Totoro and the Girl in the Mist

The rain came down in a torrential deluge that evening, the thick canopy above doing little to prevent it flooding the forest floor. From time to time thunder rolled across the sky, and the forest was lit by streaks of lightning. Totoro trudged through the underbrush, soaking and fuming. The mud oozed over his sandals and feet, causing him to slip and forcing him to regain his balance every few steps. His sopping kimono clung to his body like a vengeful ghost, trying to drag him into the mud. He felt like drawing the sword from his hip and cutting something or someone down, but there was no enemy to face, just rain and trees and foliage. All his dedicated hours in the dojo, all his time spent in focused meditation, wasted on these bloody woods.

He’d been the best student in his dojo by far, regularly besting his sparring partners and even giving his sensei a challenge from time to time. But they were all off serving the Shogun now, protecting the region and securing their places in history. They’d come back with tales of battle and glory and beautiful women. All Totoro could do was smile, have another drink, and try to forget about his loathsome life “protecting” the woods. “We are not conquerors, we are guardians,” his father would always say, but ever since Totoro had come of age last summer, he’d guarded nothing but these unappreciative trees.

Totoro plopped down angrily underneath a massive camphor tree, finally finding a bastion from the downpour. He unsheathed his katana and laid it across his lap, leaning back against the drunk of the massive camphor. Pale moonlight danced across the steel as droplets of rain fell from the mighty tree, spattering across the flickering blade. Totoro produced a whetstone from his kimono, drawing it along the sharp edge of the wet blade. The steel sang as Totoro tended to it, the familiar sound tempering his rage. He took a few deep breaths, calming his mind and letting go of his frustration. It wasn’t long before Totoro began to doze off, the pattering of raindrops on the surrounding leaves his lullaby.

He awoke a few hours later, in the middle of the night. The storm had died down, leaving a calm drizzle in its wake. He’d been dreaming, but he couldn’t remember what about. As he regained consciousness, he became aware of a distant sound, a sound he’d never heard before out in these woods. It sounded like a voice, a girl’s voice, singing or humming, he wasn’t sure which. He stood up, sheathed his blade, and began to hesitantly walk deeper into the woods, towards the sound.

As he made his way through the trees, the singing, it was definitely singing, became clearer. It was a hauntingly beautiful melody, wordless, but full of soul. The enchanting notes drew him deeper and deeper into the woods, until he found himself before a dense grove of bushes and trees. The singing was coming from the other side of the thicket. He ducked his head, raised his arm to protect his face, and pressed his way through the thick brush. As he emerged on the other side, his heart skipped a few beats and his breath caught in his chest, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

In the middle of the grove was a small lagoon, the trickling of a waterfall into the lagoon providing harmony to the singing. The moon was enormous in the sky, casting its pale light across the lagoon and the trees, the entire scene painted with hues of greens and blues. A fine mist rolled across the surface of the water, and fireflies drifted through the night, their soft yellow glow amplified by the droplets of water in the air. In the middle of the lagoon, surrounded by the mist, was a girl.

Though she was alone, her singing echoed through the trees like a choir. She was dancing, impossibly, on the surface of the still water. The water rippled from her toes as she twirled and leaped across its surface. The mists rose to cover her pale, shimmering skin - a mystical garment. Her hair was golden and bright, its vibrant warmth a magical contrast to the cool colors of the lagoon and the trees. It seemed to defy gravity, as if some sort of ghostly appendage, dancing its own dance with the mist and the fireflies. Her eyes were closed, her voice magical.

Entranced, Totoro shuffled towards the edge of the water, his eyes never parting from the beautiful girl. He kicked off his sandals and let his sword fall to the ground as he walked. With a sharp inhale he stepped into the lagoon. The water was warm, and almost seemed to hum and move on its own as he waded deeper into the mist. As the water rose to his waist, he stopped and waited and listened, his arms dangling beneath the surface of the clear water, the fireflies hovering around him like ghostly lanterns.

She never opened her eyes or stopped singing, but deftly spun across the water towards Totoro, her slim fingers reaching out for his. As he reached up, she grasped his hand, her skin cool and soft, and easily pulled him up to join her on the surface of the lagoon. Her hand still in his, he smiled and began to dance. Though it’d just been soaking wet, his kimono was dry and light now, and he moved spryly across the water’s surface.

Together they danced for an ephemeral eternity. The night was nothing short of magical. They spun and twirled and flitted across the water. He smiled and she sang. The fireflies and the breeze and the forest danced with them into the wee hours of the morning. As horizon glowed orange with the impending sunrise, she spun towards him, and her hands rose to touch the nape of his neck. Her eyes sprung open for the first time, blazing gold, to match her hair. “Everything is this beautiful Totoro,” she whispered. And for a moment, everything was. Then she was gone. Vanished into thin air. Totoro let out a yelp as he fell back into the water.

Happy, confused, enchanted and a little bit scared of what had just happened, Totoro swam back to the shore of the forest, collected his belongings, and returned home. He never told anyone about the events of that night. He returned to the forest time and again, searching for the lagoon and the singing girl, but could never find either. He met other girls in the years to follow, even tried to love a few, but none could compare to the beauty of the girl in the mists. Sometimes he cried when he remembered that night, sometimes he felt angry or resentful, he simply couldn’t see how that kind of beauty would ever befall him again.

Then one day, as the sun set and he made his way through town, towards the forest that was his duty and his prison, he happened upon a great bush, adorned with vibrant bluish-purple flowers. Usually, he didn’t stop to reflect on nature or plants, they didn’t satisfy his lust to find the girl again. But something about these flowers was different; somehow they reminded him of her. They were beautiful, truly beautiful, like she was. As he stood, admiring the intricacy of the petals and their supernatural hue, he heard something he hadn’t heard for a very long time. It was humming, a ghostly melody he’d almost convinced himself was all in his imagination. He walked under the gate adjacent the bush, down a cobbled path towards a small cottage. As he passed the threshold into the garden on the other side of the bush he saw a girl with golden hair, dressed in simple garb, on her hands and knees, tending to her garden. She was humming as her pale hands lovingly patted the dirt around her freshly planted flowers. As he approached, she looked up at him with golden eyes, and smiled. Totoro smiled back; he knew that everything would be beautiful, forever.