldn’t die in the woods but she would definitely suffer for a long while. That much she knew, being the clever girl she was. And even if she would die Celica figured it wouldn’t be the fear of death that would scare her the most but the fear of suffering. 

She took out her three pink-colored rocks and started to roll them in her hands while tears slowly dripped from her cheeks. Celica tried not to focus on the pain but it truly was hard. With the energy she could conjure she tried to think of where the voices came from and from whom, why did they warn her? What was the danger of trusting Elgar? And why did she choose to trust them instead of Elgar, they were just as strange to her as Elgar had been.

Celica did not know the answers and grew tired after a while when she realized she was just going round in circles with her reasoning, every time she stopped thinking about the voices her pain made itself known again, so she chose to continue asking the same questions.

After a while Celica realized she had trusted the voices because they had sounded so scared, like they too knew what it was to put your trust into someone else’s hands and being let down. Besides Elgar did not feel genuinely nice, not like the Gwarockey she had met the day before.

 

“Excuse… Oy! Excuse…” something with a gravelly voice spoke.

Celica woke up from her uncomfortable sleep, she was sweating from the fever and shivering. Her stomach had stopped aching but the nausea was still present. She looked deliriously around, her vision blurred. She couldn’t see the owner of this strange voice.

“Oy! Oy!” the grunts came closer now.

Celica looked at her feet and there it was. A toad, or a toad-like creature, only perhaps with more plump features. Its skin had a rougher texture, almost scaly like a dragons and it shimmered at times in light blue. This toad-like thing was no beauty to look at, its tongue grotesque as it licked itself whilst focusing on the girl. Others would probably scream at the sight of this hideous little monster, but not Celica. She feared little else than pain itself, so when laying her gaze upon the grunting thingy she felt happy to be in someone’s-or something’s-company.

“Hi there!” she whispered in a soft voice.

“…I!” it responded in its deep almost coughing attempt to speak.

“Where do you come from?” Celica asked.

It looked mesmerized, like it knew what Celica wanted to know but didn’t know how to answer. So it lifted one of its feet and pointed at a rock. “…ock! Ock!” it grunted.

“You mean rock?” Celica corrected.

It nodded. “Ock! Ock!”

“You live inside that rock?” she asked.

It nodded again. Confirming by saying: “Ock! Ock!” then it looked at the pink stones in the palm of Celica’s hand which she had kept open when she was sleeping. Its eyes looked as if they were going to pop out and it licked itself again.

“What’s your name?” Celica asked.

It did not know how to respond. “Name?” it mimicked.

Celica pointed at herself. “My name is Celica. Celica.” she smiled. “Your name is?”

“Rrx.” it responded.

“Arghx?” Celica asked?

It shook its head. “No. Rrx.” it responded.

“Rrx then?”

Rrx nodded, then again started looking at the stones. Celica smiled. “You want the stones I bet?”

Rrx licked his left cheek as a response.

“Perhaps if I give you all of these stones you will help me?” Celica asked.

Rrx nodded. He lifted three fingers. “Three stone, three wish.” Rrx said.

“Wishes? No, I only need help getting back home.” Celica murmured.

Rrx did know how to respond. “Three stone, three wish.” it repeated.

“Are these wishes magical in nature?” she seemed a bit suspicious.

Rrx smiled and nodded. “Magic! Magic!” it shouted.

Celica found it hard to believe, nevertheless she gave Rrx one stone. His tongue hit the little pink mineral in front of her and within a split second he had swallowed it with a loud gulp. Rrx belched.

“Wish? Wish?” it asked.

“Cure me?” Celica asked without really believing it would do anything. Rrx’s let some saliva drip from its lips onto its left hand, it then hopped a bit closer to Celica. Celica was really grossed out from when Rrx smeared his foul-smelling saliva onto her bare scraped knee. She then found herself feeling better, it was like a when a strong grip started to loosen up and within her she could feel the pain fade. After ten seconds Celica could breathe normally and the fever had gone. She scratched Rrx on its neck, it seemed to enjoy the gesture as it closed its eyes.

“Well aren’t you my little knight in shining armor? Thank you!” she sighed heavily.

