The night was cold and dimming with its barren mist. At the West Gate, or better known as the Gate of the White Tiger, an eighteen year old boy named Kahibi Eric held the axe high in the air. It seemed to glimmer in the growing, icy moonlight.
It hung high in a showy way, jerking its head back to pose powerfully. Eric cried out as he swung the tool downward, hearing the sickening chop of wood fill his ears. Sweat drops glittered his body and took friendly strolls down his tan, serious face. The hair under his bandanna felt hot and wet, and the perspiration seemed to consume him with a wet heat.
Fire cackled by him with a ghastly glow like a dancing sun. Wood was slowly consumed into ash below the fire, as if carrying it with tiresome, stick-thin arms. The smell of burning and ashy cold seemed to fill the air with the dry soil.
Eric swung the axe high in the air again, feeling the power build up. He was chopping the wood for the tent houses they knew would be wrecked and torn. His red Japanese style coat was by a stump, hanging like a warm blanket comfy for the tree sport. Eric was wrapped in the barren field's freezing cold of the night with his glistening sweat making a layer on his skin. The axe came down with another sickening thud and Eric soon found his back tired and sore. His browned eyes closed smoothly and tiredly. He breathed in a big breath of cold air, the iciness comforting him. Half of him that faced the fire seemed to glow holily. He wore his short sleeved black shirt that seemed to hide in the darkness, yet his large, tanned arms showed. He was becoming tired, but he knew he had to finish the job.
"You know," Mark began, sitting on the floor by the fireplace. The cracking flames breathed heat on his face, revealing his sweaty face. His mouth was wide open in tiredness that sucked in cold air like a vacuum. He spread his legs out on the floor around the fire, and they seemed to cook in the bright, orange heat. The osmium weights strapped around his upper legs seemed to weigh tons now. The ones on his arms felt a million times more than they were supposed to be. He wanted to fall and lie down completely on his back, but his forearms held his face and eyes high above the ground, and let them stare into the dancing oranges and yellows.
Eric acknowledged Mark's voice as he swung the axe again, and let more rolling drops of sweat streak down the middle of his face, hanging on to the tip of his nose before finally falling off. "It's hard to believe where you even found that axe," Mark said, feeling the cool soil relax his hot, sweaty skin. "What's an axe even doing here in the first place?"
Eric heard him, but kept chopping away unnoticeably.
Meanwhile, Walter found himself backed up against a towering tree that felt almost protecting, the hard surface on his back. The canopy swayed with a light cold breeze shook like a mushroom head, or cotton candy. Its protective feeling felt somewhat comforting and more securing. Yet, Walter knew that things like trees didn't give protection. Things like trees don't really help with the problems in life. Things like trees just stand there, and watch as the many deaths happen and surround them. But only if they did… Walter fantasized. I'm getting tired, he thought as he stared up to the starry, bejeweled skies. The atmosphere wore the luminous specks like wrapping necklaces and golden rings with pride. I'm getting tired of everything… he thought as he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It's been months since I've left my uncle and aunt, eight years since my mom left, and ten since my father died. So, why? Walter thought, not wanting to open his eyes. Why can't I let go of everything and just leave it behind?
He brushed his fingers over his face, trying t o recognize his own features. It was feeling another person's face replacing your own. The skin felt smooth and cold in his wavering fingertips. He gave a long, exhausted sigh that filled the air shortly with warmth. It swam away quickly as possible, like escaping something that Walter found he couldn't. No, he thought, opening his eyes again and staring on to the skies. I know why I can't let go, he realized. He slowly remembered the day after he had left, the diary of his aunt, the curse words all over the paper as well as with the horrible message; the grudging truth. The truth that made Walter swear revenge on Void Core and all the pain in the world. Pain. It was something Walter didn't want to fear anymore. Something he didn't want to live with. And he wanted to leave it with power. Leave it all behind and protect himself and only himself, with as much power as possible. And that means beating this stupid swamp task.
So what now? Walter felt the dry soil on the ground. It felt colder than stone. The night air was dark and shaded with a blue mist, giving everything the appearance of death. No water, he noted. There's no water anywhere below the ground, not even a drop for miles. So why is there a tree? He said, feeling the cragged bark on his back for assurance that it was in reality. Why is there life with no water? It makes no sense. It could be a doing of something in this forest, but if something in the area could make a natural unbalance of nature at will… then what else could the things here do? I've got to figure it out! I'm not losing now! Walter demanded of himself, closing his fist around the dirt, cupping some in his fist. It was cold in his hand. Walter gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He bowed his head, feeling defenseless as he tried hard to think. But he couldn't/ His mind just seemed too clouded. So clouded, in fact, that he didn't know what was clouding him.
