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
Suli ran. Skinned knees wouldn’t stop her. A single lung wouldn’t stop her. Though it made her feel empty. An emptiness she could never fill no matter how hard she tried.
She focused on trying something else: one foot in front of the other. Though she was empty, she carried something that was not. It spurred her on with its yellowed leaves of time, contained within a folded piece of leather stitched and bound. A book. Colored like the sky. It didn’t hold her back. It pushed her forward.
Meg stumbled. Over a waterfall of shale, bubbling in whorls and waves. It wasn’t cool and refreshing. It cut. It crumbled. She picked her way over it carefully because her legs were bare.
The wind blew so hard she thought she might be carried away. The shale split it, but the wind also split the shale. She brought her purse up to block the projectiles as they raced for her head. They tap-tap-tapped as if knocking on a door, then fell and clack-clack-clacked.
Suli stopped to adjust her bandages, which had fallen loose from the run. They were mottled with blood and sweat. She sighed and took the book in both hands. The top of it fit her hand so well. Her fingertips molded to the patterned cover. She traced it. Inside and outside.
Her hair tickled her cheek, short as it was. She tucked it behind her ears and under her hat. It didn’t stay, short as it was.
Meg lowered her shield, her purse. Heavy on her shoulder, like a shield. She wondered if she would have to hold it up again, maybe walk the entire way like that.
She chose stones as her path when she could, the shale when she couldn’t. The wind had withered to a breeze, which allowed her to concentrate fully on her steps with shoes not made for such work.
She was late. The scuffs on her shoes wouldn’t do. She checked her hair, though it was short as it could be. Still, the cowlick was stubborn.
Suli had reached the cliffs. That familiar waterfall of shale majestic in the sunset. She hadn’t seen it in years.
Her shadow pointed toward home, where there were no waterfalls. She didn’t look back. She looked down. At the book again, which had become heavy. It took two hands to hold, so full.
A page slipped free, rode the wind’s current toward her destination. She ran again, twice as fast this time, three times. Ropes of grass lashed her bandages loose again, lashed at skin that had yet to heal. She let the bandages fall. Then the wind changed direction, coming at her now, pushing her back home. A wall she feared she couldn’t fight.
Meg fell forward with windmilling arms, a new wind at her back, stronger than ever. The shale at her feet snapped, her shoes losing their grip. Her hands took the worst of it. She held herself in a quivering jackknife.
Suli narrowed herself to the wind, like a knife. One hand on the book because the wind helped her carry it, and the other on her hat to keep the wind from stealing it. She took her first step onto the shale.
Meg screamed. At the shale, at the wind, at her hands, at her feet. All of them had betrayed her. All of them had hurt her. Her scream was more powerful than the wind, it’s power bringing her upright. She almost cried, almost laughed. Both battled in her chest, neither winning.
Suli stumbled. Over shale that looked like a waterfall. Still, not bubbling, not flowing. Her hand pinned the page but lost the book. It somersaulted over the stone ridges, until it was lost in the color.
Meg brought up her purse, her shield. By reflex, by precognition, by something else. More shale had broken off by some force, a great shard tumbling through the air at her. Her arms trembled as she braced for what she couldn’t dodge, was afraid to dodge else she fall to the knives at her feet.
Suli cried. With her body, with her voice. She folded the page she had and placed it in her shirt, the only secret she hadn’t lost. Haunting but beautiful, the book flew up into the air and opened, showing the sky what it held within, an open heart that wasn’t meant to be shared.
Meg flinched. Her shield held, her arms. Her eyes opened to the offender, lying at her feet. Rectangular with edges that weren’t sharpened shale at all, it parted with an altogether different color. Almost like the sunset. Almost like summer grass swelling in a warm gust.
Suli smiled. A figure, lithe and perfect stood ahead, concerned with something on the ground. So close to her destination, she resisted breaking into a sprint. The bandages at her legs, still loose, tickled, and stung. She reaffixed them. She checked her hair, her hat, the page near her heart.
Meg ran. The book in her hands, complete with all its mysteries. The shale didn’t frighten her anymore, because she didn’t need her legs to run. She flew, riding the waves of what she held in her hands, quiet but unstable, unbreakable but fragile.
Suli stopped.
Meg stopped.
Suli moved toward her with the folded page in hand.
Meg took it and knew exactly what to do. She knew where it belonged.
Suli tucked her hair behind her ears and under her hat. It didn’t say.
Meg laughed.
Suli laughed.
Meg held the book by the bottom of its cover. Her hand fit just right.
Suli took the top of the book. It fit her hand just right. She thought it was still warm, but that would be impossible.
Their free hands embraced one another. Chins rested on shoulders. Eyes closed. Bodies pressed together. One mouth smiled. One did not.
The only words they needed were written upon yellowed leaves bound in leather dyed in a waterfall.
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