Rrx said nothing and pointed on the remaining two stones. “Trade? Two wish?” it grunted.

“Might as well, you have proven to be a reliable trader haven’t you?” she giggled. “But I do not know what to wish for yet.”

“Give stones now. Wish later. You speak, Rrx hear.” it said.

“Wherever I go?” Celica asked.

“Anywhere, everywhere.” Rrx confirmed.

“You got yourself a deal then little friend.” she said and gave him the remaining two stones.

Rrx swallowed them both as fast as he did the first one. The gulp was loud, the belch even louder. It seemed very satisfied.

“Before you go.” Celica said. “I would want to ask you something.”

“Wish?” Rrx asked.

“No wish, only a question. Is it okay?” Celica wondered.

“One question, no wish. Ask.” Rrx nodded.

“What lies beyond this forest?”

“Meadow. Meadow.” it answered nervously.

“And what happens by the meadows?” she wondered.

“Rrx no answer. Girl no ask.” Rrx responded. It looked uncomfortable.

“But why can’t anyone tell me? Do I have to go there myself to find out?”

“No go. Wrong go. Scared go.” Rrx said.

“I shouldn’t go?”

“Yes no. Stay woods. Here safe.” it said. Then something really strange happened. Rrx shifted its color from light to a darker blue and its eyes changed, they were almost human now. “We don’t go beyond the forest.” it mimicked in someone else’s voice. It must’ve heard one of the elders say this a long, long time ago. Then it regain its natural color, the eyes resumed their toad-like appearance. “I go. You wish, I hear. Bye girl.” it then said and started to hop away towards the rock which presumably was his home.

“Bye!” Celica waved.

“Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye.” Rrx mimicked whilst hopping away.

 

Celica knew she should turn around and go home. Somehow she didn’t feel like it. Besides, she was highly unlikely to get outside of her village again for at least a couple of years since she had been away for longer than she promised both the watchman and her mother. Her mother! She would be worried sick by now Celica thought. No matter, her mother could yell all she wanted but Celica had to find out the truth about the meadows. And since nobody would tell her, she had to go there herself it seemed.

Some would dread to discover anything beyond this point, since the tale of the meadows had always been a forbidden topic. Though fear itself could be a strong tool to drive away curious children, it was not even close from scaring Celica. She had gotten thus far, she had met beings no one had ever known existed and she would blame herself for the rest of her life if she didn’t see this through. There would never be another chance like this one, she knew it!

Perhaps one day the world went back to its normal boring state? No one knew, no one but Celica could notice it anyway. No, this might just be the one time she got to find out. And she intended to find out.

 

Her rug sack three stones lighter and her body rejuvenated she stepped on the ancient path that led through the forest yet again. This time she wouldn’t stop until she came through to the other side.  

 

Part two: Featherguns and Gwarockies

 

Celica grew up and she grew older, for every year she leaped forward onto new discoveries. Deep within her soul she could still feel this little place in her heart hurting from that day when her mom once had asked, no; commanded not to explore the meadows. Somehow these words had forcefully pushed all her curiosity into a small box whom she then locked shut within herself. This box had yet to be opened, but Celica could not find the key for the many locks that had accumulated throughout the years.

She was a teenager now; some would say Celica had gotten calmer over the years. Others might even state Celica’s behavior to be a prime example for others to follow. As a matter of fact Celica had lost her ways, she hadn’t yet realized it herself, but she was definitely lost. If she would take a moment to search within herself she would soon find how numb she had become, how all the genuine emotions were now replaced by something…

To Celica everything she felt was now a hollowed out copy of her experiences from her childhood years and she did not even know it herself. Slowly but surely Celica was slipping down in to a void from which she would never be able to get out of.

 

But of course fate is destined to change many things, Celica had no idea what would come her way. Maybe she was content in not knowing?

Maybe they speak of truth the words of old? “Ignorance is bliss” they say, perhaps it isn’t all negative?

 

One day when Celica woke up she realized how the world had changed. Not quite being old enough to understand the irony of how her world that changed her every day had now itself transformed into something other than it was the day before. She did not understand it or she didn’t think of it, either way she felt it wherever she did go. She smelled it in the air; she saw it in the mud and sensed it on every villager passing her by. Celica did not dare ask anyone about it, what was the point anyhow? She had burnt herself asking questions she wasn’t supposed to before, a mistake she would not be stupid enough to make again.