At the fire, Mark let out a long, exasperating sigh as Eric swung the axe down, another sickening crack escaping from the wood. He got up heavily with a sigh, feeling the weights unbalance their heaviness. He picked pieces from everyone's attention as he stood up. "I'm going to get wood for the fire," he informed as the crippling fire seemed to soon die out. He walked away into the bushes and into the covering darkness. His steps were heavy against the ground even though he was the thin person he was.
PoVS
Takiato Daniel marked the wall of his wooden tent with a rock, making a deep cut that tallied once on the pillar. He sighed as he breathed in a deep whiff of wet, dirty air. The smell of soil filled his nostrils and dirt compiled in and outside of the "tent." Darkness crept in easily and the walls seemed to close in on him. He was cold and the freezing, subzero dirt didn't help warm him.
In the next tent, Teresa found herself backed up into a corner in her tent. She felt uneasy as she shifted slightly. The cold wood piled on her back slimily and the mushy dirt felt sand like underneath her sandals. Her piercing, violet eyes were closed. She took in a deep, cool breath and tried to force the Visible Darkness once again. The pain from the first one didn't completely wear off yet, but she didn't want to give up. She didn't want to give up and carry her debt to the top of the mountain… she didn't. She wouldn't let it happen, no matter what. Teresa squinted with forced, trying to push it out. Seconds later came a hell stabbing pain into her head, forcing her to jerk back. She hit her head on the back of the tent and yelped out like a dog, her voice still low enough for her teammates to remain oblivious to the noise. The searing pain soon took over her and she found herself lying helplessly against the wood.
She took heavy and deep breaths, her purple hair caked with dirt and moss. She gave a low moan as she felt the uneasiness grow her, wear her – try her on like a winter sweater you find at the store and it just so happens to be your color. It was putting her on by the sleeves, one after another, and as the uneasiness and nausea became overwhelming, Teresa finally felt like she should give up on achieving the first level of Visible Darkness. The pain was still overtaking, and soon a drop of red blood came in the form of a tear and down her temples, then to her dirty hair.
A drop of blood? She thought wildly, wiping it away as quick as she could. That's ridiculous, she thought. She clawed at her eyes wiping them just to make them feel better, just for the heck of it. She wiped some more, flinging her sleeves around like wild chains, slapping the wooden walls around her that reeked of decay and soil. This is unreal. This whole life is unreal, she complained. She wished the pain would just go away and let her build a fire. A fire for warmth and comfort, but she knew she couldn't. She couldn't have a fire to help her comfort. A fire would attract any enemies around the area and alert them of her presence. So she couldn't have her oh-so-desired comfort. She sighed the pain away, and continued as she fought away wave after wave of nausea.
PoVS
Derek watched the moon in its gibbous state hang high in the sky with the stars as its accomplices, like they were held on its shoulders, hung high on its arms, and suspended with a strong grip in its hands. He sat on the cold dirt that seemed to wrap around him and the trees behind him were solid and strong on their stance, unlike him when he first got the Geta slippers to wear. He stared hard at the gibbous moon, partially eaten away by the everlasting hunger of the darkness.
"Okay," he heard Dylan's voice come from behind him. The Botany Minor came forward and set a delicate hand on the side of the tree Derek put his head back on. "We buried the plates from the food so we wouldn't attract enemies with the smell," he reported, sounding tired. Darkness carried his voice well to Derek, and the shadow mumbled in acknowledgement.
"Yeah," Derek just said halfheartedly, his voice low and out of it. His eyes wandered upward to the dreams of the stars and sky. They had stolen his stare, and his personality had been sucked away by the coolness and calmness of the growing night air.
"It sure got late fast," Dylan noted as he noticed the moon and stars with Derek. He gazed up as well now, and lost himself in a trance of twinkling specks.
"Yeah," Zack said, coming from behind Dylan. He set a powerful grip on Dylan's shoulder and smiled. He stared up into the sky as well and watched the stars as they seemed to dance upward towards the zenith. They glimmered distantly in Zack's brown orbs for eyes. He took in a deep, cool breath and breathed it out forcefully. It was a brisk, comfortable night. The scenery of stars smiled back at the three.
