AUTHOR'S NOTE: Heeeeey guys! Apparently my emo gene decided to roar its ugly head when I wrote this last night. If you could look past the teenage angst, that'd be great :D
Loneliness
We were so cut off from the rest of Hyrule; so ostracized from our very own kingdom. Rarely did we see anyone, let alone a new face.
It would have been impossible for me to forget him. The moment he stumbled upon our minuscule ranch in search of food, his presence forever stayed etched into my mind, his whole being now apart of me.
He was extremely attentive, and yet utterly silent; wasn't particularly handsome, but had a certain charm found only in the way young boys carry themselves. His unafraid and confident actions betrayed his timid demeanor. The way his smile – although in the short amount of time I knew him, rarely seen – revealed something more in his character than just a quiet boy. It was almost as if he was the owner of some cold, dark secret, and he was just begging you to ask him about it, just to have him reveal nothing to you but a sly smile. His plain face, those strange clothes. Was it the sense that he was filled with depth that attracted me to him like the opposite polarities on a magnet?
I thought of him everyday after that. My only confidants, the horses, seemed obsolete after knowing first-hand what human companionship felt like. I was callow enough to believe him to be my friend, when after that sparse hour we spent together, he probably went on with his life, blissfully unaware of my existence. Oh, how I long to see you again, Fairy Boy! I would happily die if only to hear my name on your lips.
My naivety, much to my dismay, has not faltered even after all these years.
Like any young girl, I told myself stories in an attempt to ease the sting of loneliness. Fairy Boy was no longer Fairy Boy, he was a hero in glistening armor. He was a valiant knight, atop a mighty steed. There was no way for me to decipher the truths from the lies, for I lacked the motherly figure that would put my life into perspective. There was no keeping him out of my head; my mind was set on the fact that he was going to rescue me from this monotonous life. My near-decade old conscious could no longer fathom the thought that my knight would not come.
But this, like so many other of my distorted memories, became too surreal for me to believe as I grew older. He began to slip from my dreams as I left my childhood and became an adolescent. And, as the years past and I realized that there was no prince, my heart healed. Never again did I have to think of the young boy from the forest, or the fictitious hero. All that was left of the wound was a scar.
I couldn't say how many years have past since that fateful day. There was nothing to base the time off of; I had no school to teach me numbers and nothing to look forward too. Ever day, except Sundays, which was the day my father left to go to the market, was the same too me. While my father slept, Ingo and Myself took care of the farm.
It was only recently that I noticed the change that was brewing in the air. My daily routine was transformed into something totally different. Never before had I been forced to work without pause for hours at a time. Never before had I been shouted at so cruelly. Help no longer came my way in the form of Ingo. His voice, once a source of friendship, now sent goosebumps through my flesh.
It seemed as if Ingo and Hyrule grew corrupt simultaneously. Just like the dark cloud that blanketed the distant mountains, Ingo became possessed. My father fled, begging me to join him. But how could I leave my family; the horses? How could I desert them just as he was deserting me? I could not.
My mind was numb as well as my body. When my father left, he took with him a part of me: my soul. He took my feelings and my love, as if to hold them there within him until his safe return.
I was alone, but not defeated. Solitude, once a source of despair, was now welcome. With my painful new lifestyle, childish tales were the farthest thing on my mind.
Inside the barn there was no way to tell the time of day. Minimal light shone through the wax paper that covered the otherwise empty window pane. The only light source was my dimly-lit oil lantern, and that gave no hint.
Sighing, I gently put down the bottle I had been filling, Its opaque liquid sloshing in defiance. The container wasn't full, but my hands were raw from milking. There was no blood, only chaffed skin that stung violently. I tried to clenched my fist, wincing all the while.
Darcy, the cow that had been the source of these wounds, nudged my chest with her stubbly chin.
I placed the back of my hands above her earnest eyes as to calm her restlessness. "I'm sorry, I just can't finish today."
I really did feel true compassion towards Darcy. Such a simple thing, milking a cow, and yet I couldn't bring myself to finish. I felt weak and crippled after so many months of hard labor.
Tiredness pulled at my eyelids as I contemplated collapsing and falling sleep right where I was sitting. My whole being was achy, my energy fully drained. My common sense told me to skip the rough hay and just explain to Ingo why I had to retire early. That also meant I had to face his wrath.
I feebly made my way across the barn, lantern in hand, latching onto the railing every few feet to try and steady my legs. Without any sound, the door opened to reveal the cool fresh air. I was stunned to see the farm shrouded in shadow, the air heavy with silence.
In this new world, even the wolves refused to howl.
"Ingo?" I called tentatively to the night air.
No answer; a benediction.
I silently entered the house, cringing at the sound of the scraping hinges of the door, and near-crawled up to my vacant bedroom. The house was painfully empty without my mother, and now my father missing. Hurt shot through my already deflated heart when I allowed my mind to think of my father. I don't know how I will bring myself to forgive him for abandoning me. What will I say to him once he comes back? I feel as though I'm trapped between doing the right thing by acquitting him from my blame and doing the wrong thing by listening to my vengeful heart.
It was there, while I stood lost and alone in the middle of my bare room, did I think of the boy from the forest.
