Finding My Way Home

Call Me

Staring at the lumps at the end of the bed, covered by the woven quilt for what had seemed like an age. I looked to the vanity to the right of the bed, a beautiful wooden table stood next to the large open window; bringing with it the warmth and glow of the light outside, the wind blowing the cotton curtains lazily. My legs twitched in an impatient way, irked by staying still. The door ahead of the bed, still ajar from which the golden boy entered just as quickly as he'd left. Taking with him the smell of outside, and furrowed eyebrows. 

looking at my hand, my.... Right.. hand? I feel trapped, I want to move. In a motion which surprised me more than my body, I grabbed the blankets and ripped them off with fever and throw my feet.. outta the bed. Sitting up right, my fevered feet easily meet the lacquered wooden floors, bitting at my feet with cold. Wriggling my strange toes, I hold the sheets in handfuls. Ahead of me, a plain baby blue planked wall. Taking a chest full of air, I close my eyes and listen for the... sea. 

I stared at myself, me. My eyes often captured by the sight of the sea outside, the more prevalent crash and sigh of the waves on the glittering eyes, the open, baby-blue Skys, and the simple silences and stretch of the Beach beyond my eyes. My eyes, looking to the mirror, I see me, but I don't recognise me. I see eyes rimmed like the dark mosses between the trees, filled with the colours of the cool blue Skys, flecked with the suns golden rays, the very core, surrounding the iris honey brown. I see eye black brows that arch softly, interrupted by whips of shorter black curls of various lengths framing my face; long and square, fevered and burnt. Touching my lips, full and cracked. I turn my head this way and that, checking to see if my nose too was broken like the honey eyed boy. To my relief the rather redder, slightly buttoned nose was not. 

feeling the fevered softness of my skin, I still couldn't recognise myself, but knew it was me. The only issue was I didn't know who me was, and I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach about it. Maybe we are hungry? hair brushes golden and fine were neatly laid out by ties in a metal box nearby. The metal of the brush held lightly glided through thick inky hair knotting, releasing sea debri and tight coils. Soothing and repetitious streaks of the brush had her looking to the sea, where she was supposed to be?      

She startled, seeing movement in her peripheral vision, her eyes catching the familiar honey brown in the mirror, halting the brush and her simple thoughts all together. He lent on the door Frame, his eyes bright and his mouth unturned a little at the side. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you" spoken softly, met with a blank stare. His mouth twitched a little, his eyes down casted as he examined the floor boards-averting her eyes.

"I thought you might be hungry?" he asked uneasily, scratching the back of her neck standing slightly taller. His eyes creasing a little.

All she could managed was a subtle nod, her eyes straying from his face.

"Please." barely a whisper, his head shot up.

Having a meal with Elaiath was as awkward as talking to him, or the lack thereof. He told her what he did for a living, reciting it as "off the grid", but his house-still his own. The little patch of land too, and that's how he made do. While he talked she listened to the timbre of his voice, soothing and easy, less tense and awkward the more he talked of how he made things, even going as far as telling her-his hobbies and interests, seemingly wanting to fill the void that she'd created. 

She couldn't help but notice how young he was, and how she'd also been wrong. Between the warm words he spoke she couldn't help but study the hands by his side, not of a boy but a man who had been used to living like this for sometime. but albeit he is a young man, she thought shamelessly. Her eyes also caught on to the small things he did, to make the small house a home. In the kitchen, they sat at a wooden table with stools he'd proudly made, as well as a mantel piece above the open fire, and various other furniture pieces around the house. He liked to call it "work in progress."

Once the food was clean off her plate, and her mug was empty of cool water. Her face was alight with amusement, her eyes creased and her lips tilted in a way she couldn't help. She couldn't understand why a man like him was here by himself, she didn't understand why anyone would want to be here by themselves for this long? The question weighed in her mind, her eyebrows easing into a crease.

"Why." she whispered, he looked at her patiently "why are you here?" Her words careful.

His eyebrows creased quickly before he was able to smooth his features, he looked at her side ways, preferring to arch an eyebrow instead. 

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you instead?" chuckling with an amused smile. Brushing off the simple question, something didn't add up.

She blushed, but felt as if it wasn't exactly right-opting to try speak again.

"Yes, I guess so." she let herself smile, and thought she should ask.

"Whose room was I in?" looking to the cotton clothes she wore which were definitely womens, looking back to the bedroom where the golden hair brushes were laid. Then back to Elaiath.

He looked a little perturbed by the question, his eyes no longer as bright and avoided her's, his shoulders a little too tense.

"No one's anymore." he said, ending room for further conversation. His eyes flicking back to her's.

"Your's for now, I guess." he awkwardly laughed looking that the table, then to the window outside. 

"If you're to be staying her a little longer, which I do not mind. What am I to call you? Do you remember you name?" 

I felt as blank as the blue sky above, but I wasn't going to tell him that. Pursing her lips and fidgeting with her fingers, she looked around the room for anything, anything for a name. 

uh, wood? no, cotton, what? UH, rock-y? Her face screwed up in bafflement. Until she looked outside to the baby-blue sky which housed a galaxy of stars, the first witness of her birth, and the final witness to her death? her face screwed up at the thought. 

"Uh." He looked at her expectantly.

"...call me...Blue?" the more she talked the more unconvincing her voice was, and the more unconvinced she was. She wasn't sure how convinced he was either, but to her relief he cracked a smile.

"Blue it is." he got up and reached a hand out across the table. Blue reached out to it a little apprehensively, Elaiath shook her own with a hearty jolt. 

"Nice to meet cha blue, I'm Elaiath. Elai for short." he gave her a full toothy grin.

"You're going to be a great hand here in the middle of nowhere. Of course, until we figure out where the heck you came from." He huffed with a smirk. 

She greeted it with her own, despite not knowing who the heck Elaiath was in the first place. She felt good in side, not empty and blank. She felt warm and nice, like when she looked outside. She didn't let the sick feeling in her gut tell her otherwise, she was...okay?