Suddenly, Dylan began to moan uncomfortably. Zack quickly pulled away his hand and watched his friend. "What's wrong?" Zack asked, catching the attention of Derek as well, who turned around with curious, caring eyes. It was amazing that despite the fact the three boys go through with each other, they still treated each other like brothers almost. Dylan moaned uncomfortably in a comical pain and groaned hungrily.
"Water…" he pleaded.
"Water?" Derek asked, raising one eyebrow in curiosity. "What about water?"
"I need it…!" Dylan begged, clutching the sides of his stomach as he lay on the tree's side weakly, feeling its dampness take over the side of his clothes.
"You've got to be kidding," Derek insisted, sighing a deep sigh. Dylan shook his head in negation. Derek sighed again deeply, and stood up. He felt the brisk air rush under his old style coat and to his bandaged skin underneath. He walked past the two boys dressed in separate colors and recommended, "Let's just go to sleep for now. We'll be fine in the morning. We'll think about food then, because at this point, I haven't even had a bite of food."
"Yeah but…" Dylan began to complain, his eyes watering in humor.
"But nothing," Derek finished his sentenced for him, telling him no buts. "If I can last the whole night without water, you can," he said seriously.
"But that's you…!" he cried.
"Let's just go, Dylan. We'll think about it more in the morning, okay?" Zack said, putting his hand over Dylan's shoulder once more. It seemed to weight Dylan down with its size and weight. It was now that the Botany Minor realized just how strong Zack was. It's just that he was always so immature that it made him seem like a child, when really, he had the strength of a well built seventeen year old. And finally, the three boys slowly began to walk to the middle of the forest, where they found trees to sleep next to that would hold their heads up for the night.
PoVS
Eric sat on the stump, tired. He was still coatless, the short sleeved T-shirt being the only thing he wore on top, his long shorts letting in slight breezes and cool air from the bottom while hot, sweaty air pooled out. He looked around in the darkness, trying to figure out a good place to put the tents. The axe lay by his feet seemed like it had been bloodstained at the side of its blade, like something from a horror movie. Scratches and bites were all over the handle, and the blade was also a bit rusty. It gave a blurry reflection, and would show you something that would make snow white look like an ogre. The Fire Minor took a deep breath as he began thinking naturally. It was times like these when he was alone and it was quiet, and he began to lose himself and swim in his thoughts.
He closed his eyes and put himself in a trance. I'm worried, I can't lie, he realized. I'm worried that the ones I want to protect are the ones I will fail… again, he thought as he remembered his mother. He never forgave himself for not doing what he wanted to do. I let my own mother die, he blamed himself. In his head, he was never vindicated, or brazen. He was never free from blame. There was always a burden for him to put on himself, but only by doing that, he felt more comfortable. He felt that things were fairer, that I was doing things more correctly. Bug somehow, someway, there was more to be fixed. More to be made fair. But Eric never found those things. So how could he ever fix them? But oh, how he wanted to so badly.
Eric found himself awake again in reality and looked around once more. The cold air soon became warmer to a regular cold, yet was still chilling. It was comfortable to him anyway, considering how sweaty he had become from working so hard. Sweat still pooled around the top of his shirt and everywhere on his tanned self. His short sleeves let his arms free in the cool air, comfort sliding in easily, making him want to relax even more.
He turned his head to find Walter sitting there. He had been there since I had begun chopping the wood, he noted as he watched the Water Minor lay there in his own thoughts. His half open eyes glimmered in the nonexistent light as they stared off into the empty space known as the darkness of the swamp. He gave no signs of life and just lay there like he had been dead for years. He lay there sloth-like his back lying on the floor. His head was barely against the wood of the tree behind him that provided the concealing shade. His lips were tightly locked, hiding something secretive that he just couldn't seem to put to words, the letters lost and scrambled like an anagram.
"What…" Eric choked out as he kept his head turned to Walter. He soon caught the other Minor's attention as he found his eyes roll toward him; the half closed becoming three-fourths. The brown glaze of his gaze had something in them that made Eric feel a little… different. But, still… he always had those eyes. Those eyes that carried pain on the back and a burden over the shoulders like Eric felt like he had always been like. "What's your problem?" Eric muttered.
"What…do you mean?" Walter said tiresome. He had one arm laying across his stomach and the other one by his side, being cooled by the mushy soil that looked like it had been spit up and chewed.
Eric sighed and closed his eyes, bowing his head in a kind of respect. "You still remember what I said to you a long time ago?" he said, mentioning the eyes.
