Tales from Virdinia

Forgotten

There was strange stillness to his grandfather's body, Kime thought sadly. A tension, as if his body was preparing for movement, as if his eyes would suddenly flutter open. They would not though, however much Kime wished for it. His grandfather was dead, taken in his sleep, death's hands gentler than they had been with his mother.

He was all alone now.

Outside of the wooden hut, the trees were filled with raucous troupes of small, colourful lizards. Shaking their frills and feathers, they screeched and cried as they fought over the rich fruit that hung from the branches. Kime wished they would just stop, that they would give him a single moment of silence. The rainforest would never stop, and he knew that. Death was life, a constant wheel that never ceased turning. To the creatures that filled the rainforest, it was as natural and relentless as the wind. It passed amongst them as a light breath, with invisible fingertips that brushed the leaves and branches. It could not be avoided, it should not be feared. It was natural. Kime knew this too, yet why did it hurt so much?

He did not want the world to just continue, he did not want it to just forget. His grandfather had been important, he had been someone. A shower of half-eaten fruit bounced off of the roof in a hail of noise. Kime placed his head in his hands and wept. The rainforest did not care, but he did.

He was all alone now.

They returned his father to the ground, wrapped in a red blanket embroidered in blue. Those around Kime had made the right noises, had said all the right words, but they did not feel, not as he did. Soon, like the rainforest, they would move on. Their lives would continue, and in time they would forget. Death would touch them too, and others would return them to the ground. Time would march on, and the rainforest would continue. It would forget, just as they all would. Kime knew this, he knew it well. He could not accept it, though.

The afternoon was hot and humid, a storm fast approaching. The wind whipped at the canopy, tugging and pulling at the branches, enraged at their stoic stillness. Kime walked between the ancient boughs, running a hand over their scarred, rough surfaces. Many were smothered in creepers, they winding their way upwards with hairy limbs. Spots of rain broke through the roof of thick leaves high above, only increasing the unbearable humidity. Kime sighed. He needed to go back. The rainforest was dangerous in such conditions, but what would he be returning to?

He kept walking, and before he knew it the storm was upon him. The sky darkened with a startling suddenness, turning day to night as the thunder roared above. A flash of lightning illuminated his surroundings, dazing him momentarily. He had underestimated the storm's fury, and he was too far from the settlement to make it back safely. The trees groaned and creaked as Kime started to run. He knew where he was going, it the only option left to him.

The caves were partly hidden beneath a crumbling cliff of rocks, but he knew where to find their entrance, it adorned with a scattering of small, white flowers. He had been there many times before, his grandfather loving to take long walks in its depths.

The wind howled through the canopy and flashes of lightning danced erratically across the sky as he hurried through the cave's entrance. Kime breathed a sigh of relief. It did not matter how fierce the storm raged outside, it could not touch him here. An impenetrable darkness stared back at him, and Kime hurriedly pulled out two pieces of flint from his pocket. A pile of dry wood sat where he and his grandfather had left it on their last visit and he struck the flint together, praying for a spark. It happened quickly, and in mere minutes a fire was burning, trails of smoke rising to be lost in the darkness above. Kime eased himself down, resting his back against the cave's cool, rocky wall.

The cave was a series of wide caverns, filled with pillars of milky-white rock. His grandfather had said the cave was as old as time itself, that these pillars were a testament to that. No matter how many years passed, how many people forgot its existence, the caves would endure.

Kime was suddenly restless, and lighting a spare branch, he stood and wandered further into the cave. The pillars cast strange, towering shadows across each other that danced and swayed under the gaze of his torch's flame. The walls around him would stretch far underground, their surface remaining strong despite their age. If only they could all weather time so well, Kime thought sadly. Sighing, he returned back to the entrance and the warmth of his fire.

He was all alone now.

The cave persisted in Kime's thought for days after, he unable to shake it from his mind. Was he jealous of it, he wondered curiously, of how it would outlast all of them? The trees would change, they would fall and die, only for new ones to burst from their ruins and begin the cycle anew. The cave changed, but slowly, only growing in depth and magnificence. Time was its ally, a friend whose company only strengthened its resolve. Death had no sway over rock, the chill of his touch only returned in kind.

The idea came to him suddenly one afternoon, as he combed through what little belongings his grandfather had possessed. It was a set of paints that had given him the idea, they painstakingly made from soil, ash and a myriad of flowers and berries collected from the rainforest's rich bounty. His grandfather had loved these paints, and had often been found painting large rocks and slates outside of his hut. He had tried to pass on all of his knowledge and techniques to Kime, but time had snatched him away all too soon, stealing away his secrets. Those were lost forever now, and Kime felt as if he himself were only half-finished, incomplete. If only his grandfather's ideas, his talent, had been as strong and everlasting as the cave, as the rocks he had gifted with colour.

Standing there, the set of paints at his feet, Kime had suddenly known what to do, the simplicity of it causing him to smile for the first time in weeks. His grandfather would not be forgotten, nor would Kime or anyone else. He would make them all as enduring as the rock; give them a place where not even death could touch them.

***

For days Kime was gone from the settlement, and people began to fear the worst. They walked amongst the trees, calling his name and searching for a body that was not there. Soon, they began to accept and forget. Life in the rainforest was sometimes all too sudden in its cruelty. People vanished, taken by the trees and never to be seen again. People moved on, their lives continued. In time they would forget.

Then, one day Kime simply stepped back amongst the living. People asked where he had been but he only smiled, saying that soon they would understand. There was a sense of peace to him, of acceptance, that the others could not truly understand.

Deep within the cave, hidden in the darkness were smooth walls of rock. They were no longer without life however, Kime had seen to that. Their surfaces had been painted in rich colours, they coated in dozens of memories. Trees and flowers, creatures of all sizes, storms and seasons, they all had a place. An old man walked amongst them, his hair as white as the clouds, a paint set in one hand. Family trailed behind him, stopping to watch a creature, or take in the flowers around them. A hundred memories unfolded in the darkness, and beside the old man was a patch of smooth, grey rock. Kime would join him soon enough, when death chose to touch him too. For now, his place was amongst the living. All would have a place in his cave, when their time came of course. There was room for all of them after all, a place where time was meaningless, where memory was eternal. A place where they would not be forgotten.