____

for a moment, from his seat on the edge of the bed, he watches how her chest falls and rises, listens to her irregular breaths that fill the deafening silence of the room. then, he shifts closer, slides an arm across the bed curling it around the curve of her spine and levels her up till her face is only a breath away from his. threading his fingers through her black hair, he watches her. his eyes keen on the movement of her lips, how they part and quiver with each breath she utters and how she shivers and trembles in his arms. he could feel the goosebumps on her skin. and he can’t help but notice the skin around her eyes are more hollow, tainted with blue and black. sleep never came for her in years. only little naps like this one. and he knows that well, very well in fact (his face mirros hers). he remembers the nightmares that left her throat hoarse for days, katy still in her arms and thinks, how could anyone sleep? (he can’t remember any nights he slept well after the fire expect for that period he had with his parents– and they’re dead)

he dips his head and rests his forehead on hers. and her skin feels ice-cold under touch like always (to him). calming. familiar in this world that changed so much that he can’t recognize anything or anyone, anymore.

and sinking further into the bed, wraping his arms tigher around her, he joins her. diving into the nightmares. into death.

(it’s not love that binds them together, but the distorted shadows, the demons that captured their souls. the nightmares that leave them vunerable, bare with only a memory left to explore- katy)

He jolts awake. Springs from his bed and wretches the blankets clung to him, grasps the edge of the bed in a ghost-white grip and gasps for oxygen. His breath is uneven and ragged, his pupils unfocused and shaking, his heart thundering against his ribcage in a harsh rhythm that makes his ears bleed. Instinctively, his right-hand slide up his neck and traces the long scar carved on his skin. It’s rough yet unsettling calm under his touch and his body calms slowly down. But, there’s still a visible tremble in his body as his pupils start to shift into focus. It’s dark. He can’t see a thing, yet he gets up anyway, slides down his bed and stumbles. He’s barely standing but tries to walk anyway. The cool floor beneath his bare feet helps. Helps him to not think about the nightmare, the memory. His fingers are still on the scar, tracing the memories caught along the cracks of his skin. And he can taste her kisses, feel her touches, smell her. The smell of death. Rotting bluebells rushing into his nostrils, stealing each breath of his. And he can remember vividly how her bony hands grazed his cheek. Bitter cold. Yet, each part of his body aches with heat, and there are burnt dead stars on the tip of his tongue that blazes closer with each stolen breath. He staggers in his steps, about to tip over and crash when he catches himself. The memory of her is like a shot of bullet, piercing through the air and heading for him, and there is no escape. Then, out of spite he catches it with his bare teeth. But, the force is too great and propels him backwards knocking the air out of him. Shatters his teeth, and he's smiling blood.

He's alive, he's dead.

Alarik takes one look at her, as she stands in front of his dad's grave under the moonlight with streaks of soft blue light breathing on her skin and staggers on his feet.

She's beautiful. The thought takes away his breath, and he only gives more of his self in return even as it feels like his lungs are fire. But he wants to burn, Alarik finds. Completely and utterly burn in her existence. His eyes are stinging with tears. She is standing with her long blood red hair tied in a messy bun and her eyes closed head tipped downwards in respect to his father. Watching the sight feels like stepping into new fresh spring, something light and warm settling in the space between his ribs, pulsing his heart with feather gold. Feels like falling in love all over again and it's freshling dazzling. She’s beautiful, Alarik thinks again, as the tears flow down his cheeks like a river. He chokes on a sob, curls a fist on his chest–

Then, a laugh tears out of him his voice light and free in a way he forgot and surprises him even if it shouldn’t. Of course, even if everyone else left and spat on his father’s grave, called him a traitor she didn’t. Of course, she stayed and even chose to pray respect regardless of what his father did, what he sacrificed to save a handful of friends. War, hundreds of lives traded for four friends, only four lives yet she stands in front of his grave with deep respect like he was a hero. And the thought makes Alarik dizzy, tipsy.

