liliputian rustic

the two of them were whales, taken from the ocean and forced into a more terrestrial life. strings that twitch out sounds resonating in their mouths and hearts. still they try to communicate over the distances with each other, cracking signals that earns them a reprimand from their owners. see, back in those days, slavery was accepted as a tool of the rich and a blight of the poor, those “masters” and “mistresses” so undeserving of high rank to put value on a life

the whales were not particularly desired for anything but their skin and baleen, thus as humans they were seen as useless. both of them toiled in the garden and wandered around doing errands. the small town was calming at least for it being a town on the water, near the sea where both would watch the water at the exact same time unbeknownst to each other, for they lived on opposite sides of town.

wind blew dust and spiderwebs from her hair, dirt and worms from his, salt in the waves of both the sea and the air. at that point they both began to walk from the shore to the edge of the lapping water, and continued to walk, toes then ankles then knees got covered in the surf at sundown. there was a blank look in the decidedly human eyes while both fought the current and kept walking until they were submerged

two deep breaths were taken as the water swallowed their heads, and they instinctively dove, unseeing in the blackish blue of the deep. echolocation still worked but it was inferior to that they once knew. it was unlikely that their owners would think much of the disappearance

at that point the girl shot upward and surfaced, choking, frantic swimming back to the shore in fear. the boy attempted the same but drowned halfway up. as his female counterpart returned to land she fell, into the sand which clung to her skin and clothes now in irritating clumps, full of despair

terror dragged her back to a prison, and she knew it, somehow in the enigmatic sense a whale has still contained within her forcibly changed brain. she knew that the other one had gone to a watery grave, his soul had willed itself to a different container even if his body protested. she sat on the beach until the sun began to peek up once more. blind eyes trained on the surging waves, a blink for each time the water crashed upon her, flinching from the cold body that she once called home. fear controlling the mind is a suffocating force.

she has spikes growing out of her head that glow like a natural crown (of thorns). longer and stand out in the night while they drop pieces of silver sand that floats into the dark water. going across the ocean in a small simple boat, only herself and a small bird in a cage that tells her about the weather to come.

that finch is let out and it goes out and touches the sky. but it always returns because it isn’t just a pet, it’s a partner. because the ocean is still huge and it’ll get cold by the time they reach their destination, a winter sea with the most dangerous of waves

she is tall and gaunt, in fact she looms high over the water. and her hair drapes in a long straight withered curtain down her simple dress. her arms are so thin and white they look like bare bones, they row at a constant slow pace, unhurried, she’s got so much time in this particular world because her kind lives for 500 years on average

“basal, take a look ahead,” one simple command and the bird flits out and disappears against the horizon for a moment. she used to worry about this because it’s such a little bird against that vast huge sheet of tumbling water. but it always comes back

no frantic chirps from the bird so it’s okay. the reason she is even taking this trip is to visit an old friend. very old, in fact, the last time they saw was at his birth. of course she knew him long before that. right now it’s just her and the bird. this little finch that has already lived 32 lives for her, it sits on top of its cage and lets the wind blow its tiny feathers around and blinks in annoyance and decides to go back inside the delicate cage to avoid the breaking of its feather spines. it’s okay because they should reach land soon.

“it’s white, with a stick in the middle. which is yellow.”

tuvin smiled. he had no idea what his friend was talking about. it annoyed him that not only was there a language barrier, but he could not think of any plant that matched the description. firstly he had named off daisy, then tulip, then orchid, then lily, chrysanthemum, so on, not bothering to get into non-flowering plants. “jalec” (which was not his actual name, but it sounded somewhat like that, and tuvin could not pronounce it in the native tongue of the fish) stared at him expectantly, his hands frozen in the motion of trying to show what the plant looked like. the eyes were black, and they shone strangely

“i don’t know what you’re talking about…” tuvin started. jalec made a sound of exasperation, his breath shot out in the cold air that surrounded him and made mist. it showed his teeth. like sharp spines and traces of dried blood around his mouth, wide blue veins were standing out on his almost transparent white skin. no finger or toe nails. patches of his skin gleamed with what looked like eczema, painted some silvery color with deeper cracks spiralling out

he heaved suddenly and then stuck his head under the fast-moving river water, opening his mouth wide so the gills in his throat were given oxygen

“a stick in the middle?” tuvin started to laugh at the idea. jalec was still trying to learn his language. and he hadn’t bothered with jalec’s, shame. it would seem he was almost lazy. tuvin stared at his feet sprawled out in front of him while he picked a scurrying beetle from his hair and set it off on its way. jalec remained laying away from him as though he had drowned.

