Chapter One
The Dream
"Is it really all that confusing to you, Friday?"
I-I don't know what to say…
One day… you'll understand. One fateful day.
With that, I'll bid you farewell."
"No! Wait! Stop! I can understand…!
Give me time…"
"No, Friday. Goodbye."
Friday awoke that night sweating all over. As usual. Why did she always have to have the exact same dream? No one knew; especially not her.
What was the worst case scenario? Again, yet another unsolved mystery. Questions tumbled around the girl's head.
Why…?
Why did you do this to me, Friday…?
And then she screamed. One shrill, loud scream shook the small village. It should have awoken everyone; every animal, every human, the light and heavy sleepers. But, strangely enough, only one person appeared at her window.
Lincoln Francis Radcliffe. The name almost haunted her.
Th-That boy…!
The exotic furniture seemed to stare into her. They were mere pieces of furniture, but they were also her friends… and her enemies. Wasn't that how it always worked? Friends would turn their backs; enemies would offer a smile. But how did one know if it's simply a trick? Who could she trust?
"Link!"
The boy had red hair; not that it mattered, as he was simply a shadow. A shadow… with glowing, blue eyes. His piercing blue eyes had made many a person faint; it was just his nature. His eyes glowed. Always. With happiness, sorrow, anger, hate, love, shock, betrayal…
And he was just that friend who would soon melt into the enemy.
He placed every step with care, and, once he came close enough to Friday, a soft voice pierced the silence.
"Friday…
There's nothing to worry about. The dream's a dream.
And nothing but.
I don't want you to forget that. No more screaming."
Silence enveloped the room once more. With Link, silences were always awkward. Actually…
Silences with Link were never awkward; they were tense. It was enough to put anyone on the edge of their seat. Silences with Link were absolute. Silences with Link left a question hanging in the air, a very simple question: Why? Why did he do this, that, and the other? Why was he a friend of this person? Why was he an enemy of this person? But then again:
Didn't we all have our suspicions, about everybody? Why was Link the center of attention? Why didn't he ever seem aware of this attention? And, in this way, questions would surround him.
And… In the end, they would drown him, like every question was a drop of poisoned water. It would submerge him until he took a breath… allowing the fatal fluid into his lungs… and he would be captured.
What if he's an imposter, Friday?
Friday…!
Friday reached her hand out to him anyways, seeking comfort from the scare she had had…
Voices in her head…
Who would have thought?
Could they really have spurted from a second of her life?
Then again, in the space of a single second, the world could be turned upside-down. One single second could burn a wound so deep it could never be healed. One single second could set the world on fire. One single second could destroy everything.
But there is a but. One single second could also heal. A single second could cause every wound to vanish. A single second could kill a fire. A single second could change a life. But these seconds are much rarer.
Every person was drawn to the dark. It took an immense amount of strength to tear oneself away from the darkness and turn to the light. That was why those precious seconds were an endangered species.
Luckily, it only took one person to throw out a single moment of good fortune. A single second came from a single person. But who was that person? How did one tell if a person was that good person or just another distraction? For every answer, there was a question, and for every question, there was an answer. But no one would ever know all the answers. From that one moment of good fortune, there could spurt many more of them. But bad moments could choke it.
Please, Friday, listen to me.
Don't talk to him again…
He's a bad seed.
The girl chatted happily with the boy, and all seemed well.
Was there even a point to these observations? There could have been. Who really knew? All that really counted was the interpretation. If one was interpreted as a weed, or a flower, they would be treated as how they were seen. Interpretation meant everything in the world that was riddled with questions. We were always searching for the answers.
Some people brought up more questions than others, such as Link. Link spurred many questions starting with the word why. But one question, not starting with why, followed the boy out of the window and over the moonlit hills. That question was: Who is this Link really?