Then, she opens her eyes, slides them to his meets his eyes with determined, sympathetic clear violet eyes, in understanding and the world shifts around him. The earth beneath his feet steadies, firms. And when she spreads her arms wide, Alarik doesn’t think as he crosses the distance in a leap and melts in her embrace. It’s like slipping into a lost piece of him, a piece he didn’t think he needed. Her sturdy arms hold in place, let him cry-laugh on her shoulder. Alarik shakes and trembles under her hold, but she steadies him and doesn’t let him fall.

It wasn’t fair, but the men were always supposed to be the stronger ones, always supposed to the protectors. Always had to hold their head high, the shoulders broad. But, sometimes Alarik wanted to be protected, he was tired and weary. Each part of him engraved with lines of fatigue, something inside him broken and shattered, completely unrepairable—

Then, Elina appeared shook the foundation of his world and rearranged it. Suddenly, Alarik didn’t have to wear a mask, didn’t have to pretend. The first time he tried to in front of her, she threw a punch at him then hugged, kissed him while she cried and cursed him.

So, Alarik melts deeper into her embrace, pours everything out, ugly and raw. Elina holds him closer, tighter in response.

(and somehow, were it possible he manages to fall deeper in love. Hits bottom rock in an abyss with a glimmer of lights at the end, and he can’t ever imagine climbing out. Only borrow deeper.)

Rising sky. Climbing winter. The breaths of ancient magic floating in the air. An empire shadowed in darkness. Blankets folds of black hide an entire world. An aurora burst of colours in the sky. Blues, pinks, reds. Frigid ice spanning wide on the ground. A tall castle. Vines of blossoming flowers circling in twists around arms of the castle. A queen. A king. Broken crowns. Clipped and scratched edges. An entire citizen of people in deep slumber. Sleeping beneath the castle. Lingering looks. Crooked smiles. Echoes of footsteps in large hallways. Once brimming with life, now dead. Clatters of ghost. Whispers. Hushed touches. A queen. A king. Broken crowns. And a dead empire.

* Not all those who wonder are lost *

lost time. Cold stars burning sharp. Falling. Tracing memories. Tracing scars carved onto walls. Ruins. A lost forgotten empire rising from the sea. Calls & whispers. Heartbeats. They hear the bone-shivering whisper and follow. Come home, she calls. Travellers. Lost souls. - Home, they laugh and follow the waves of the ocean. The salt and fresh air. And return.

adjective.

extremely delicate and light in a way that seems not to be of this world.

.

.

.

“A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.” – Leopold Stokowski

the faint howl of the rushing waves on the shore, the wet grains of sand sticky on her feet. the strung of guitar filling the silence of the empty beach, warm voice sliding in the wind, a whisper of a slow song on her skin. she shivers. closes her eyes and focuses on his voice, his song. the notes stretch wide, pulling tight high then drops, slipping into low beat that falls in beat with her heart. it’s feels like hearing a dance of two mermaids in a lake. circling each other, moving forward in the night till their breaths are tangling, moonlight caught in the scales of their tails violet eyes intense then, twirling away dipping into the water in splash only to come back. and it’s amazing, stunning, breathtaking.

she hangs in each note, the deep, rich electric purple colour, intimate tone of the song free-flowing in precise and intricate strings of notes. and she believes in every word, every string that tugs her heart making it twist and churn. slides her hand forward, closes the distance between them, and their hands fold over each other like a pair of wings settling after flight. and she tightens her finger around his, inhales the salty air blinks her eyes, listens and loses herself in vibrant dreams.

you glided into the room, back straight. chin up. you were graceful a little, pretty thing as you swept into the dim lit room like the floor was ice glinting my heart like the bright rainbow sparkles in your dark hair, like the moonlight spilling into the dark room from the opened windows softening the darkness of the room.

you glided into it. your white dress fluttering behind you, your hair floating in the air as you slipped into my arms. like you were meant there.

and darling, i could never forget. the way your blue sea eyes glowed. your smile was so wide. my right hand gripped at your waist, as my other traced the soft curves of your face. your body pressed against mine, your arms wrapped my torso as your forehead rested against mine. our bare feet tapped against the floor as we swayed with the music, the notes dancing around us like stars.

