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The boy was early.
The fragments of the moon could still be seen hanging in the middle of the sky. He saw it too, and at the drop of a hat, he climbed the hill. Lights flashed above it; the chills it sent through him, and the smell of curiosity hang in the air.
The said hill was a waste yard, but that certain place is where he always gets his scraps.
He was a collector of so many things: from forgotten memories, unborn creations, lost ideas to worn-out objects, spare parts. And sometimes, if he was lucky, even a piece of bread.
The boy run while his box followed behind him. He carefully dodged any falling objects from the ruins of old buildings and waited in the wings.
Six sides, six legs; it always hides for it's a dreg.
He saw it again.
The images in the sky illuminated the hill: places, animals, moving houses and sometimes faces from strange people. It was a brief projection of dancing couples with their thick clothes and bizarre hats. The image of it was new to him but just like any person or moment that belonged there, the face felt old and forgotten. He waited as the faces slowly faded in the background.
Elated by the sudden but familiar feeling, the boy took his time feeding his curiosity.
The boy was a collector and the hill he found was a one-way portal that gave him old objects and scraps that he valued despite its irony. That night it was a satchel. From the tired and chipped brown sling to the curious and tiny opening of the pocket. The leather bag emanated such memories from its bygone era that left him with dread and anticipation.
Rancid and musty; bitter and salty. He scrutinized every bit of the satchel with his nose and his tongue.
Evidently ordinary, the boy thought to himself as he carefully hid it inside his box. Little did he know that something as ordinary as a piece of old leather contained something unimaginable and treacherous.
His box walked silently beside him, its contents clanked inside it. Its body was made from wood but its legs were made from white corals that gave the creature its mobility. The boy called it Korid. There was no neck nor a head : a plain, six-legged box filled with ordinary things, faces and memories.
Ashes and smoke began to pollute the morning air as he inhaled it directly.The sun was about to rise and he was still outside.
Panic filled his pulse as if his own body knew something was inapt.
"Oye, Euclid! t's time te pay." Without caution, another boy appeared in front of Euclid. He protectively shielded his box as he gawked at the other boy.
Euclid stared at his eyes. Just as he examined the changing hues of the boy's irises he remembered his name. 'Acre' was his borrowed name and he found a piece of bread, all white and blue molds included; a bottle of half drank soda, which he all gave to Euclid few moons ago. And now it was time to pay.
"I can't t'day, Acre. Do ye want my scraps?" Euclid nervously reached into his box but Acre gave him a heedful look which shifted towards Korid.
"Nay! I want yer box." There was a sudden pause before Euclid snorted. That box was his only friend, what an absurd alternative for a piece of bitter bread and sour drink! Euclid turned his head side to side while cautiously backing away from Acre.
Korid, as if sensing the change in their aura, produced a small sound that terrified Euclid. Beep.
Echoed the box horridly. Beep. Beep.
"I want your box!" Acre repeated. The authority in his tone lowered the courage building inside Euclid's mind.
"How 'bout tis instead?" Euclid anxiously reached into his box and grabbed what seemed to be a rotten meat complete with larvae, discoloration and a caustic smell.
Euclid had lived with whatever he could find. He was patient and clever. He knew where and when to look for scraps. But the thing that bothered him since he became aware, was rather the "why".
As Acre savagely seized Korid, Euclid started to feel pain. Without even realizing it Euclid hit Acre with a rock and found himself running.
Ricocheted sound of rocks falling and bouncing followed after him. He kept running until he found himself in a foreign place.
Enormous letters were written on the ark:
●●●WELCOME TO SHADOWCREEK●●●
Korid fell a few steps behind Euclid.
Euclid was drowning from his own heavy breathing, and for a brief moment he was relieved that Acre was nowhere to be found. But his anxiety came back as fast as it left. A tall, old man casted his shadow at Euclid followed by a deep and commanding voice.
"Tell me, boy, what would ye want in exchange for tat satchel?" The man's face and arms were covered with words and symbols, but what scared Euclid was his eyes. There were none. It was empty and yet his fingers were pointing directly at his box, now lying on the ground.
"I, I am nut selling..." But in Euclid's mind the value of the said satchel has already been decided. The man barely turned his back which revealed a pair of small protruding wings sewed sloppily against his skin.
"I will give ye everything ye see in here." He beckoned to the entire area. Euclid stared at the vast waste yard. It reminded him of the hill he found, but this one was majestic. The structures were set in a manner that would imply everything was purposely placed there and not transferred, not lost, and certainly not to be collected.
Euclid couldn't possibly understand how an object as old as a satchel could amount to that place. As if the satchel heard his questions it illuminated viciously.
Night was completely replaced by day and it all became clearer to the boy.
"Ye, imbecile creature. Give me the satchel, now!"
He hastily snatched the bag and again, he found himself running. This time he gave everything with his legs. Tears were running down from his eyes because he left his exhausted box —all because of a mysterious satchel. But he knew he couldn't stop now.
There are two doors, one blue, one red; the other changed its hue, the other lost its thread.
Just beyond the wrecked buildings and lost ships, his humble abode rested.
Orange, cerulean, violet, amber; every possible shade covered it. It was just doors, hundreds of them, stitched and crafted beautifully side by side. All of them but one opened for Euclid's arrival.
Crackling sound began to break the wall of silence. The beam from the satchel intensified and Euclid anxiously reached inside it. He felt a cold metal pierced his skin.
"Key?"
Euclid asked, unsure but quite amazed with himself. For the words left his lips before he could fathom the meaning behind it. Voices kept on whispering, "There!" it echoed. Chuckles from children, loud noises and melodies were trapped behind the door. There! It repeated. They all pointed at the last door where all the colors met, just a hint of blue dominated by black. He reluctantly followed the voices which lead him to it.
Secrets were thrown at him like arrows –piercing him without mercy. And every time it hit him more questions were asked rather than answered.
●●●
Once in a blue moon, people from the other side would let something or someone in. They would send a key to that place and memories, creations, objects and even entity will be brought back to reality. And sometimes, just on that precise moment, all of it will be worth it.
