MUSHROOM STEW // DSMPxOC

Two- Goldfish

EDITED 24 July 2021   

  I didn't wake with a start, nor did I ease into consciousness. I woke as I normally did- sleep heavy in my eyes and my joints stiff from being out of commission. There's weight in my chest, and as I stare at the ceiling, the same as it always is and has been, I sigh. The memory of last night comes out from hiding and I feel the same regret now as I did then. There's a brilliant light streaming in through the window, brighter than it would be in the morning. I guess that means I slept in.

     Idly I wonder if Tommy is still asleep, and then I remember I'm supposed to be upset with him for his selfishness. I worry that maybe I am the one being selfish. Then I brush both thoughts away, and continue to glower at the ceiling. It's shabbily made, and there's water damage from rain in spots. It makes me feel human to stare at this imperfect creation. It also makes me feel stupid for thinking so much into a ceiling. I study the drips, crevices, cracks, and chips for as long as I can before I'm pulled to my feet feeling guilty for wasting so much time wallowing.

     As I step outside I can see the backlit silhouette of Tommy sitting in the dirt picking at grass. If I were next to him I would scold him for ruining the ground. I turn and walk into the woods before he notices me staring at him.

     The trees create a dark canopy with little light dappling the ground while I find somewhere to go to the bathroom, keeping a vigilant watch on my surroundings. As I take the long route back to Logstedshire I lose myself in thought. With the sun at its peak and a choir of birds singing over each other, the rustling leaves a warm bass track, it sounds like the times I would sit on a hill outside the walls of L'manburg with my articles and books, rewriting them in readable font. The war was just beginning to brew, and everyone was tense and impossible to talk to about anything other than war strategy. I was never asked to participate, instead being delegated role of medic, and pushed to continue my transcription work, in case of any valuable documents.

     I do not notice the tree I am about to walk into until I believe it is too late, though to my great surprise I feel a firm grip on my forearm pull me from my path. My feet stutter over each other as I struggle to wretch away from the hand keeping its hold. I turn to see what–or who- has my arm, and am perturbed to find it is Dream. The full set of his netherite armor is on, shining with enchantments. Were it not for the mask showing, I'm not sure I would have identified who it was.

     "Stella," Dream says, as if I do not know my own name.

     "Dream," I say back, in case maybe he does not know his.

     "What are you doing out here? You have nothing to protect yourself with."

     "I could ask you the same question." I fail to shrug his hand off of me. He's wearing leather, fingerless gloves. They're old and faded, but still in decent condition. I can see the embroidery and stitching sticking out. "Though it seems you have more than enough to protect yourself."

     "I don't go places I have a tactical disadvantage without being prepared." I think he's insulting me, insinuating that I am stupid for not having anything with me. "I came to get wood." I couldn't see any wood with him. "Perhaps you'd like to share what you were doing now?"

     "I came out here to go to the bathroom, creep. You can let go of me now. I think I can find my way back by myself."