Land, Sea, and Sky
Once upon a time, when the earth was still simple, fresh, and new, there existed but three entities: the Land, the Sea, and the Sky. They resided in harmony for countless centuries, coexisting peacefully and efficiently. Not one could be without the other two, and so dependence was created, a strong bond forged that seemed to last past any bounds of time and change. But there was one factor that was not considered in the scheme of the coexistence of the three eternal beings.
The Land was in love with the Sky.
The Sky was happy, clear and free. Everything the Land thought itself not to be. The Sky, the Land hopelessly thought, was always just beyond reach. The vast expanse of the blue that made up Sky—specks of happy white clouds rolling and moving past overhead when the mood was suited—were always just that: overhead, always so close and yet so very far that Land could not hope to touch them.
But sometimes, Land pierced the Sky with large structures—mountains built tall in a desperate attempt to meet Sky, touch the untouchable. But Sky merely danced around them, as if playing a game. Sky would laugh, and would sometimes let the Land close to its clouds, but the Land still never touched the Sky. Sky was always just beyond reach. No matter no tall Land made itself, the Sky was always just a few feet ahead, as if taunting and teasing and challenging.
Sometimes, still, the Sky would bend down to touch and tease the Land with gentle breezes that would whirl over and through the Land's trees and rock. Land would sigh its wistful sigh, and then Sky would retreat back up, daring Land to follow. Land would have been content with just the Sky's teasing breezes and its dancing game, but that was not all there was to it.
The Sky would also touch the Sea.
The Sea would jump to meet Sky with sprays of water mixed with the gusts of wind, and Land would be jealous. Land could not jump. All Land could do was sit and wait and hope the Sky carried its leaves with its wind. Land desperately wanted to jump to meet the Sky, but that seemed to be a pleasure made only for the Sea, which would giggle and throw up its water playfully.
Land liked the Sea well enough, when the Sky's gust was not playing with its water. The Sea was one of the three entities, and both it and Land depended on each other. But the Sea's folly was not just playing with the Sky's wind. No, it sometimes made the Sky angry at the Land, and they would band together to hurt it. Sky would darken in anger, releasing hail onto the defenseless Land, and would throw painful bursts of wind at its trees, destroying and uprooting. This was caused by the cunning of the Sea, who would cajole the Sky with its water and rush up to create disastrous storms that would leave gouges in the Land from the angry wind and water.
And then the storm would pass, and the Sky would clear and shine down a bright light from its sun. Sometimes its gentle breeze would return, in way of apology, and it would caress the Land soothingly, as if to say it would be alright. But other times, the Sky would go eerily still, and that was when the Land would get anxious and afraid. Until, of course, the Sky became restless again, and went back to playing with the Sea's water, and teasing the Land's leaves.
After the storm, the Sea would calm as well, and the Land would allow it to recede down its shores. But it would not be so friendly, even when the Sea's water gently moved up the Land's sand. But what was the Land to do? It depended on the Sea, so it eventually was forgiven.
The Land thrived from the Sky and the Sea, more than either the Sky or the Sea thrived on the Land.
The Land needed the Sea's water to moisten its dirt and make its plants grow. But, most of all, it needed the Sky's sun. For without the sun, there was no life. The plants the Sea watered would grow, but they would never flourish without the Sky's sun. The Sky was the life of the Land, and so the Land loved the Sky.
But the Sea and the Sky shared special bonds that were lost to the Land, and so it was jealous. The Land could tell the Sky loved the Sea more than it loved the Land. Land could tell by watching the sun set across Sea's ocean, lending it some of the Sky's beauty and color. When had the Sky even lent color to the Land? Land did not know, and so it was jealous.
The Land began to dislike the Sea, and the jealousy it felt destroyed a bit of the harmonious bond the three entities shared. While the three of them, in the beginning, could only help one another, they slowly began to hurt each other as well. The Land knew all about the pain the other entities could cause, what with their hurricanes and tsunamis, and so, one day, the Land eventually snapped.
The first volcano erupted.
It shot angry fire up, into the Sky, as if seeking to hurt and destroy the happy freeness that the Sky radiated. Land wanted to burn the Sky, for dancing around its mountains, for causing painful gusts of air, for playing with the Sea's water, for lending dazzling sunsets to Sea's oceans. It wanted Sky to feel pain as Land did, because Sky had hurt Land. But Sky danced around the lava, until it came crashing back down to Land, burning its own forests and grass and plants, leaving destruction in its wake.
The melted rock had done nothing but hurt the Land itself, but the soot and the ash the volcano produced did hurt the Sky. It filled its air with poison until the Sky choked and darkened, until the sun went away and the air stopped its gentle breezes.
Land had expected painful gusts to replace them; expected Sky to fight back, but there was no resistance. Instead, Sky allowed Land to hurt it, and became eerily quiet. Land was surprised, almost disappointed, and nearly regretful. But the Sky had hurt the Land! It deserved the pain Land had caused it. The guilt was pushed away, until finally, the Sky responded. Its clouds produced a dreary rain, water borrowed from the Sea, that fell upon Land's volcano and scorched ground in heavy torrents that caused the Land to wince.