my feet stepped forward as yours stepped back. forward and backwards. we danced in the soft moonlight. our faces were only a breath. i could’ve kissed you there. our limbs twined and weaved together. in and out. wrapped around each other as you rose, leg curling my torso as your head dipped backwards hair spilling on the floor, your legs reaching for my neck, as we twirled and twirled around. and darling, your laughter was like breathing in the first spring after years of cold, hard winter. my smile widened, my eyes brightened, and i pulled you close.

you came to me, your legs curving down around my body as you body sprung from the ground to me, pressing against mine. your fingers gripped my neck, held my face right next to yours. and darling, i could’ve kissed you right then. my right hand reached up my fingers ran up, from your thighs to your waist as my head tipped down forward into yours. music filled the room. my lips, so close to yours.

then, you flew down and out of my grip. like water. i could feel each movement of your limbs against me as they slipped away. you twirled away and dropped on the floor on your knees. then rose up like a blooming flower, your arms springing out as you jumped into the air. your eyes held mine as they twinkled in mischief as your smile widened, showing your teeth and your dimples.

i laughed wild and ran after you. caught your hand with mine. and then, i kissed you as we danced. and darling, i could never forget. the way your blue sea eyes glowed. your smile was so wide. your hands sprawled against my chest, feeling my beating heart as we danced together in the soft moonlight.

oh darling, if only time could've stopped right there.

******

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lp-EO5I60KA

run run little girl from the shadow that threatens to eat. devour.

run run away little girl

and she’s falling falling deeper lower

and the song is heard, that echoes the footsteps of the lost

she follows it to death and back

the trumpet tolling keenly into the beat of her heart:

whispering courage, courage in a beat that falls in step with a heart

forever mocking and haunting her.

run run little girl and she does away, away

.

.

.

.

She opens her eyes.

-

-

One day, she opens her eyes, wakes up and her world is never the same.

It keeps running in one line that only goes down.

One day, she woke up and five years had passed. She was nineteen not fourteen. But to her, it felt the same. And she went on with her life, adjusted to Kathika’s life. Because that who she was before— who she is supposed to be— who everyone tells she is. But, she can’t remember there is a void in her memories and she can’t remember anything or anyone.

And it drove her crazy.

-

-

But, she tried— tries.

She tries to re-learn who Kathika was supposed to be. But, the steps feel wrong, moments that everyone looks expecting her but they get her and their expression fall. And there is dull hollowness in her. So, she tries harder. Harder and harder. She whispers the name to herself each night until she trains her self to respond when someone calls it. She whispers the name so much, it echoes into a rhythm falling in step with her heartbeat taunting every time she tries to fit into her new life. Every time she tries to fit in Kathika’s life.

-

-

And it goes like this:

she tries so hard catches up to the world, but it’s going too fast and her steps are too slow, wrong. And she stumbles and falls too many times. And it’s— Again. Again. Again.

Despite this, she never stops. Never gives up.

(sometimes she wonders if she was this type of person before.

She once wondered. Then, stopped and decided: this is who I am not Kathika.

And the hollowness in her heart never went away, but it lessened.)

-

-

The first person she re-learns is Kathika’s— no, her mother. A forty-year-old woman with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. A woman called Jane who wears heart on her sleeve, who is loud and proud. The complete opposite of her. Jane is always moving, helping her adjust to life, to school and helping her feel welcome. She is always smiling. The complete opposite of her.

Sometimes, she looks up at Jane as Jane smiles at her and thinks: this is wrong wrong wrong.

Jane’s eyes are dull. Hollow. Her smiles never reach her eyes and are jagged at the edges. She tries too much to help her, tells her who she was before, tries to make fit into a personality she is not. Not anymore. And Jane is always moving. Too fast, too fast— she can’t keep up. But, she tries.

At first, she tries to get close to Jane. To call her, mother— she tries and tries so much. But, it’s not working. Jane is mourning the loss of her daughter, the one who called her mom, the girl who always smiled at her, the girl who laughed at her lame jokes, the girl she missed five years of.

The girl, she is not. But— Jane can’t see that.

And so, she keeps on trying. Stumbles and falls and grips on the thought that somehow everything will get better.