They both seemed to remember the scene together in unison as their locks intertwined and twisted with each other to combine into one look.
"I see you still haven't changed those eyes," Eric had told Walter back then, his hands stuffed into those big, black jacket pockets. Not once did Eric miss those old clothes. Walter had stared into his eyes back then as well, the brown glaze sugary and narrow. "They're filled with pain; they're dealing with something. I just don't know what." Walter had continued to stare. Eric followed suit.
Eric sighed in nostalgia, and Walter just stared the same way he had always done. "Don't talk to me like we're friends," Walter mumbled loudly, his body not moving completely. It was like a ventriloquist had been doing the voice for him throughout the whole conversation as the real Walter just lay there, staring with the coldness surrounding him like a blanket, a blanket that he wanted to wrap himself in only to feel protected and at the same time, not protected at all. "The only reason I'm doing this stupid teamwork thing…" he began. "Is that it is completely necessary."
"Necessary?" Eric said, narrowing his stare. He expected Walter to do the same, but his dull stare kept itself. "Necessary for what?" Eric asked.
"For…" Walter didn't know if he should explain. He let his voice trail off as he let the cold temperatures sink in and take more notice all of a sudden. Walter suddenly remembered the pain of his past, the pain of seeing his mother dead, the pain of reading what his aunt wrote, the pain of the whip cracking like the thunder above that cried out back on his back over and over again like striking lightning. He remembered the tears he shed on every spot on the house, like a curse. He took in a deep breath as it all hit him suddenly and winced. He moved back his body suddenly feeling uncomfortable, showing Eric that he was definitely alive. "For nothing," he said finally, grunting it out in the dying pain. The pain was none other than the past's depression eating at him like a midnight snack.
Eric looked away with narrow eyes. Where's the wood Mark promised to get? He asked himself as he looked around. "Hey," he heard a voice behind him. It was Walter. He turned around quickly to show his acknowledgement and found the Water Minor slowly thinking, staring with a bored stare as Eric stared back with an unwelcoming one. "What's your problem?" Walter shot back. Eric widened his stare as if not knowing what he was saying. "You share the same eyes as me most of the time," Walter noted, surprising Eric. The Water Minor began to sit up completely now until he felt all of his back touch the cragged wood of the body of the large trunk of the tree. "You have the same eyes as me sometimes yet I find you and I completely different in actual current lives. You seem completely normal like everyone else. What could you possibly have gone through?" Walter asked in a bit of pleading way. It would be amazing if someone else was there to connect with him, Walter realized.
Eric sighed as he knew that he was right. Maybe he hadn't gone through pain like he had – but he still went through pain. He still went through something that he didn't think he could even live through. "How about…." He began, remembering all the old pain he had to face. "Losing something you care about that you thought would be with the rest of your life?" Eric asked, feeling his arms grow weak as he remembered everything all over again like a flashback.
"Join the club," Walter scoffed.
Suddenly, there came a loud clearing of a throat, breaking the brisk silence of the night after Walter's words. The Water Minor didn't care to turn, yet Eric did. The brown eyes found Mark carrying a whole pile of cragged wood under his arm. He smiled with a wide grin and came forward. Eric just stared, and Mark seemed uneasy in his steps, walking carefully. Then, Eric realized it. His eyes went wide with realization and the Fire Minor zoomed out of his seat and sent a fist flying at Mark. The sudden decision and movement caused Walter to turn around and curl up a bit more, hiding behind the tree just in case something happened and he had to keep himself safe for something like an execution of a plan.
Eric punched Mark in the chest, causing the Earth Minor to hurl himself backward, dropping the wood planks to the floor. The wood clattered on the floor like a million chopsticks, clinking each other in a sort of toast.
"What're you doing, Eric? It's me, Mark!" the Earth Minor complained as he was backed up against a large tree trunk with Eric closing in way too close.
"Who the hell is Mark?" Eric suddenly said with a narrow, unsympathetic look. He closed in on the Earth Minor who grit his teeth in fear and panic. His eyes were wide with hanging suspense. Walter watched with a lazy stare as Eric made sure escape was impossible in the wavering darkness. As everything seemed to spin, Eric pulled back his fist and mumbled under his breath. "Now, shut up," he demanded, gripping his fist tighter. It made a rubber sort of noise as his fingers pushed more backward. "Right now, you die," Eric declared, letting the fist fire and make a direct hit into Mark's heart.
What's he doing!? Walter thought as his eyes widened in panic and rush. He's really going to kill him with no holding back!