The Sky was crying.
The Land felt a terrible sickness for having caused the Sky to cry, and it wished terribly to apologize. But what could the Land do to make up for it? It sank into its pits of guilt, until it seemed everything might have withered and died upon its surface. But, instead, the most peculiar of things occurred, once the Sky's woeful rain had stopped.
The Land's scorched plants pushed up from under the cooled rock and flourished as if touched by something divine, existing as a brilliant shade of green that nearly blinded the Land and offered something it had not before considered…
Hope.
The rain fell in harsh torrents down upon the ground below. It soaked rock, tree, dog, and human alike, wind carrying away umbrellas and awnings until all were made equal, none exempt from the falling water. Eventually, many wised up and rushed to seek shelter from the element, humans receding indoors, and, all that could, following. And then the streets seemed bare, except for the cars, which were really hardly anything more than transportable shelter anyway, until one person remained.
The person in question walked along the street, head bowed, hands stuffed into soaked pockets, and a lazy gait in their dragging step that suggested a lack of purpose or excitement. They watched the dreary ground, observed the way soaked shoelaces picked up dirt and dragged along the floor, watched in sympathy as waterlogged kittens ducked into alleyways to find some semblance of comfort from the storm. Instead of following their advice, the figure continued walking down their aimless path, hardly stopping, hardly slowing.
But then, they turned towards the street and stepped out into car territory during a moment of quiet from the hunks of unnatural metal.
The world was silent.
The world was empty.
So the dripping figure walked out onto the road—an innocent, thoughtless gesture used to save time. After all, no one else was in the street. But suddenly, a car appeared over the bend, and then the horrifying screech of tire on blacktop on unforgiving water reached all present ears—of which there was only the figure on the street and the occasional car driver passing by—until the lone soaked figure picked up their head and stared into the eyes of the driver of the car that would surely meet flesh.
And then it did, but not before the driver saw the tears mixed in the rain, and not until the figure caught sight of vibrant green eyes, until vision blurred to black, green to gray.
And all that was left was darkness.
There was something unforgiving—unnerving—about the room. Maybe it was the lack of white. Maybe it was the presence of the dull, ugly vomit-green in its stead on the walls, the floor, the bed. Maybe it was because white was expected to dominate the building. White was supposed to take up the bed, so the occupants looked just as opaque and fragile. They weren't supposed to be framed by pale green sheets that made them look sick. It was a mockery of liveliness, adding color to a hospital.
Suddenly, the door was opened, and a third person entered, looking flustered and upset, panting and heaving as if they had run down the hallway marked specifically to discourage the same action.
"Riku!" They called, answered by the slight raise of a head. "I got here as soon as I could. How's—"
"Fine," The response was harsh and cold, and gained a worried frown from the questioner, who took a hesitant step forward.
"Oh, there's only one chair. I guess these doctors don't know Sora very well. This place will be swamped with visitors in no time!" There was a slightly awkward laugh mixed in with the words, and Riku didn't bother to reply, standing silently.
"Take mine," the harsh one made to step away from the piece of furniture, but the soft, hesitant one put up their hands.
"Oh, no, no! Sit down; I'll go ask someone to get another." And then Kairi was gone, and Riku was left sighing and sitting back down, something unreadable in once-vibrant eyes, the barest hint of a name on pale lips.
"Sora…"
"Riku…" The only response was a slight upturn of the head, as per usual. "I was just wondering, about Sora." Kairi's hands played nervous games, resting on a thigh. "It's been two weeks and still…" A murmur of hesitation, "that's a long time to sleep."
A glass of hot chocolate was pressed into pale, limp hands, and Riku started at the sudden feel of it, tightening fingers around it and turning surprised eyes towards Kairi, who smiled and sat down.
"It's rained every day the past three weeks." A sigh, and then a light murmur, "You'd think the sky would get tired of crying…"
Riku turned surprised eyes back towards Kairi, something unreadable in them. "Maybe the sky has a reason to cry," hands clenched into fists. "Maybe someone it loved hurt it, so all it can do is cry and won't get any better and—"
A hand fell atop the shaking, pale fist. Kairi smiled sadly at Riku.
"Then maybe the one who hurt the sky should apologize."
Riku looked away. "What if they can't be heard?"
Kairi shrugged and sipped at a cup of steaming chocolate. "They should try anyway! The sky will hear. It's everywhere, isn't it?"
There was a moment of silence as Riku turned eyes towards the cup in the hand that was not a fist. Kairi hummed.
"Your eyes are sad. Maybe that's why Sora won't stop crying." A slight screech indicated the chair was being pushed back as Kairi stood. "They're not the bright green you used to have."
"It's been nearly two months, Riku!" Kairi's voice penetrated the silence of the room. "What more do you wa—?"