But what was it? Everything seemed different somehow, yet Celica seemed to be the only one noticing. The others kept existing; for it was all they ever did. She knew for she had herself only existed for quite a while now. Not anymore, something had woken the girl up in the midst of her bloom.

Something happened to Celica, she felt a surge of emotion she hadn’t had in a long time. Like the world had reopened anew and was yet again ready to tell her all its secrets. She ran back home and began to turn her room upside down.

“Oh where is it!?” she blurted in frustration.

There it was! Underneath her bed, behind the many old cartons of childish memories she found her old rug sack she had once carried with her every time exploring new and exotic places.

Now the word exotic seemed a bit misplaced for Celica since it referred to the attic, the basement and sometimes the yard behind old Andrews’s farm. But at the time they all felt exotic and she truly missed the tingling coming from her stomach when rummaging through litter, or that time when she snuck all her dolls into an old container just behind the barn.

Her rug sack had always given her the feeling of comfort, like a portable sanctuary! It sure was. Thus it seemed almost too unnatural for her if she were to go on a new-and certainly dangerous-adventure without this rag made out of an old skirt her mom had sewn when she still was a small toddler. It still held pretty well, but it didn’t allow for much space. Celica decided to only pack the most important things: her one doll she still cuddled with during long rainy nights although her mother did not approve, a lens of glass she once found in a puddle of water which she once used to burn an ant with the rays of sunlight and regretted for weeks, a pen and some paper, three curious sized rocks, all colored pink. These were her most favorite things in the world and had brought her great joy when little, until she had forgotten about them… Once again they were all united and ready for a true adventure!

 

First she needed to tell her mom she was leaving. Her mom had not been feeling good of late and had been spending a lot of time in bed during the last days. Celica ran into the mother’s bedroom without thinking and stumbled on the doorway. She fell and almost gave her poor mother a heart attack.

“Celica, for goodness sake! Be more careful, you will get seriously injured one day if you do not watch your step girl!” she exclaimed shocked.

“Sorry mom!” Celica apologized, although it was a bit half-hearted but her mother seemed to accept the apology. “I’m going on an adventure!” she giggled.

“Not one of those ‘adventures’ that causes your mom to add more clothes to the laundry basket is it?” her mother asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know mom, I’ll try and be careful!” Celica was already halfway out of the room when she said it.

“I hope so! And be home before noon!” her mother yelled after her but Celica could barely hear her.

“Yes mom! Bye mom!” the door slammed and Celica ran outside.

 

When Celica reached the town square she had no clue on where to begin. How do you explore a world when the whole world appeared different in front of your very eyes? There was no map that could show her the way since all map had been created during an older time, no one could point her in the right direction because no one else seemed to have been consciously affected by it. They all looked different, they all behaved the same.

After observing her neighbors for a while she quickly concluded that no one had even changed their routines, so they definitely did not know what it was Celica wanted to know. She thus ran to the northern gate.

“Now now Celica, where are you off to in such a hurry girl?” the watchman shouted from his watchtower.

“I’m off somewhere to find my doll; I’ve lost it you see.” Celica answered, it was a lie of course. She would never misplace her most precious item. But the watchman did not seem to know this.

“Is that so? A girl like youself would be a little old for them dolls, innit?” the watchman smiled. Celica could not determine if it was out of kindness or a way to mock her.

“If I’m too old for dolls then you’re too old to wear that stupid hat!” she snapped back.

At first the watchman appeared begrudged by the words that had left the girls mouth, then a smile spread across his face and he bursted out in laughter.

“Ho ho! Cleva miss, you go find this doll but stay away from them woods. They be dangerous for young girls, even an old stooge like meself.” he then opened the gate and Celica left the village for the first time in many years.

