Sunset

It was just a short week ago that the boy realized that he had forgotten his own name. Which to you or I might sound utterly impossible, but in the circumstances, it was actually entirely expected. A thousand years of isolation could hardly be considered suitable for memory, after all.

The boy himself wasn't just any boy, by any means, not at all like the ones who you'd see walking past you on the street with the other ordinary folk. If he were, then there wouldn't be much of a story to tell. The boy was unusual, but not necessarily in the best way as you might've guessed.

You see, the boy was cursed. In a manner of speaking, he wasn't entirely human anymore which was just one of the reason he wasn't usual. He also wasn't necessarily a boy, but in truth, he didn't have any idea how old he was. If he really thought about it, he'd guess he was about nineteen when he'd been stuck down here.

Which had something to do with the castle he'd been trapped below the earth in a magnificent castle made of black stone with a high wall with an iron gate. Just like the kind, you would read about in fairy tales, but despite its beauty, there was no mistaking that it was a prison. Though a bit more luxurious than any above.

Filled with a hundred rooms of all shapes and sizes, and it was there that the boy lived. In the dark, far away from the sun that he barely remembered. Cut off from the rest of the world for reasons he didn't entirely understand.

It wasn't anybody's ideal living arrangement, but to the boy, it was a bearable one. Once that he'd learned how to live with after so many years alone. In the earlier days, all he could remember was the rage he felt. It had consumed him. And he recalled the hours spent in front of his house, beating the solid stone wall with anything he could get his hands on.

Once his weapons were gone, he'd continued to pound the wall until his knuckles turned red with blood. And when the rage was gone, there was nothing but despair left. And once that set it, he was left with nothing else but to find more productive ways to utilize his energy.

Many days he'd found himself spending all his days in the largest room in the castle, which was the library. The one place he felt the most at home, it reminded him of something. A hushed voice and a warm glow that felt like home.

While it was true that the boy was alone, that did not mean that he was always lonely. Once the rage and sadness were gone, there was nothing left but instinctual urge to carry on. The characters in his books were the only company that he needed most days. And once he went looking, he found plenty of other things to hold his attention. Such as acting in one-man shows in the little makeshift theater he had put together in the main hall.

Which he thought was quite impressive, nearly perfect except that he was in the opinion that his falsetto could use a bit of work. Thankfully he had plenty of time to work on it, forever was a long time, after all.

As the day went on, the boy became more content. Happy even, though not all of the time. In little moments, he felt the longing when he stopped to imagine someone at his side. When he finished a performance and waited for a response only to remember there was no one there to clap. When he'd walk past the door, and he tricked himself into thinking that he heard someone on the other side. The worst was when he found himself gushing about the latest book he'd read, only to cut himself off when he remembered that there was no one around to listen.

Besides himself, of course, since ages of living alone had made him an excellent listener.

In those moments of weakness, he allowed himself to wonder just what his life would be like to have someone to share this grand castle with. What would it be like to have an audience for his plays – or even better, someone to turn his one-man show into a duet? To have someone as eager as him to discuss whatever book he had on his mind? What a splendid life that would be...