-

-

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

And the name, Kathika haunts her. It echoes, pulses in time with her heart— mocking her very existence.

-

-

After Jane, it’s Kathika’s — no her father she re-learns. His name is Aaron. A forty-year-old man who is a little quieter than his wife, who works 6 hours a day. Black eyes and light brown hair. She almost never sees him in the day. But when she catches him, his eyes are tired. He looks like someone who has lost a lot of in life, he doesn’t try to fake a smile around her like Jane does as everyone else does. And when he smiles, it’s a small very sad one that pierces her heart and crushes it to dust like- everyone’s fake smiles.

Aaron looks like a man that lost a lot before, and acts like this is not the first time. She is not surprised if he had, he used to be in the military during the war. A general. And he walks like a man who once held part of the world on his shoulders.

She appreciates the quiet moments with him. Where there’s only silence and for once, she doesn’t have to act like Kathika.

But every time she looks up at him, she sees his tired old old black eyes that speak volumes of sadness. And she can’t help but think and think: what if.

-

-

And the name, Kathika haunts her. It echoes, pulses in time with her heart— mocking her very existence.

And for not the first time, she wishes she had her memories. But, she doesn’t.

And alone, she silently suffers.

Cries into her pillows in the privacy of her room, at night time when the house is asleep and she is sure Jane and Aaron are asleep.

Her sobs are ugly and muffled by her pillow.

And then morning comes and if her eyes are swollen and red— no one comments. But they do stare a little more, and if they have similar red, swollen eyes… Well, then she pretends.

-

-

Next, she re-learns Kathika’s— no her siblings. Matthew, her oldest brother. Twenty-two-years-old. Blue eyes like his mother and light brown hair like his father. A man who is loud, brash and gets embarrassed too easily. Then, it’s Evan her other older brother. Twenty-years-old. Black eyes like his father and brown hair like his mother. Quieter than Matthew who loves to tease Matthew. He’s younger than Mathew but acts more mature.

They both act like older brothers to her. But, there’s a disconnection between them that siblings aren’t supposed to have. That she thinks that siblings aren’t supposed to have.

Matthew and Evan both live in other houses, so she usually doesn’t see them.

(She’s not supposed to feel relief at this. But, she does. And she can’t help but think: what if what if. )

-

-

And sometimes, she wonders where she fits in this family. If not that, she wonders how that person, how kathika fit into this family. The name that haunts her. The person, who’s shadow she can’t escape. Even if they have the same shadow.

-

-

Once, she looked at the mirror, a week after she woke up. And a teenager stared back with bright blue eyes and light brown hair. Blue eyes like Jane. Light brown hair like Aaron. And the image was unfamiliar. A girl with small thin nose and brown freckles.

And what if, what if, what if drummed in her thoughts like the name, Kathika as she looked in the mirror.

As she looks in the mirror, at her reflection ever time–

the face forever haunting her, mocking her.

-

-

She re-learns the people in Kathika’s— no her life.

Family. Jane. Aaron. Mathew. Evan.

Then— relatives. Cousins. Aunties. Uncles. Jack. Mason. Ryan. Julie. Ellie. Cassie. Cassandra. Oliver. Luke. Blue eyes. Black eyes. Others green, or brown eyes. But the hair colour is all the same, either dark brown or light hair. People who smile too much and talk a bit to loud.

Then it’s— neighbours. Two other families that live at each side of Kathika’s— no her parents’ house. Kind and warm people, with kids that like joke around too much.

And everywhere she looks she can see:

lots of people who look at her like they know her but she doesn’t. They overcrowd her and she has to act like she is someone else— someone she isn’t. She tries and tries to keep with the change. But everyone moves to fast and her steps are too slow, wrong. And she stumbles and falls too many times. And it’s— Again. Again. Again.

And everywhere she looks she can see:

lots of people who step around like she’s made of glass. People who knew her all her life and look like she is wrong. And everything tastes hollow. And it’s again. Again. Again.

But despite everything, despite this, she never stops. Never gives up.

-

-

(sometimes she wonders if she was this type of person before.

She once wondered. Then, stopped and decided: this is who I am not Kathika.