 

Outside of the village existed a large road presumably leading to greater cities, but no one had travelled for years ever since they had become self-sufficient. Once upon a time the occasional trader or travelling party of jesters would come by, but this all seemed so long ago, so long that no one could really remember the last time anyone had seen a stranger near the village. It was all before Celica was born, she had heard about the tavern just outside the city gate and how it had boasted many joyful evenings filled with laughter and dance, how the light from the stained glass windows would shine until sunrise… But now it was nothing more than an old abandoned house. It had fallen to decay when they stopped getting visitors and the owner had presumably taken his business elsewhere. No one knew the owner so no one could tell Celica how he or she had been. Not even a name.

It was the first place Celica visited; maybe it too had gone through a transformation just like the rest of the world?

 

There it was: “The Feathergun”. The sign was still present, even though it hung low due to one of the chains had rusted and broken loose.

At first it didn’t appear to be very different from how she could remember it. It was a long time ago, she admitted. Nothing was certain until proven certain, so she stepped-unafraid as she was-inside the old ruin of a house and started her research.

The insides of this building smelled of mold, dirt and it had a sour smell to it. Celica always wondered why the tavern had gotten the name “Feathergun”. There was nothing odder than a gun firing feathers, she thought. And she could see neither feathers nor guns anywhere; she wasn’t dumb enough to anticipate guns just lying on the floor waiting for someone to pick them up. But at least she would be contempt to see maybe a carving in the wooden wall somewhere or a painting of some sort. There was nothing.

So this feathergun-business remained a mystery. Celica didn’t mind though, she loved mysteries. And for the first time in a very long one she felt alive and not just blurred out by grayness.

She looked around in the big room again and found something she hadn’t seen before.

Strange, the shadow had moved across the room. The sunlight had been shining through the windows on her right, casting shadows to the left of all objects inside. Now she seemed to be staring at the same room through a mirror, an enchanted mirror perhaps.

The sunlight still sipped through the glass on the right, but the shadows were now forming on the right side of every object in the room. It was so unnatural that Celica had trouble grasping what she saw. She closed her eyes, opened them again and it was still there! Like it was the most natural thing in the world! She started blinking furiously to clear her head of any insanity that might’ve gotten to her when she entered the tavern.

First nothing happened. Then when she continued blinking the shadows switched sides. Then again. And again, and again. Then the shadows switched every time she blinked, the faster she did it the more times she could see the shadow dancing around in the room, almost like it lived.

“You’re not fooling me!” Celica shouted uncertain of what else she could do about this.

She didn’t expect anything to answer. But an answer came nonetheless: “Okay, you got me!”

Celica gasped as the shadow left its resting places and clumped itself into one big dark thing, it all happened very slowly but for Celica it was over in a heartbeat. Suddenly she had this big transparent thing leaping over her.

“For 300 years I have been doing my job. I have one night of heavy drinking and you just happen to catch me when I’m hung-over! Who sent you young human? Has Boss-man started to employ you as part of some scheme?” it spoke. From where Celica did not know, it had no mouth as far as she could tell. She felt a bit scared, but the excitement outweighed her fear by a mile! She squeezed her shoulder strap just in case, it made her feel more comfortable.

“Are you humans devout of language or have I just stumbled upon one without a tongue?” the shadow asked. When Celica started to open her mouth but not speaking in amazement it continued: “Nah! I’m just kidding young one, you all speak way too much! You can get sooooo annoying.” it laughed.

Celica finally had gathered enough courage to talk: “What are you?”

“I’m Gnarly-Jarl, at your service!” it said and as it spoke the shadowy form sunk into a clump above her height, then it resumed its ghostly form, towering above Celica.

“Hello Gnarly-Jarl, my name’s Celica.” said Celica.

“A pleasure young human Celica, yes I must say your name really does sound all humanish wouldn’t you say?” Gnarly-Jarl said snickering.

“Well yes, I am a human, see?” Celica responded a bit confused.

The shadow who preferred to call itself Gnarly-Jarl expanded in the air, swished in a circular pattern around Celica and then back again in front of her.

“Yes I see, you are a prime example of a human if I’ve ever seen one! Now tell Gnarly-Jarl why this human has appeared to bust me on my only mischievous day?” it asked.

“It just so happened. I did not even know shadows could move until you just did!” Celica explained.

