It might be advisable to read Substitute – which is a prequel of sorts to this story – before reading this as it might make more sense then. Readers who have been waiting/wishing for a sequel to Substitute, you've got your wish! This chapter is only about a thousand words or so because, because. Subsequent chapters will be of this length, but may be longer according to the situation featured in the chapter. I'm saying all these rubbish only because I've never written such short chapters before x3
Expect: Loads and loads of angst, self-harm, mature themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own. The image used as the story cover does not belong to me.
Cryptobiosis
I
~c~
[kriptəˌbīˈōsis]
1. (Biology) a state of suspended animation entered by an organism in response to adverse environmental conditions
2. (Medicine) a state in which the signs of life of an organism have weakened to the point where they are barely measurable or no longer measurable
~c~
Leaves crackle underfoot as night slowly sinks in, swathing the forest in darkness. It's all stillness and a sense of lonely existence as he walks aimlessly, weaving laboriously through trees and bushes and trudging through puddles of muddy rainwater, uncaring of the dirty water that sloshes against his shoes and into his socks. His fingers brushes the leaves of a plant and comes away with water droplets clinging to the 's cold.
Did it rain?
He doesn't know.
There must be a reason why the entire forest is sodden and dripping with water, though.
He concludes it must have rained.
Then why was he not aware when it did?
He pauses and frowns into the dim depths of the forest that stretches as far as his eye can see, although right now he is unable to see much. He rubs wearily at his eyes and is surprised to feel a warm wetness smear across his eyelids and the edges of his eyes with the action. When he curiously gives the unknown liquid on his knuckles an experimental lick, he is mildly disgusted to taste its saltiness.
From the watery streaks on his cheeks, he deduces that it must have rained earlier.
Distracted for a moment, he stumbles and almost trips over a rain-slicked branch. Cursing, he steadies himself and glares at the present cause of his ire. It lies where his foot has kicked it, darkened and soggy by the amount of water it has soaked in.
He frowns again, more fiercely this time. It feels like something is missing. Like he missed something.
How did he miss the fact that it had been raining?
His clothes squelch wetly against the absent-minded press of his fingers as he pinches and bunches the damp edges of his shirt together. He gapes down at the water leaking from the fabric. His clothes are all wet! He casts an accusing glance at the sky, seeking overcast, gray clouds he could focus his irritation on.
But instead, what he sees are the faint twinkling of the stars and the faint, yellow-ish gleam of the moon hidden behind a cloud.
Wha–
It's night-time?
But–
When? When did it become night?
He fiddles with the threads at the ends of his shirt as he tries to think, rolling the unraveling threads between the pads of his fingers as he stares out unseeingly into the darkness in front of him. Finally, he gives up and continues on his way. Although, it is too dark and he walks on blindly through the forest in steadily growing darkness. He wishes his surroundings are brighter so he may see more clearly whatever it wants to see.
(And whoever he wants to see.)
Gradually, he becomes aware of a faint, blue glow beneath his line of sight. That catches his full attention, drawing his gaze down to the source of the light. To his surprise, the icy-blue glow emanates from within his hands. There is an unearthly blue-lit circle hovering above his palms, sketched through with strange symbols along its circumference. He inspects it with great curiosity, and thinks it gives off just the tiniest bit of coldness.
When he has bored of the strange, blue light, his gaze drifts over the thread-bare condition of his clothes. It's almost too dark to see, but he can make out the worn fabric, barely. Why are his clothes this tattered? And beneath his clothes, there are areas of dull, throbbing pain where his fingers make contact with. Peeling the edge of his shirt back, he discovers that the fabric has not only been damp with water, but also sticky with blood.
How...?
He cannot remember acquiring any wounds.
Again, he feels like he's missing something.
And it brings to question what may have happened to land himself in such a state.
Whatever he's missing, he has an unmistakable feeling that it is the answer to his question.
...so what was he missing?
Something?
(Or someone?)
He thinks and thinks and tries to think some more, but... whatever it is keeps slipping out of his grasp just as his mind manage to brush against them. He can only remember hurt and pain and endless wandering. His thoughts are going in circles, just like how he has been for as long as he can remember. Some time passes before he realises his legs ache from over-use, so he clumsily lowers himself on to the damp grass and carefully crosses his legs. Then he leans against a tree trunk and looks back up at a brightening sky and wonders when he missed the moon leaving.
That was... strange. I hardly ever write in present tense, so I'm not too used to doing so. Anyhoo, I don't know if you guys like it, but I'm eager to see what else is in store for Gray here. Review if you like it!