“look… i’ll try to find out what you’re talking about.” clearly a good amount of thc was pulsing through tuvin’s system wanted to attempt going back to the forest, because no sober creature would dare to enter in fear of becoming honestly insane. now jalec sat up again, his sparse hair that was always slick with some strange fish oil it made in an ancient attempt to keep him breathing. the substance grabbed oxygen molecules from the air and kept them trapped inside, making weird slow bubbles that stayed in place like liquid glass.

he mumbled some response before falling over, into the river, as if he had just passed out

tuvin in fact did not go to the forest, because he curled up and fell asleep in that exact spot.

when the body was in the water the liquid was cloaked with purple blue white spilling from the top and it all floated like ink in the spreading waves it created with some green it floated up and tried to touch the surface even when it was just pieces of energy transfer that was so strange. my bones cracked when i sat there. on a bank with this dark emerald color that radiates out on the edges. or the inside where there are ancients. hands over eyes. feel like you’re somewhere else.

tuvin had his hair in the sand in the ground. those grains somehow made their way to the strands and made it a home. right then on the other side of the half of the side in the woods the ghost sort of phantom was lurking a hollow side flickering like static. with the constant drone of a high tone that came from its other-dimensional figure. it was covered in white fur except for the face and arms. both of those cold colored and smooth and strange material that was actually some sort of vapor if you got close enough. in that forest no mortal could dare to pass. at least no one had ever tried.

one flung himself over and ran from the warm and bright into frigid dark with those electric trees and barren cracking ground. around it floats a mist and his skin broke into shivers. felt every root of that brown buried mineral hair he had. a hand brushes its little fingers past the scalp and feels knots and damage. bare foot steps onto the hard packed ground and attempts to go forward. the tingly noise that sparks in his ears from the trees and their sonar. if only it were autumn, tuvin thought quickly as he wished for some clouds. some way to distinguish the haze of a dark blue above his head that could have been the sky. nothing here. his mouth is dry and feels clumped together. until he has no sense of time anymore the phantom hides. it appeared to tuvin in shaky snowlike projections. “what do you try for?”

tuvin sat on this ground. his arms back to hold him up to look at the fur that might not have been fur sort of hair covering the phantom. he should be dead right now. the ghosts there don’t kill, the humans do it themselves. it’s all a smooth process.

tuvin couldn’t believe he was hearing this. once the tones calmed down a little the woods around them got darker. and the phantom was still there but it was also passive. it turned out to be a benevolent wanderer in the forest so unmeasurable and full of differences. as he couldn’t tell what time it was, tuvin spit onto the ground and tried to sit up higher. but it wasn’t of much use. and it didn’t matter anyway.

phantom was only adapting to tuvin like it had done to sreyja. and the first human to enter into its realm. she was another female. the lunar was apart of phantom’s cycle and there fore more girls were drawn in when they attempted contact. this was a little stranger of an experience for both of them.

 ”i don’t know…” now his eyes were dripping and it drained the colors green and yellow. but the resonation was fine. tuvin made no further attempt to explain himself. a ghost could read his mind. that was expected. all that worry and fear in him went away once the area darkened just a bit more. he could feel the orange and yellow auras the dark black void contained. he could now ask the phantom the same question of why it tried.

now he reached out a hand where there were no bones, just fluid. around them was a water vortex full of memories. once the worst ones were pulled out and pushed aside. it was hard for him to come to terms with them. his troubles. fortunately it didn’t take up too much of the container.

this was making tuvin too depressed. now he knew why nobody wanted to enter the forest. it was impossible to tell what the ghosts would do to the living who came in, chose between being guiding forces to the sullen, a menagerie of piled-up thoughts that would shape the souls that carried them.

tuvin walked out of the forest and into a morning sun. the dew was still fresh on the red and yellow grass burnt in the rays of light. he drove his foot into the blade-covered earth and released the droplets of water, allowing them into the air from the dead grass, without needing any sort of vocalization from the vapor he carried on. now the pathway back to his home was darkening to purple, the day had already gone by so fast. he ran down the path now, more matter collecting in his tangled hair, twigs and dirt and bugs that had to be dusted out later on or left to live and develop an ecosystem on his scalp, too small of a place for a good way of life for those bugs and trees so he set them free. only the sprout was constant

once he got back to the dwellings tuvin headed toward the place of his friend. the friends name was not important. the friend took him to a place where others were. this did not last long and soon tuvin was already standing at the edge of the river.

the river that stood between him and the way to the forest was not hard to cross physically. but to steady the mind was a challenge.

he stepped forward again