Here's the second chapter to this strange chaptered story I'm currently all for. It's not my best, frankly, but I'm still experimenting with this style of writing.
Cryptobiosis
II
Gray falls asleep around mid-noon, where the sun is at its zenith and the forest is at its brightest.
He doesn't like that.
He prefers the comforting gloom that encompasses his vision, his being, his very soul, with darkness.
That way, he cannot see what he's missing.
(Or who.)
And that's a good thing.
Even if it does cause him to constantly trip and fall.
He dreams in monochrome.
Mostly.
Those strands of pink really stand out.
When he awakens, he finds that there's more rain in his eyes and they've streaked down his cheeks in tiny rivulets. The water droplets follow the curve of his cheekbone to nestle close to the lobe of his ear. There is much annoyance as he wipes the droplets away with the back of his hand and rises to his feet.
It's sundown by now, and he raises his eyes gladly to the distant sunrise, half-hidden by the multitude of trees surrounding him. The chattering and tweeting of the forest birds alternate between being a soothing background noise and an annoyance. It depends on his mood, actually. Right now he feels rather hungry. Even though he's slept for the better part of the day, he still feels unusually exhausted. He's aching all over and his mind and movements are slow, delayed. He's beginning to be more conscious of the time lapses that he experiences every now and then, although it's now with decreasing frequency that they occur.
He's beginning to recall, bits and pieces, of the past.
In order not to, he busies himself with finding some berries to take the edge off his hunger.
His wounds need the proper supplements to heal faster.
But that isn't what he concerns himself with, with regards to the mysterious injuries he has sustained.
He's fascinated with the luridly crimson gashes streaked over various parts of his body, and the bruises that bloom like flowers over his skin.
They intrigue him.
And he likes how much it hurts.
He likes how it hurts so much that it overshadows the strange ache in his chest.
It feels good.
Liberating.
He decides that maybe he's addicted to this feeling.
It is oddly relieving.
So when he's done picking the little, purplish-black globes of berries off branches and cramming them hungrily into his mouth, he wipes his hands on his shirt and goes off in search for the source of this good feeling.
He follows his instinct, and maybe consults the new memories that are steadily trickling back into his mind, in order to fulfill this important quest.
It takes maybe half a day of wandering and reorienting and remembering, but finally-
It's familiar.
This place is familiar.
It's also associated with familiar emotions of hurt and pain and heartbreak and he now knows what's that–
–something–
(–someone–)
–that he has been subconsciously seeking.
And he realises that these emotions are familiar only because he has been experiencing them all these while.
He makes his way to the middle of the evening-darkened clearing by the stone-ringed fire pit and stares wonderingly into the sodden, gray ashes heaped in the center. He tracks his gaze down and to the side of the log that's situated nearby and he discovers the shredded remnants of a yellowing leaf.
And that's familiar, too. It's just so... so familiar.
The ache in his chest intensifies.
The feeling is agonisingly uncomfortable, so he focuses on digging his fingernails into one of the many wounds littering his body and relishes the subsequent pain.
Because, that's not what he came here for. He didn't come here to make this maddening ache worse.
He wants it gone.
But his fingernails are not enough.
He needs more.
He wants to forget.
There's a sudden, hushed silence save for the rustling of the grass and leaves beneath him as he rises on his haunches and leans forwards a little. His hands sift through grass and leaves as he reaches out, seeking. There's a moment of scrabbling before his fingers close greedily around his tool of liberation, his fingernails scraping against jagged stone.
A sigh escapes him, soft and almost relieved.
Then there's nothing but him and the star-scattered nightsky as he forgets.
Hmm. What do you think is happening?