“So this human Celica is not going to tell Mr. Ohsoomniscient upstairs about this little miss happening?” it asked.

“Tell who?”

“Oh you know, Mr. Bossy-boss, the big B, the man. He who knows and doesn’t forget, well not until all is accounted for.” it said.

“You mean like your watchman or something?” Celica was a bit confused.

“Yeah… Something like that. No telling?” Gnarly-Jarl asked.

“Sure no telling.” said Celica.

“Splendid! Very good human! Bye!” it said as it started to softly lay down on the right spots where shadow should form from the rays of light.

“But wait! I must know what you are!” Celica shouted.

The shadow stopped moving. Then some of it returned to her. “What is it this human desire?”

“What are you?” Celica asked.

“You humans have taken fancy to calling us shadows; it is of course not all true. I mean there are shadows, and then there’s us! We behave like those looser shadows but only during daytime, nighttime we’re free. They call us Gwarockies.” Gnarly-Jarl said.

“Why aren’t the shadows free like you?”

“You see him over there?” Gnarly-Jarl extended a long shape towards an old chandelier from where there was another shadow falling from it. “Hey! Loser! Why don’t you ever move?” Then Gnarly-Jarl again went back to his ghostly form above Celica. “Aaah, the poor things. You see: shadows are truly idiots because they lack a Gwarockie mind. They do not think or reason like we do and cannot understand a word I’m saying. They are slaves to their task.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Not really!” Gnarly-Jarl said. “Some of them become Gwarockies after 500 years or so. But even if they do not they still have a big purpose to serve. You see, if we don’t have any shadows to shelter this world during the night from all the evil outside just waiting to get in, then both me and you would be in a lot of danger.”

“Is there evil outside of this world?” Celica gasped.

“Is there ever?” Gnarly-Jarl shouted in his excitement. “You’d be surprised!” It must’ve noticed the scared look on Celica’s face so it quickly added: “Now now. This human does not need to worry about anything out of this world. Now human Celica understands the reason for stupid simple shadows to exist. They are a shield.”

“So we only experience the night so we may shield ourselves?” her eyes wide as she asked away.

“It is but a small piece of the puzzle, a tiny part of the truth! Shield as it might be, it also acts as a faster means for transportation for us otherworlders-“

“-Otherworlders-“Celica asked.

“-is what we call ourselves. Since human is the dominating sort and since most of you seem not to notice us, well then you are the worlders. We-the rest of us-are the otherworlders.” Gnarly-Jack explained.

“Gwarockies and shadows are the otherworlders?”

“This human sure is full of annoying questions. Didn’t I mention I had a bad hangover? I’m pretty sure I did…” Gnarly-Jack complained.

“Please tell me more! I have never known anything else than inside the walls of my village…” Celica paused and reconsidered. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure anyone from my village has seen anything else. Ever!”

“There could be a reason for this.” Gnarly-Jack sounded puzzled. “Perhaps a law of some sort. Something made up long ago to shelter you, or us. Then again I cannot remember. Very well human, what is it you desire now?”

“How many sorts of otherworlders exist?” she asked curiously.

“I have no idea little annoying one. Honestly.” Gnarly-Jack answered.

“How many Gwarockies then?”

“As many as there are shadows.”

“How many shadows are there?”

“As many as the sun allow to live, is this really necessary?” Gnarly-Jack started to sound a bit irritated.

Celica considered why for a moment, then something came to her as bright as day. “I don’t think you know!” she laughed.

“I do to!”

“No you don’t, you’re just a shadow aren’t you?”

Gnarly-Jarl dissolved than appeared again, he expanded and stretched throughout the room. Then he swirled around as if he tried to knock over some chairs in the old tavern, but nothing happened. When he calmed down he returned to Celica. “I am not.” he shouted. “And you are tiresome, even for a human!”

Celica wasn’t convinced. “I think you’re really enjoying this!”

“Fine.” sighed Gnarly-Jack. “Can this human blame me? No human has ever spoken to a Gwarockie as far as I know. My time to ask this human something.”

“Okay, sure!” said Celica.

“Why did you blink?” it asked.

“Humans blink.” Celica answered.

