Prologue- or so they say 3

Dreams and the like...

It had been raining for nearly two weeks, both being completely uneventful with Phsy unable to get up. Only last night was Phsy able to actually get upstairs to her room. Skye had been in charge of making meals for her and the many other sick ones of the village. He did the work dutifully and said even less than usual; his presence was dark from dawn until dusk, and he was gone from sundown to sunup each night. Phsy was never aware these absences. Now that she was beginning to improve however, Skye had finally stayed home to sleep- or so he hoped.

The world beyond the walls of the old house is all in darkness when Skye awakens; the rain is constantly drumming on the roof now, and every now and then the click of ice can be heard. The rain would soon turn to sleet, and then snow. Unable to catch scent of smoke from a fire or food of any sort, Skye realizes it is nowhere near sunrise. He rolls over to stare at the black and white photograph of his mother as best he can with the limited light. When the lighting flashes the white glow of her skin flares along with it, even when barely able to make out her features, it was still clear she was beautiful. Photographs were very rare on this side of the world, it impressed everyone. Drowsily he presses his hand to it, as if touching her directly. Sighing he attempts to return to sleep, only finding he ultimately cannot. Tossing and turning for the course of what he views as hours, he resorts to staring at the wood boards that make up the ceiling. 

Through the cracks in the floorboards he makes out the figure of his sister resting on her windowsill; she can’t seem to sleep either. She holds something in her hands, but he knows not what. Rolling over once again he stares out his simple and warped glass window. Hearing the slow clicks of a winding clockwork, he glances back up at the ceiling; his sister was carrying their mother’s music box around- how their mother had gotten such an expensive item, no one could guess. She releases the mechanism and the sweet melody weaves into the old house, filling Skye’s mind with memories of “home.” His real home. Not this valley they had resorted to hiding in. 

Closing his eyes he sees his mother smiling, sitting in the window as Phsy was now. Her bright golden hair glows in early morning sunlight, and held carefully in her arms was a dark-haired baby- Skye realizes it is himself, he was recalling his earliest memory. She was smiling, but looked tired, as he always remembered she did. Sitting next to her was a man; he was too shadowed out through years of memory for Skye to rightfully remember what he looked like. His hair was dark, that much was clear, but his mother’s glow encompassed every other part of him. Knowing it is his father, he concentrates harder on him, trying desperately to remember his features, his voice, his eyes, anything. Focusing to the point of causing himself pain, Skye begins to cry, unable to recall anything at all. Even his mother started to grow hazy and shadow out along with his father.

Thunder shakes the house and with it, Skye’s memories. The sunlight in his mind dies immediately and darkness again enshrouds him, while rain and snow continue on outside. His small body trembles and confusion wraps around him, while shuddering sobs leave him breathless. Hearing his cries, Phsy tries to stand, but her legs are numb and too weak to carry her very far just yet. Guiltily she watches the gears in the music box come to a halt and returns her attention to the darkness outside. 

Within her eyes is pure dullness, nothing reflects in them. Below her the pacing steps of her brother define themselves, she wonders if he’s alright. Ever since their mother died, Skye had ceased acting like he used to. She knew would often vanish into the forest during the night and return just before dawn, giving the illusion he’d been sleeping. She  It made no sense why he did it, or what he was after, but it happened too often for comfort. When she was sick she knew she missed it happening most of the times, so he got away with it. In her worrying she would lock the doors in the house and hide all the keys, and when it was necessary she would even lock him in his own room. During the day she did her best to keep him occupied, but he was never truly “there” in any sense except his physical being.  Everything he did for her were just pointless tasks he hoped would make her happy.

She takes a deep breath and cringes in pain as she forces herself to stand. Hearing her, Skye hurries back to bed and pretends to sleep, furiously wiping away the angry tears clinging to his cheeks. Each step his sister takes results in a pained gasp that drills into his head, wrapping him in guilt. With great effort, Phsy reaches his door and opens it and calls softly, “Blue Boy,” she pauses as she enters the room, “are you alright?”

He contemplates whether to answer her or just keep up his act; her presence, however, finally does draw a response from him. “I'm alright,” he sits up and looks at her with dazed eyes, “...I didn't want you to get up.” Phsy smiles through the darkness as comfortingly as she can and comes to sit at his side. Lightning makes the forest glow outside followed by a deep rumbling in the heavens.

Knowingly, Phsy stares into her brother's cloudy blue eyes and rubs his pale, thin arms. “You can't lie to me. What's wrong?” She sighs, knowing he won't answer and gently she eases his head to her lap and begins braiding his raven hair. “The world is a place that both gives and takes. Whether we like it or not, we have to live with death close behind us. Mankind brought death to this world and thus we all must bear it,” she says this quietly.

“If it's the humans' fault why do we die too?” He stares up at his sister's calm face as he speaks. 

In pity she answers, “I don't know.” One of the braids in the boy's hair falls loose and she begins twisting it back into place as she continues, “It's like the war: no one really knows why it started. It's just the way things are.” She watches Skye's face as he thinks on what's been said. “Lets just hope for peace, okay?” she smiles, it was fake. “You'll find an answer some day.” 

Skye twirls the braid between his fingers and stares blankly at the wall. He asks suddenly, “Why doesn't dad come see us?” To this question Phsy doesn't even attempt to answer. He looks up at her, “He's not dead too, is he?” 

She whispers and shakes her head, “You know I don't know the answer to that.” They are both well aware that she does know, but will never say a word. Even their mother would refuse to speak of the subject, though it never seemed to pain or anger her. She would simply stare off and sigh, smiling in the restrained way she often did. Agitation, however, was all that these memories created for Phsy.

Huddling against her side he asks, “Why do you never have an answer to my questions?”

“Because you choose the hardest ones to ask,” she almost smiles, but gives way to another weary exhale of breath.

A silence falls between them, neither sure what to say, letting the sound of pounding rain and claps of thunder take over. Beyond a sleepy haze, Skye sees his mother and faceless father walking hand-in-hand. They walk off into the darkness of the night, turning back only for a moment brief enough that their son can make out their smiles as they vanish into the void. Filled with the sensation of floating he looks over at Phsy, she sleeps at his side. Was it a dream? He wraps his arms around her in search of warmth and comfort. The lullaby of her gentle heartbeat quickly sends him into sleep.

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Author's Note

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