https://www.artstation.com/artwork/9mlrGQ
DISCLAIMER: This work has not been edited beyond what was done in the video. The goal is to capture a story in a short amount of time and keep it as raw as possible.
The Story
Shhhhh.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
White noise. The lines. So many lines. They cross and tangle and spark.
“Come back.”
“I’m not gone.”
Snow looks soft, but it’s not. It’s sharp and biting and cold. So cold.
“Almost there. Do you trust me?”
Shhhhh.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Who was it?”
The sky looks empty. It’s gray and lifeless and endless. So endless.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Do you feel it?”
“Not anymore.”
“Good.”
“I hear it takes a while.”
“What?”
“To feel again.”
The hills used to be sand. Used to guard the beach, where people swam and took in the sun. It turned their skin red. They regretted it later. But not now. Now they sit and talk or don’t. Now they hold hands or don’t. Now they cool themselves in the water or don’t.
“Do you remember?”
“I do. I think.”
Shhhhh.
Her feet lingered on the doorstep, on the doormat. It used to read WELCOME, but now it read CO, but mostly C. That letter was important. That, coupled with the age of her son. Their son. She shouldn’t think about him anymore.
He lingered on the edge of their property, near the chanlink fence that kept Cooper in the yard. Most of the time. He looked at the spot Cooper had escaped through some of the time. A clump of fur stuck to a broken wire. If there had been a breeze, the fur would have been pulled into its current and eventually fallen to the ground where it wouldn’t grow. But the wind didn’t know it wasn’t a seed.
“I’m cold.”
“I know.”
“How much longer, you think?”
“Awhile.”
“That’s not a distance.”
Shhhhh.
Quiet are the ones who speak. Loud are the one who are speechless.
“Ow.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It hurts. Was that you?”
“No. I would never hurt you.”
“It’s coming again. I can feel it.”
Clean your rooms. Stand up straight. Your parents were right. Godliness is simplicity. Brevity. Singularity. When you look out the window, never look down. Down is where the dead are buried.
“Why does it hurt?”
“I wish I could take the pain away.”
“Do you feel it?”
“Yes, but I wish I could take yours.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Awhile was a distance, it turned out. A sign marked it. A coil of barbed wire ran the width of the street that was nearly gone. Patches of cobblestone came up for breath. Gray faces smashed together. Skulls grinding. Eyes crying. Teeth shattering.
He buried them. One by one. There was plenty of snow, and soon they were all covered. He looked back the way they had come, but couldn’t see past her.
She looked at him.
Shhhhh.
“What are you looking at?”
“I can’t see you.”
“Turn your head.”
“I can’t.”
“Neither can I.”
“I can hear you. At least I have that.”
“We can talk.”
“We can.”
A bridge far away. The haze wants it for itself. It almost has it. Where does it lead?
Shhhhh.
We are connected. We are one. Many is an illusion. Many is disaster. We must pull together. No matter the cost. No matter the pain. Because the pain we all share. You have no neighbors. You have no brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers. There is no need of those things any longer. We are connected. We are one. Many is an illusion.
He was born on a Sunday. Nineteen years ago. Some months. Some days. Some hours. But those didn’t matter. Decimal points only. That day was indeed sunny, like the day promised. They thought they’d name him Sunny, but decided that was a silly name. His name was Clifford, which was also a silly name, but it was after his grandfather, so it had history. It had a story.
Shhhhh.
“He would have liked it here.”
“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”
“But it’s true.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s true. Can we talk about something else?”
“Remember when he only used black crayons, even though he had dozens more?”
“Stop it.”
“I took up coloring myself, since we had so many left over. It’s calming. I wish you would have tried.”
“I did.”
“Really?”
“When you weren’t looking.”
“Why were you ashamed?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, embarrased, whatever.”
“Because I couldn’t see them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s why I never told you.”
Shhhhh.
They found him by a lamppost. It was raining. And he stood beneath it, looking up at all the drops sprinting by at an angle. Almost continuous lines. He reached out to touch them with his gloved hands. That he had remembered his gloves almost made her cry, because that meant he didn’t run away in anger or sadness. He had left on a journery of discovery. She didn’t blame him. She let him discover until he was satisfied, until he turned around, toward home. Toward his family, who didn’t approach, because they didn’t need to.
Shhhhh.
It is said that there is man and woman. That is not true. There is only one. If you do not accept this fact then you will be tread upon, like the dead, because we will never look down. Always forward. Always to where the sun rises or sets, even though there is no sun. You have no son.
Shhhhh.
The snow was horrifying. She held in her scream. He was horrifying, from her view that she would soon forget when the next transmission came. In a sarcophagus of corroded steel, he stood. From his head, a tower of twisted wire rose that sparked from time to time. And from his left shoulder grew a cable connected to a lamppost, connected to her.
He faced the sign that had been the sign for them to stop. They had stopped for too long. She had just wanted to look over that hill. To see the sun again. They had a son.
Shhhhh.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
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