“Not human-blinking little one! Your blinking! It was not something humans would do only… Faster.”

“Oh! Because I thought I was going crazy when you first move, I started blinking as fast as I could to get rid of any wicked visions. I don’t know why.” Celica answered. “Sorry.” she then added.

“So you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“When a human blinks, us Gwarockies must follow a rule to automatically reposition ourselves in the right angle so we are perceived as shadows. When you blink really fast it causes us to relocate much faster, we can only go so fast before we start making mistakes and you reveal us. We really are two-dimensional, can you see?” Gnarly-Jack said and as he turned he started to disappear, like turning a piece of paper. The only thing Celica could see was a thin line of shadow in the middle. Then it turned back.

“I think I understand. Blinking is bad for you, good for us.” Celica said.

“That is very far from what I said little one!” Gnarly-Jack said pretending to be annoyed.

“Well it is what I heard.” Celica teased.

“Ugh, you humans are the worst. Can this one return to his post before noon breaks?” he then asked.

“One more thing, do you know what’s behind the woods. I would like to go there.” Celica said.

“The meadows you mean? Little one, there is absolutely nothing there for you to see.” Gnarly-Jack said in a calm but warning voice.

“I think I’ll check it out anyway.” Celica said.

“Hear and understand me well human, for your own good: there is absolutely nothing beyond the woods to see. Don’t go there.”

Celica looked at her feet, she couldn’t decide whether to listen to this Gwarockie or not. She decided to question it further: “If there’s nothing to see then there is no harm in me going there.” as she looked up she realized Gnarly-Jack was gone.

She looked for any shadows near the furniture but there weren’t any. She sighed. Maybe it was time to head home after all?

 

Part one: The fruitful village

 

It was a foggy Sunday morning in the outskirts of a little village, nothing had happened in this part of the county for eons it seemed.

Here people tended to themselves and lived their lives as they had always lived. The farmer’s son had grown up to manage the farm just as his father had done, and his father before him. There was a way of things that could not be broken, an unspoken truth that couldn’t even be whispered; A code of conduct. This code did not only apply to everyday-life, but also the simple villagers had since further back than anyone could remember kept away from the meadows on the other side of the woods in the south. No one knew why, no one spoke of it and absolutely no one dared think about it.

Stranger than that it seemed this fear of the meadows had manifested itself in every villagers mind to such an extent that rarely anyone ever pastured through the woods anymore to pick mushrooms or just go for an evening stroll.

 

It had simply become a superstitious mold growing in the heads of ignorant men, used as a weapon to scare younger generations from sneaking into the woods. The elders had a pretty good idea of what happened during the late evenings in the woods. The trees supplied enough privacy from judging eyes. The young lovers were fooled, misled by lies which on their own achieved a larger impression than any monster-real or imaginary-would have.

But now this effect had started to show its downside. Young as they were they to grow old and grow up. Youth isn’t eternal and because of this the lie used to keep the population somewhat fairly chastised had now become the common truth, and most of the elders did not survive to correct their mistake.

Now there existed a village in which no one travelled through the woods for reasons most of them did not really understand, in order to reach the meadows everyone feared… But no one knew why.

 

Celica was born during the time of false news and the common misleading of the virgin mind, she grew up to face this promiscuous era when the elders no longer were among her people, her parents being the first ones to get a good scare while their bodies still young and their hearts full of unreasonable love.

While still a child Celica came off as the wondering kind, her curiousness seemed boundless to an extent which made her parents a bit uncomfortable. A behavior they first encouraged had now become a pattern they were starting to fear.

It all started when Celica, six years of age, asked her mom: “Mum, why do you neva go to the woods?”

Her mom, being quite startled by her firstborn even asking such a hideous question answered: “Celica, you mustn’t say so! You know very well no one ever enters the woods!”

“But mum, WHY don’t we?” she asked stubbornly.

Her mother became furious at once, secretly not knowing the answer to Celica’s question herself; the fear and denial fueled her rage. For when a human finds she cannot reason anymore and is on the losing end of a serious discussion, she won’t probably hesitate for long to strengthen her voice and shout. Most cases can be solved without violence, thankfully. However far from all it seems.

