Sketch the Stars

Chapter Three

The older we get there's an ocean

--

I have become convinced that there is somebody following me. Whether there is a lonely spirit haunting me because it sees that I am a kindred spirit, or it is a somebody that imagines me as a good future meal. Little do they know, I am thin. I have little meat on my bones. I do not think snow has much protein.

Aside from learning how it feels to be stalked, I have learned that it is not easy to write while moving. I have taken to, instead of trying to move briskly while writing, settling behind a mound of snow. It blocks the wind a bit more than being in the open does. I was going to write today, but when I went to take my break, I instead drew what I imagined my stalker to look like.

I discovered that when I take breaks for writing or drawing, the void leaves. Perhaps it believes that delving into my thoughts is going to far, but I do not know. I do not know if I am more upset with the void, or not. Recently, it's icy grip has become less icy to me. It is close to becoming a warm, welcoming grip, like a warm embrace- or whatever that feels like. I wouldn't know. I haven't gotten a hug in a year.

I am not sure if the Void is a cage, or an escape. I am not sure if art is an asylum or a haven. I do suppose that I may never know. I am still unsure if I will live long enough to ever know. My feet can only carry my body so far. My brain can only function in such cold weathers for so long.

I suppose it is my brain's inability to work with my feet in the cold that is at fault for me falling. I have long since grown out of believing that gravity is attempting to hug me. That was childish of me to believe. No more excuses for me, especially now that I'm pressed against something warm.

Last time I checked, snow is not warm. I believe I would be correct when I think it is not snow I am pressed against, unless the winter has finally thawed, which I doubt. I withhold my grunt as I push my hands against the snow to scramble back onto my unsteady feet. I allow myself a quick glance down to see just what it was that I landed on.

I was correct to assume it was not the snow.

It seems I have found someone in the snow. I do not know what they want, or why they are here, in the snow, but I'm guessing they can see some sort of look in my eyes because they are now spewing nothing but optimistic things.

"It'll be okay. Things will look brighter soon."

They are lying, however. I have been walking in the snow for a year straight, I have seen things I had never wished to see. I am leaving bloodstains in the pure white snow, because I have blisters on my feet and cracks in my heart. Here, in the snow, I can only look at the stars, not at this stranger, that seem to dim as life goes on when I reply.

"No. Things won't get better. They can't. They won't. I don't know what kind of world you have come from, but here in Nivalis, nothing is what you expect. Do you expect the snow to thaw overnight? Do you expect the stars to sing or reply to you? Do you expect the moon to fall and the sun to rise? Do you expect the Void to stop visiting? If so, you expect too much of this world. You've set yourself up for disappointment."

The stars dim (and so do his eyes).

It may seem heartless, but I do not care. I do not care how much his ugly brown eyes dim. If he believes things can get better, he is naive. He is as naive as I once was. He needs to know how stupid he is to believe such nonsense! Even the moon disagrees with him- it has started crying again. I swear it has begun to cry much more frequently...

"You're wrong."

How insolent! Is this the brat that mocked my mother earlier? Perhaps I should shove him into the snow and bury him! He can mock my mother, then. He can be just like her! Perhaps, then, I will see his ghost following me like my mother does! I will see his clear, ash-like presence near me as I wander this frozen Hell! His voice is ugly. He is ugly.

So am I, however. Ugh, I am sick of this. I do not have time for self-depreciation- not while this insolent boy is here, telling me how I am wrong. it's laughable.

"No. I am not wrong. You are. What makes you believe it will be alright? I have walked for over a year. I have walked so far that my blood now stains the snow. My heart has been torn to pieces in this brisk winter! If it will get better, I do not see how. So, tell me again just how wrong I am... whoever you are!"

I am angry. This man does not have the right to tell me I am wrong. He does not know me. He does not know who I am. He does not know what I know.

When he speaks again, I can see his point. A little bit, but I can still see it- like the faint outline of the trees. "I have seen civilizations- the Domes. There are people like you. You aren't alone... I can show you- I can take you there! I- I- I was in the same place as you- uh, a few years ago. Someone found me then, and now I'm following in their footsteps."

I shake my head. I cannot tell if he is lying. "Your words are as true as the trees in the distance. I do not know if they are true at all. Is this a delusion? I cannot tell." If he is lying, I am not. I cannot help but feel he is in relation to the distant trees. They feel familiar, as he does, but I am weary of getting too close, as I fear I will face failure if it is not true.

"If it helps you see that this isn't a delusion, I'm Atlas. I swear to you- to God- that I am not lying. You're an artist right?" He makes a gesture towards the sketchbook in my hand. "So am I. I have drawings of the Domes in my book. it's in my pack, if you want to see."

I am untrusting of my voice, so I only nod. Though I do not trust Atlas as much as I wish I could, I do believe that he is an artist. Nobody could lie about that- well, they could, but they wouldn't say they had their art with them. Unless they are stupid, that is.

I watch him as he removes his pack. I watch him unzip it. I watch him pull out his sketchbook. it's cleaner than mine. I am not jealous, though. I like mine more. He opens the sketchbook to a page somewhere close to the middle before turning the pages a few times. He makes a hum before placing the book in my free hand. "Those are the Domes. They're similar to the mounds of snow around us, but they're hollow on the inside. If you make them big enough, they can hold multiple people."

I am not sure if this is good or bad, but the Void has not returned. I am not sure if I should be weary or not, but I believe it has not returned because this boy- Atlas has given me hope. I'm surprised he has not asked for my name. Maybe he is afraid I will bite his face off for asking such a simple question. I wonder if I look as feral as I sometimes feel.

As dirty as I feel, I probably do. I feel like a wild mountain animal sometimes. Now, however, I do not. I look up at Atlas- away from the drawings in front of me. They could use work, but I am proud of them. I wonder how long they took him to make. I hand the book back to him.

"I want you to take me to the Domes. You do know how to get back there, right?"

His grin was enough of an answer, but I do like the proof, as well. He flips through the pages once more, and hands the book back to me. Instead of drawn Domes, I see what I imagine a map looks like. I suppose this is the way back to the Domes. "If you can't understand what this is, it's a map. it'll lead us back to the Domes."

I pass the book back to him once more. I do not know what to say, so I do not say anything. I allow a gentle smile to fall towards him before I let it fall completely. I trust him. I do not trust him completely, but a little, so it is still trust. He must not notice my lack of response, since he continues to talk. "The Domes are lovely, you'll like them. I was amazed when I first saw them. They were different when I first saw them, so you can imagine how much they've changed." He shook his head for a moment. "Say, I gave you my name. What's yours? I can't imagine this journey would go well without me knowing your name."

I suppose it is the slight sliver of trust I have in him that causes me to tell him my name.

"Oh, right— I'm Autumn. Autumn Finis."