Wish You Were Dead

Chapter Nine

Alyara

One month before the human's return/Three years before the incident

Thirteen and fourteen years old

Traditionally, the parents paint their children before the Uniltaron ceremony. It's a last send off before their kids officially become children of the Omatikaya, belonging to the clan rather than just the parents.

Mo'at, however, has never been one to stick to tradition. She urged her daughter to allow the painting to be left to the two being celebrated. Neytiri reluctantly gave in, which leads to now.

A secluded section of the base is left to Neteyam and Alyara in the early morning. Only the buzzes and chirps of the wild life are heard as Neteyam dips his fingers into the sappy white paint. He coats the tips of both hands before bringing them to Alyara's forehead. She shuts her eyes as chilling paint glides down her face.

She tries to follow the pattern his fingers make, but finds it interrupted every time he removes his hand's to gather more paint. His fingers trail curves along her cheeks and down her nose before he continues the flowing lines down her neck. He traces swirls on her shoulders and lines down her arms, stopping only at her joints to create more circles.

He finishes at her wrists, dipping his hand once more in the liquid, "Sit up." He commands.

Alyara scrunches her nose, already dreading the awfully cold paint on her stomach. Regardless, she rises to her knees as he paints from the bottom of her sternum and across her ribs. 

She notices his soft touch on her skin and his well groomed nails. Every other braid on his head has one or more beads attached at the end. His lashes are long and flutter with every blink, complementing his amber irises.

Alyara remembers his reaction when they were told they would be painting each other. How even through his bright expression and his small smile, his eyes remained without life. His anger seeped through them when he looked at her, but he portrayed himself as delightfully shy. It fooled all the adults. It fooled everyone. But Alyara knows him all too well. Before Alyara learned how to read Neteyam, she imagined it would only be a matter of time before they fell in love and lived happily ever after. She knows better now.

Neteyam has control of every part of his body. Every swish of his tail, flex of his hands, and smile on his lips. He knows how to dictate every part of it like a perfect hunter should. He can control everything except his eyes--those always give him away.

"It's all done," He finally looks up at her. She realizes how long she had been staring at him and flicks her gaze to the paint bowl beside them.

"OK." It's all she manages. She sits back down, pulling the bowl close and dipping her fingers into the liquid. Much of the paint has already been used, and only a small puddle in the center remains. The sides of the bowl are plastered and dried white.

She finds that Neteyam has already shut his eyes when she brings her hands up to him. She starts at the tip of his forehead, dragging her three fingers down and around his skin. The idea is to replicate the flow of energy, the exit and return of all living essence. To feel the life through the skin.

All of it Alyara understands, but she finds it hard to apply. Essence of life, breath of life, life, life, life. It's all the same--which is the point. Her existence is the same as any other life form on this planet. It's just molded differently. Although Alyara recognizes the complexity of what it means to simply be living, all of it has an empty meaning. Why is it that it always has to mean something? Why can't a connection just be that, why does it always have to be more than what it is?