"So you've given up? You're just going to go ahead and abandon Sora like all that's happened doesn't matter? Two months and you're already out the door?" Riku glared, something angry in the tone of voice and the way pale hands clenched into fists.
Kairi looked at Riku helplessly, eyes full of sadness, but not backing down. "Of course not! Of course not. I'm not giving up, I'm not abandoning. But I'm also not living! Two months, Riku! I can't give my whole life up for someone who won't wake up, who can't look me in the face." There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of harsh breathing and the steady BEEP BEEP BEEP of the machines hooked up to the prone figure on the bed. Kairi took a deep breath, and looked at Riku desperately.
"I'm not giving up, Riku. I just…can't come here as often. I need to live. I can't keep neglecting the people that're awake. They need me, too." Riku turned stubbornly away, and glared out the window above Sora's bed. The scene was dark and dreary, with rain falling steadily and harshly, until all the color from the usually bright leaves in the trees outside was washed away to collect in the sewers, via the nearest storm drain.
"And Riku?" Kairi paused by the door, frowning. "I said I needed to live. And…I suggest you do the same."
And then the door opened and closed, leaving Riku alone with the silent form on the bed, whose sheets were an ugly vomit-green instead of stationary white.
"Sora," Riku said one day, voice thick and heavy with emotion. Sora remained silent, the steady BEEP BEEP BEEP the only reply. Riku was alone with Sora, no Kairi in sight, no doctors, no family, no friends. It'd been nearly six months—half a year of endless rain. The plants were dead, the mood of the world dreary and depressed. No one could explain how or why, but the clouds overhead could not find it in themselves to stop their downpour.
Everyone had given up on Sora. No one bothered to come around anymore—no one but Riku, who sat still and stared hopefully and hopelessly at Sora's peaceful face, framed with vomit-green.
Sora's parents had become as non-existent as the friends that used to peek in for half-hearted smiles and encouraging words, and sometimes Riku forgot that parents and friends could exist in the dreary, rainy world.
The doctors, too, had even stopped coming around as often to tell Riku it wasn't worth a decline in health to watch someone that was showing no signs of improvement or a worsening fate. But, of course, Riku didn't listen. Sora was worth a decline in health.
"How long are you going to make me wait, Sora?" It was bitten out, as Riku's head fell, gaze set at shaking hands. "How much longer do you need? The world can't take this endless crying. I can't take this endless sleeping!" The shaking hands went to cradle their master's face.
"Please, Sora," it was muffled by the hands, "just wake up for me. Twitch a little, or something, I don't care!" The sleeping figure did not stir. Riku brought a face twisted with emotion out of pale hands, and shakily reached out to touch a paling face.
"Sora…"
Nimble fingers met a once-tanned cheek, and gently caressed the smooth skin, marveling at the feel as tears came to claim dulled eyes.
"Sora…I'm so sorry. I never meant—I just—I tried to stop! I swear I did! But the rain! I stopped and the car kept going and I…I hurt you." Fingers curled on the unresponsive cheek, and Riku bit down on a trembling lip.
"I love you."
Riku bowed over the prone figure and took in short, steady breaths, overcome by a powerful emotion that left muscles shaking.
"I love you!" And then pale lips met unresponsive ones in a chaste, innocent kiss. Riku felt overcome and overwhelmed, and when their lips were no longer pressed together, tears fell from the dull eyes. Because Riku felt as if the untouchable had finally been touched and still…nothing had come of it.
But then, suddenly, the constant PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT from outside the small window above Sora's bed went silent. A faint light pushed into the room past the blinds Riku had insisted on being put up, if only to hide a bit of the ugly, dreary world.
Riku stilled, breath gone and eyes wide, and quickly moved away from Sora to stare. In a rush, the seat was pushed back, and shaky fingers were pulling apart the blinds to stare outside; to view the silent world.
The rain had stopped.
The sun had risen high and proud, and shown down upon the defeated world, the destroyed plants and the hopeless people down below. And then, the most peculiar of things occurred, once the sky's woeful rain had stopped.
The land's crushed plants pushed up from under the remains of the destroyed, over-watered world and flourished as if touched by something divine; existing as a brilliant shade of green that nearly blinded the shocked eyes and offered something that hadn't before been considered by the one who watched from above…
Hope.
Hope so strong Riku had to laugh aloud, the only sound in the room, other than the steady BEEP BEEP BEEP that had been forgotten long ago, until a weak chuckle resonated with his full, hysterical wail.
And then Riku stilled again, eyes wide in shock and surprise, and those eyes were turned quickly to the figure on the bed without any constraint or thought of acting like a fool.
Sora smiled up at Riku, and for the first time in six months, Riku's dead, vomit-green eyes lightened and brightened until they were as vibrant as the newly-growing earth outside, and a smile pushed its way onto shaky lips, as tears of utter joy fell down pale cheeks.
But Sora did a weak shake of the head in reply.
"No more tears."
And so there were none.
And then, for the first time in countless millennia, the Land finally reached up and touched the Sky.