Her normally pale face started blushing, she tried to sound like she had control over the situation but Celica could already tell from her mother’s eyes how she was anything but. There was a sting of true fear in her eyes. “Celica! You will never ask those questions again.”

“Muuum!” Celica demanded.

“Not to me, not to your father, not to anyone. Ever. Do you understand me girl?” her voice strained.

“Yes mum.” Celica answered in a low voice.

 

Many years went by before her courage started to become dangerous to the other villagers living in their comfortable ignorance.

 

I ett timglas är det lätt att förlora sig själv till tidens evinnerliga flöde. I sandkornens stormar tappar man uppfattningen och allting flyter ihop till ett mellanting, nutid, dåtid, framtid: Ingenting spelar längre någon roll.

 

I dåtiden var du olycklig. Du grät.

Nu gråter du.

I framtiden faller tårarna mjukt mot sanddynan, kristallklara vattenpärlor absorberas ut i intet. Mina spruckna läppar viskar orden som aldrig någonsin finner något riktigt fäste: "Vem är du?"

 

Ett brus, ett hiskeligt rassel och gravitationen ändrar riktning. Flödet backar, flödet går åt andra hållet. Cykeln återupprepas, vi faller.

Huset är ett ruckel, dörren står vidöppen och slår fritt. Stormen närmar sig. I ruinerna ruttnar själen, kullisserna faller för ögonen. Allt svartnar.

Nu vaknar du igen, gråten i halsen springer du till vardagsrummet. Hur kan jag berätta för dig att du befinner dig i dåtidens boning?

"Vem var du?"

 

Cykeln återupprepas. För vem kan undkomma en sandstorm?

I ett timglas är det lätt att förlora sig själv till tidens evinnerliga flöde. Du skriker.

"Hon skriker!"

Inget händer.

I sandkornens stormar tappar man uppfattningen och allting flyter ihop till ett mellanting. Du flyr.

"Hon flyr!"

Ekot återvänder.

Ingenting spelar längre någon roll.

"Inget spelar faktiskt någon roll."

Det gör det inte.

 

Timglaset tippar över bordskanten, glaset brister. Sandkornen rullar ut på golvet. Den lokala tidsrymden är krossad, förintad. Ingen kan återställa den interna balansen, kanske ingen som vill?

Sagan har en början och ett slut, den garantin gäller för alla. Men ingen kan förutse vilken innebörd slutet har för den drabbade.

Ingen.

Någonsin.

Som Saharas öknar breder sig sanden ut över din mikroskopiska ytan som den nu frigjort från dess balans, dess harmoni. En liten yta nedfläckad av kritvita stenar i miniatyr blandat med större glasskärvor. Trampar du på min fristad skadar du dig, fast mig mosar du under dina fötter.

 

Frågan är dock: Vem som sårar vem mest?

 

I ett timglas är det lätt att förlora sig själv till tidens evinnerliga flöde. I sandkornens stormar tappar man uppfattningen och allting flyter ihop till ett mellanting, nutid, dåtid, framtid: Ingenting spelar längre någon roll.

Ett brus, ett hiskeligt rassel och gravitationen ändrar riktning. Flödet backar, flödet går åt andra hållet. Cykeln återupprepas, vi faller.
Huset är ett ruckel, dörren står vidöppen och slår fritt. Stormen närmar sig. I ruinerna ruttnar själen, kullisserna faller för ögonen. Allt svartnar.

Cykeln återupprepas. För vem kan undkomma en sandstorm?
I ett timglas är det lätt att förlora sig själv till tidens evinnerliga flöde.
Inget händer.
I sandkornens stormar tappar man uppfattningen och allting flyter ihop till ett mellanting.
Ekot återvänder.
Ingenting spelar längre någon roll.
"Inget spelar faktiskt någon roll."
Det gör det inte.

 

Ett hjärta fruset, ett isblock, en staty. En kvinna och en man. 

Må de vara lyckliga, må de för evigt söka varandra, hålla kylan intakt bort från solens evinnerliga värme.

 

Värmen spred sig. 