She clung on this one thing as hers instead of Kathika because her shadow is too dark and too big. And for once, she wanted something to be hers.

To not lose herself trying to be Kathika. )

-

-

(— and wasn’t that funny, because she was Kathika. )

-

-

And sometimes she wishes she is Kathika. Because everything would be much easier. But, she’s not. Not anymore.

And the name, Kathika haunts her. It echoes, pulses in time with her heart— mocking her very existence.

And alone, she silently sufferers.

-

-

And like that, time passes days, weeks then months.

Six months.

And six months after she woke up, she finally, finally remembers something.

A word:

Courage.

-

-

She opens her eyes.

-

-

And after six months, six long long months she opens her eyes, wakes up with the word courage at the tip of her tongue and her world is never the same.

It will keep on running in one line that only will only go up.

.

.

.

.

*Kathika is a name derived from the god Kartikeya, which means “bestower of courage”.

are you okay? —

ye—

(no. i am not. at all. help. please)

y-yes i am okay. *smiles* why not?

(of course, I’m not. hey, look. come on. don’t believe me. please. I’m lying. I'm lying. PlEaSE please please please please-)

okay, then. *turning to leave*

(-....)

(..I..)

(..wait..)

.. okay. bye *smiles*

-

fingers drawn into fists. she stands and the other person is turning his back. time is creeping slowly. all she can see is the light spilling in his brown hair, caught in his locks. and he is stepping further away. one steps turns to twenty. and- further further away he is.

-

(hey.. what.. come on. turn around. plea..se)

-

the distance between them doubles then triples. he’s further away. walking away. all she can see is his back.

her heart is pounding in her ribs. her stomach twists.

and her eyes are burning.

-

( you stupid stupid coward. )

-

all she can hear is rush of her blood in her ears. his echoing footsteps. yet.

and she stands. watching sunlight catch in his locks. watches his back. yet.

her fingers are curled into fists. yet.

-

(hey hey hey hey.. stop)

-

she can’t move. and he’s nearly there at the gate.

she won’t be able to catch up.

she won’t be able to shout that loud.

he won’t able to hear.

-

(liar)

-

he’s so close to the gate. yet.

her legs are trembling. yet.

she can’t move. yet.

she can’t do it. yet.

-

yet-

-

then:

a memory.

a sentence.

-

why did I do that? Well... It did hurt but for me, there was something more that hurt to me than breaking my hands. it was losing you.

-

her heart is pounding in her ribs. her stomach twists.

she’s trembling.

but. he is neatly there. yet-

he going away.

-

but then, she takes a step forward. and shouts : “STOP!”

and he does.

he turns around and looks back at her.

all she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears.

-

But. Yet.

-

she takes another step.

-

and another. till she closes the gap between them.

-

and she whispers in a quiet voice.

“No, I’m not okay,”

-

....

'in this world

love has no colour

yet how deeply

my body is stained by yours.'

-- izumi shikibu

″ This heart,

longing for you

breaks to a thousand pieces —

I wouldn’t lose one. ”

(yet._)

-

-

the sunlight spills through the window as the day arrives. it covers his sleeping face in a golden shimmer. he wakes up in gasps and trembles, with hollowed eyes that burn from the bright sunlight. his heart hammers in his chest and he can’t feel the warmth of the day, he is too cold and too broken.

and for once, just this day he lets the tears pour out and mourns.

-

his steps are slower as if they hold weights (and oh how they do.) as he walks through his day. each step rings hollow. and he can’t feel anything but the keen awareness of emptiness that is the shape that nothing can fill. a shape of a person with smiles and a big heart. everything else feels like ghosts and he can’t focus on anything else. he phases through his day with an absent face, his eyes following echoes of memories that clatter like an eerie knock.

then there’s a familiar voice that calls out to him. a voice that hisses his name with hate. and the reaction is instinct. his face twists and hate boils, his head snaps and his dark eyes meet green.

silence.

and suddenly, his world is filled in a screaming lava that boils.

-

it’s a dance

-

″Arthur.” he spits out with venom. and his dark eyes hold green eyes.

