It was serenely quiet, still. It was hollow, and blank, with the silence of emptiness and calm absence of life. A figure stood, soundless, smooth. Unbreathing. Peaceful, perfect, hushed. Lifeless.
Suddenly, a sound. A rush, a puff, a breeze. A whisper of the wind. It blew, whisked, fluttered by, stirring the dirt in graceful swirls. Onward, always onward, the wind flew, forever on its endless journey with no beginning and no end.
The wind blew past the figure, dancing, laughing, twisting in carefree joy and... the figure felt it.
He gasped. Air rushed into his lungs, filling them and giving him life. He opened his eyes. He shut them again because it was so bright. It was bright and wonderful, beaming and brilliant, radiant, dazzling, vivid, and he opened his eyes again, marveling. It was beautiful.
The figure moved his fingers, actually moved his fingers, eyes widening in excitement and glee. He moved his hands, his arms, wider and wider until they were stretched high above his head.
A sound escaped his lips, and he stopped, full of wonder. It came again, and his laughter filled the air, ringing, vibrant, cheerful.
He moved his legs, his feet, his toes. He danced and leapt and twirled. He pranced and spun and swayed and frolicked, laughing in delight and joy.
His foot touched something with a splash. He gasped lightly and looked down. It was shimmery, sparkly, splendid. It was cool and wet, and he touched it again, this time with his hands. He giggled, watching in fascination as the water rippled, swirled, moved.
As he moved closer, he saw something. It was another figure, just like him. It had a head, a face, eyes, nose, lips. Curly strands of brown hair, pale skin. Rosy lips and grey eyes. It moved when he moved. It laughed when he laughed. It did everything he did. It was like him, but it wasn't him. It was his reflection.
He reached his hand out to the hand reaching out to him, and touched it. The reflection-figure shattered, and he laughed, watching the water carry it away. But soon, when the water was quiet and still, it came back. He hummed in amusement and stood back up.
He looked around. Tall, brown, solid trees stood proudly, waving their leafy green tops. The gentle rustle of wind on branch made the figure smile. He loved the way the light blended with the leaf shadows, dappled, patchy, brindled. High, chirping noises filled the air in cheerful song. Small creatures fluttered, twittering from branch to branch. Their happiness made him happy, and he grinned.
He touched the bark of the tree. It felt rough, scratchy, coarse. He touched the leaves. They were thin, subtle, and soft. He felt the sun on his back, and it was glorious and warm. It was good.
He looked up, watching the puffy white clouds as he walked. They were clean, bright, lovely against the blue, blue sky. He reached up to touch them, but they were far, farther than he could ever go.
Small shapes in bright colors hugged the ground. The figure's face lit up. They were beautiful flowers. He ran to them, kneeling down as he brought his face close. They smelled sweet, rich, wonderful. He touched them. The petals were smooth, plush, silky. He grabbed one, and pulled his hand back with a sharp cry.
It hurt. It hurt and it was bad. His face scrunched up, contorted from one of happiness to one of pain. He looked at his hand. A bright red speck slid, flowed, spilled from his hand. He was bleeding.
Something warm and wet slid down his face, from his eye. It was a tear, a single, glassy drop of water, and it represented hurt.
Suddenly, he felt a touch of warmth on his face and gasped, and the tear was gone, wiped away. The warmth came to rest on his back, comforting. It was good. It was very good.
He looked up and saw another figure. Smaller, but beautiful. He stared in awe. The man was handsome in every way. Light hair, deep, soft eyes, perfect nose, smooth cheeks. Soft lips forming a reassuring smile.
The tall figure leaned into the touch, sighing contently. The smaller figure pulled him to his feet again. He glanced down and his eyes met those of the man. His breathing slowed and his cheeks warmed, and he smiled. The man smiled back, taking his hand within his own. The tall figure looked away, feeling suddenly shy, nervous, bashful. But he tightened his fingers around the warm hand in his.
They walked for awhile, in the cool, airy shade under the trees. They laughed as the sunny, feathery grass tickled their feet. They closed their eyes as the breeze whistled through their hair.
The smaller figure rested against the taller's chest, feeling the steady thump, beat, rhythm of his heart. The taller leaned his head on the short figure's warm hair. He felt content, like he could stay like that forever, and it was very, very good.