Kinda random short story I wrote some time ago. Thought some of u might be interested in reading it ^^
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"They say you see him when you get old enough. That he will come to visit your dreams so he won’t be forgotten."
I laughed. A small noise. Nearly impossible to hear. Laughing was a rare sound. Pure, like gold, and dangerous, like the crows that watched our every movement. Why, you might ask. I asked myself. Over and over again, until I wasn’t seeking an answer anymore, but trying to escape the knowledge I had found.
The laugh of an innocent holds power. Enough power to feed the forgotten. So every time we laugh loudly enough, we attract him. The older we get, the more dangerous laughing becomes for us. We have to either stop laughing or do it quietly. Where no crows are watching us.
The crows are his envoys. They tell him everything. They follow us. Again, you might ask who he is and who we are. I understand that. It’s not easy to comprehend.
We are human. The Exiled and the Cursed. Cursed to worship the god we once forgot.
Sivaron was his name. Sivaron, god of dreams and lost souls.
“You should be more careful, Ilyai.” My sister’s voice broke the thoughts that had clouded my mind. “You might attract him when you laugh so carelessly.” She sounded rushed. The blue eyes that had the same tone as mine mirrored her worried expression.
My gaze fell to the ground. I tried to distract myself with the wooden floor beneath my feet. I knew I was careless. Always was and always would be, probably. “I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Sorry doesn’t matter if you’re dead.” I flinched back. Her voice carried anger and pain.
“Sorry,” I repeated. “I don’t wanna be dead either.”
“Then why do you continue seeing your life as a game?”
I shrugged. Honestly, I had no idea. I simply saw it that way. Since I could remember my life, it was like this. While others whispered stories about Sivaron, bowed in front of the golden statue built by the entrance of the village, and kept their faces emotionless and their thoughts sharp as knives, I couldn’t bring myself to join.
Not because I wanted to experience emotions or go to bed without the worry of waking up in his dreams. We all would do this in the next weeks, now that we were the age he liked.
I would like to say I did it to show resistance against a cruel system. To stand up for myself and others. To rebel... That would be nice. Like the heroes in the stories Mom used to tell before she died.
We could really use someone like that. Living like this was suffocating. From the moment we woke up, we had to pray for at least an hour to Sivaron. The longer, the better. Some of those lunatics even prayed the entire day. I didn’t. Mostly, I prayed for around fifteen to twenty minutes and only because Mavara forced me to, not because I wanted to.
I think you’re supposed to say something nice to Sivaron while praying. I don’t understand that, or rather, I don’t see a reason for it. He is our oppressor and the sole reason why we’re still in this village. Why children never dare to laugh, and why no one dares to escape this hellhole.
I tried to run once when I was younger. It was shortly after he took Mom and Dad’s souls in their sleep. I remember the forest. How the trees started growing thinner and thinner. I could see something bright in the distance. Like glowing mansions. Then everything went black, and I woke up in my bed. Shoes still on.
I don’t really know what happened that night. Maybe I dreamed. It’s hard to keep track of what’s a dream and what’s reality, to be honest. Sivaron often makes us dream. I suppose he finds the confusion that follows entertaining.