″Wesley.” Arthur returns with equally hate.

the air is heavy and tense between them.

″what do you want?” he asks. ”i don’t have time for your ugly mut today”

there is silence as Arthur’s green eyes hold his. and for moment he thinks there is a flater in Arthur’s twisted anger face-- a crack. vunerablity. but, but that can’t be right. no. that’s not how the story goes.

but before he can grasp the flicker of emotion and figure it out, Arthur snaps away.

-

it is only when Wesley also turns away and the raging anger shimmers away that he realises he forgot her. again.

he pushes the thought away buries under like everything else.

(like he can ignore how the empty hole in his heart, of her, is easily filled)

(like he can ignore the way he can not ignore the crack in Arthur face. the raw emotion)

(he hates him. that’s how the story should be)

(yet._)

-

it’s a dance in the dark silence

-

before he knows the day bleeds to darkness and night falls. it’s raining again like every June 5th. there is ache in his eyes, an itch beneath his skin and each step feels like he’s treading through the mud. and just for this one day that comes once each year in summer, he lets himself fall, lets the rain drench him. lets himself soak into the nightmares that spill in front him like an eerie red carpet. he follows them down the silent path around the park to the graveyard. he takes each step letting the shadows of the trees hide his form-- just for this one day, he welcomes the darkness and let it cover him, drowns in it-- and when he enters the graveyard, something makes him stop. --someone. a man. Arthur.

-

sometimes there is someone or people here, that’s a grantee this is a public graveyard. but he knows this person, that man. hates him with each breath he takes, with each pulse that beats in him.

because that’s how the story should be.

yet.

-

Arthur is standing in the rain, his shoulders dipped foward as he looks outwards- dark green eyes glinting like poison in the darkness.

and Wesley thinks back to later in the day... to that crack Arthur’s face...

(he saw that expression before. many times. that raw vunerable emotion. the slight down tilt of the eyes. the subtle burrow of eyebrows. the regret carved in the edge of a smile. like you are caught in happy memories that leaves echoes of ringing knocks that pains)

-

there is ache in his eyes, an itch beneath his skin, a hollow ring in his heartbeat and he slips into the darkness of the graveyard and phases past Arthur. their shoulders brush past.

and for once, just this day there is silence between them.

and in the pouring rain, in the darkness of the night - for a brief moment - green eyes meet black.

-

it’s a dance in dark silence the steps not in synch and the distance too large

yet

-

-

the sunlight spills through the window as the day arrives, it covers his sleeping face in a golden shimmer. he wakes up in gasps and trembles, with hollowed eyes that burn from the bright sunlight. his heart hammers in his chest and he can’t feel the warmth of the day, he is too cold and too broken.

but he gets up with no moment wasted, forces the burning memories and feelings away, buries it under and starts his day.

-

his steps are lighter. his mind is more focussed on the present. the trail of his steps leave echoes of hollow rings. memories. but he shatters them, looks forward. looks at the present and buries everything under. and the past is echoes that he can’t hear.

-

and in the middle of his day, Wesley meets Arthur.

and the air turns heavy, tense.

and their world is filled in a screaming lava that boils.

and their voices hiss at each other dripping with venom.

(just like how the story should be)

(yet._)

-

when Wesley snaps to turn away, strums past

their shoulders brush past -

and for a brief moment -

black eyes meet green in silence.

-

-

it’s a dance in dark silence the steps not in synch and the distance too large

yet each step is in beats of three two one

yet each step is heavy and full of emotion

there is no music but the beats of their hearts in three two one that drowns the world in a screaming red

that meet and clang in a harsh sound that makes their ears bleed

and it is three two one

that stops for the fourth beat -

a pause. a memory. -

where their eye meet and --

for once there is synch. no distance —

just them.

understanding.

-

-

″ This heart,

longing for you

breaks to a thousand pieces —

I wouldn’t lose one. ”

( yet _ the pieces are lost. lost into parts of the foundations for this kingdom of lost souls. of clattering ghost memories. it becomes part of it and there — lost souls meet and brush past. and strive to move forward )

----------

* " ” is quoted from a poem by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu.