The lost children of Darvakan

Chapter 9: Requiem for a boy made of glass

He was sitting in a cold and luxurious chair. Just as everything else, like the table, walls, floor and cutlery, it was made of crystal. The most transparent, beautiful and clean he ever saw.

In each seat, there was a bust with very familiar faces. Yet he didn't remember who they were, what's worse, he didn't recall who he was.

Each glass in front of him and the pictures were filled with an aromatic tea.

Looking around him, he felt so small, surrounded by so much fragile stuff. He was extremely afraid that just a sigh would make a vibration that could break it all, hence why was trying to hold his breath to avoid that, becoming exhausted, dizzy, and about to fall. The air felt heavier with only the sole thought of the catastrophe it would unfold.

"Don't dare move boy!" shouted one of the faces, sounding like glass vibrating and making the liquids tremble.

"Not a sound, or we'll shatter!"

He lowered his head, trying to hold himself, knowing if he even taps or says anything, it would be disastrous. So he should stay in his chair as if he didn't exist. Perhaps, it was better for the others if he really didn't. For them.

The kid finally lost his strength, of all the pressure upon him, crushing his will and stamina. When he landed on the ground, the entire room shattered. The most annoying noise hurt his ears while the room formed the silhouette of a broken violin. Yet he couldn't say why it reminded him about that.

How much time did he endure? After slightly raising his head, he could see the faces of the statues staring at him directly, angry and also damaged.

No, this never happened, he never failed, not again, not to them.

Suddenly, the boy was sitting once more on his chair, and his surroundings were without a single crack on them. Holding, enduring, trying with all his might to not move, repressing anything that could break it all—forcing himself to be inexistent.

When he stared silently at the fuming tea in front of him, the swirling liquid seemed to resemble an old orchard, one very familiar. But something else... sounds, not just that, rhythm.

He is in the place he saw. More people were working in the field besides him. Each tool had a different unique melody, and so did every step and movement. It was... what was it?

He paused, looking at his reflection in a puddle below him. He couldn't avoid it but noticed he was different from the others. His skin was glass, not only that... yet he couldn't tell what. However, the musical labour all around him was taking all his focus.

"What are you doing there just standing?!" shouted one of the farmers. "Focus on the harvest, not whatever fantasy you had in your mind! It only makes you numb, completely still as you are right now!"

"That's right, son!" shouted another. "You'll work in this orchard as I do, your grandfather did, your great grandfather did and your great great grandfather did! That's who you'll be! For all your imaginary dreams... just bury them in that mound!"

The boy glanced at the heap made of dirt and stones with a shovel on top of it, looking like a tomb, since that's what it actually was.

Just like before, the whole world started to break as if it was glass, exactly as it happened at the tea party.

Their instructions were as clear as crystal, without a single second more left to waste, she ran to save the rhythmic boy of hidden talents from his nightmare.

The kid stood confused seeing now that the entire place seemed to be made of paper and ink. But completely frozen by watching himself trapped under the pile of garbage and rocks, which was collapsing on itself. He rushed there ignoring the girl who slipped through a crack trying to take him out.

Wait, he knew her, she is his friend.

"M-Maetda! Get away from here! This place is dangerous! Leave or they'll bury you, too!" cried the kid when she grabbed his wrist, sounding like a violin out of tune.

She was forcefully pulling his arm, but he kept resisting. He won't leave, not until his proper side would be able to see the light again.

While struggling, the Balow made of glass fell to the ground, shattering half his body. The noise of all the chunks crashing resonated everywhere, almost like an instrument being played, slowly reaching the correct pitch.

Any surface the sounds bounced seemed to drown by the musical notes and the memories associated with them.

"Please!" he shouted desperately from different shards. "Please, Maetda!"

The girl paused, doubting if he was who she had to rescue. Then, a hand which appeared from the mound grabbed her.

"Let's get out of here," said Balow, getting out of his crystal prison, full of dirt, bruises and scars which were vanishing and healing with each vibration.

Just after they jumped from a crack back to the woods, the shard finally broke into pieces and got dragged by a melodious wind.