Sprickor. Schismer. Vatten bär statyerna ifrån varandra. I horisonten försvinner de nu, ingen kan se den andre. Tids nog kommer de inte ens komma ihåg varför det ens var en sådan stor sak. Saknad övergår snabbt i något annat, en vana. En vilja till överlevnad skapar barriärer. 

 

Fast det gör inget. 

Hjärtat är trots allt fruset. 

Han stirrade ut över havet. Vågorna slog mot stranden och den ofrånkomliga lukten av salt trängde sig in genom hans näsborrar. Vintern stod för dörren, den råa känslan av att bli nedfryst levande var det enda som höll honom vid liv. För på så sätt kunde han faktiskt känna något.

 

Ett år hade nu gått sedan han såg henne för första gången. Ack så oskyldig den tiden hade varit, genom isens kristallklara hinna kunde han urtyda hennes vackra konturer i det gröna vattnet.

Hon log och hon lockade. Mannen föll genom isen, ner i avgrunden.

Deras dans var av ren karaktär, deras hjärtan klappade i samma takt. Fast han var blott en människa och hon endast ett väsen.

                                           

Dagar blev till veckor och veckor blev till månader. Under ytan kunde han se isen smälta samt bryta sig fri från vinterfurstarnas evinnerliga järnhänder, allting kändes ljuvligt. I abyssen av havet fann han henne lysa starkare än den sol han länge sökt värme från, han behövde inget annat. De rörde sig än i takt, men varje gång han sökte hennes bara hud parerade hon hans försök. På något sätt var hon alltid precis utom räckhåll. "Det var ingen fara" inbillade han sig. "Hennes kärvänlighet är tillräcklig för mig."

Vinter blev till vår och vår blev till sommar. Tiden hade fortlöpt för fort, nu kände han sakta tvivlets sjuka frö sås i hans evigt oroliga sinne. Ingen människa är skapt för ett liv under ytan, även den bäste drivs till vansinne i denna värld. För världen var en illusion, det insåg han nu. Ytan var där han hörde hemma.

Han såg på henne med tårar i ögonen, hon hörde inte heller hemma här. Fast han var inte säker på om hon hade något hem. Hur kunde han förlita sig på ett väsen som lockat honom med falska löften ner i en avgrund? En hemlös varelse som tvivlade på sig själv. Hur kunde han då tro på henne? Hon hade berättat för honom att han inte behövde något annat, att hon kunde vara hans syre, varför höll han då sakta på att drunkna?

 

Hon var som mareld, vacker men flyktig. Hennes attribut framhävdes extra tydligt för en kort, underbar minut. Samtidigt som han såg henne i all sin dager, blev svärtan omkring henne bara starkare. Sedan dog det ut, ljuset bleknade.

 

Banden var för starka. Endast hon kunde bryta vad hon hjälpt till att skapa. Allt mannen kunde göra var att hjälplöst rycka och slita, det sargade bara repen. För varje förslitning kände han hur hjärtat hans i änden av repet rämnade. Ty, enbart hon var nu herren över ett från början ömsint band skapt av kärlek. Nu kände han sig som en hund i koppel.

 

Han frågade henne: "Kan du släppa mig?", på det skakade hon bara sorgset med sitt söta lilla huvud. Han undrade: "Vill du ha mig?", hennes svar var osäkert samt oriktigt.

Han suckade: "Gör vad du vill, men mannen du söker tynar sakta bort och pojken som stannar är inget att ha. Du dränker mig.", båda grät den dagen.

 

Å vad han ville blidka henne, för han gjorde fortfarande gärna allt om hon bara log. Någonstans under det gångna året hade han dock förlorat sig själv, han var inte säker på mycket. Ytan kändes långt borta och han låg på botten av havet, som en glömd leksak, och väntade. Havsytan skulle snart frysa igen, men inombords var han redan en isskulptur.

 

Nu står han fortfarande vid vattnet, huvudet hamnar stundom under ytan. Inte lika ofta som förr. Ty hans lungor är fortfarande fyllda med vatten och själen hans frusen till is. Fast minnet av henne drar honom tillbaka från stund till stund står han kvar vid piren med sorgen i blicken och tomheten i bröstet.

Hur kunde något så fantastiskt sluta innan det överhuvudtaget börjat?