Post by Aegle Verdant on Aug 27, 2019 15:12:43 GMT -5
The campfire spat and popped quietly in the stillness of the night. Fanned by a soft breeze that blew through the silent camp, the embers within glowed with a deep inner redness that cast the surrounding trees in a hellish light. It was strangely pretty, Aegle thought, in a way that seeing the same scene upon the sterile starkness of a television screen couldn't capture. She stared into the trees, and all seemed motionless save for the gentle breathing of the flames, the soft flickering of their light. As a painting, daubed thickly in reds and golds and blacks, the forest stood motionless on all sides, everywhere she looked, with a rough texture she felt she could nearly reach out and touch. Which was not to say the forest was silent; Beneath the quiet pop and babble of the dwindling flames was a chorus of sound as soft as it was wholly ubiquitous. The shrill trilling of insects in the brush, mostly crickets, was a sound so sonorous and constant that she scarcely noticed it when she wasn't actively listening for it, while the occasional flutter of wings added occasional punctuation to the quiet cacophony. She tried to experience every part of the sound, bit by bit. She tried to isolate each noise in her mind and hear it completely. She had been doing it for what felt like hours, and still had not run out of sounds. Aegle felt like she could have gone the rest of her life, listening, and still not heard it all.
It was sort of surreal, when she really thought about where she was, what she was doing, and how she was experiencing it all. As she listened to the muddled sounds, trying ceaselessly to unravel one from another, she marveled at her own ability to do so. At the idea that she could even be having these thoughts and experiences, and that she was able to experience them at all. Did many people stop and think about that, think about what thinking actually was? She was not a smart girl, anyone looking over her choices of the last year could see that, so she had to imagine she could not be the only person to ever stop and think about thinking. Did those same people ever really consider what the things their eyes saw were, or about how their minds interpreted those things. Did they think about the sounds they heard, really think about them? Or was it all taken for granted? Most people spent their whole lives seeing and hearing, likely couldn't recall a time when they hadn't seen or heard things. Most people had never had much cause to imagine what not seeing or hearing might be like. Was it the same with thinking? Was there a person for whom thinking was not so familiar, that they could stop an appreciate it the way a blind girl might appreciate color? She supposed it must be so because, even thinking about her thoughts, Aegle was unable to make much sense of her own wonderings. She felt like she was trying to lift something too heavy for her, thinking about thinking, wondering about wondering, like she was trying to hold sand in her hands, and her hands were no good for holding anything. The thoughts slipped through her grasp, intangible and refusing to be held. She felt on the verge of understanding something profound, but could never quite bring it into focus.
Aegle touched the hoodie that lay across her lap, its orange fabric ripped and torn with half-a-hundred slashes. In that thoughtful frame of mind, even her sense of touch was novel and alien and strange. What would it be like, she wondered, to not feel? She'd spent her whole life feeling, so could not imagine its absence. For that matter, could she even imagine being blind or deaf? She could close her eyes and stop up her ears, but those organs were still present and functioning. Aegle half smiled, and rested her head against the truck at her back, and looked up into the hazy shadows above her head. It hadn't been till she was fourteen that she realized not everyone could hear their own hearbeat. Even with her ears stopped up, she could still hear it. She couldn't imagine living without that sound. Had she ever truly heard silence?
The day had put her in a pensive mood, alright. It had her thinking thoughts she'd not had since before the operations. Was that why she hadn't gone to sleep when Qiu'li did? She lowered her eyes to the hazy outline on the other side of the campfire, and watched the slow rise and fall of the big man's shoulder as he slept. She was tired, and doubtless she could have used the sleep, but sleep had not come easily for a long time. Now, sitting in the forest with only a campfire for light, with only the sound of the night for company, sleep did not want to come at all.
'Or perhaps it's simply me who is unwilling to sleep.'
Aegle lowered her eyes to the hoodie across her lap, and pulled snug the blanket across her shoulders. Long, deep, ragged tears had ruined the cloth, and its vibrant orange was stained all over with the rusty brown of dried blood. Her arms, beneath the blanket, itched where the ursa and the creeps and the boarbatusk had cut them. So too did her stomach and her chest, where they were visible through the tears in her black tanktop. Sullen redness and the pink of freshly healed skin crisscrossed most of her upper body in fact, where the days fighting had marked her. She wondered if those fights had something to do with her contemplative mood. Doubtless so, she decided; The fight with the boarbatusk, especially, had brought certain details of her existence into cutting sharp focus.
It had been that fight which had set her to wondering about thinking, and how she could not know what not thinking felt like. What not feeling felt like. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she was crazy. Not stupid, or reckless, or even merely different, but whether there was something inside her fundamentally twisted or broken, if her mind was not as crooked as her shambles of a body.
'But I can't know how anyone else thinks. I can't ever know if they think the same way I do.'
She grinned; It often seemed like they didn't. Other people often felt an utter mystery to her, enigmas which she was incapable of solving. She got on well enough with most of them, had been treated very well since coming to Haven in fact, but she never felt like she understood anyone. Even her fumbling efforts to understand Carmim and get closer to her had proved strange and bewildering. Like the two of them were speaking different languages just barely similar enough to mistaken for one another, but where the words didn't quite mean the same things.
'I like you, Carmim...'
'I like you too, my friend.'
Part of it was her fault, and Aegle knew it. Her fault for not saying what she meant half the time, and not being clearer when it was obvious her meaning had not been taken the right way.
'What do I want?' She wondered, 'Not just from Carmim, but from everyone; Everythin'... What do I want? Why am I here? Why am I doin' this?'
Questions without answers or, at least, not answers she could admit to.
'Can't even be honest with myself.' She thought back to the fight with the Boarbatusk, to the fight with the ursa, to the fight in Shadecloak's class, 'It's no wonder nobody can figure me out.'
Her eyes lingered on the torn and shredded remains of her hoodie.
'Paeon gave me this,' Aegle ran her fingers across the ripped and stained fabric. It was the brightest, most hideously eye-scorching color he could find, 'So people would have to notice me when I wore it...'
She had worn it every day since coming to Haven. Whenever she had not been in her uniform, she had it on.
'My armor.' Aegle thought, thinking also of Reynard and their meeting in the quad. 'That's what armor is. It keeps you from bein' hurt.'
It was all bloody now. Her blood stained it in daubs and streaks where the Boarbatusk and the Ursa and the Creeps had cut her.
'Some armor...' She giggled, and pulled the ruined hoodie up to her chest, hugging it close, and returned to watching the forest, and trying to soak in every detail, just as though it might be her last chance to do so.
words - 1,471
total - 1,471
It was sort of surreal, when she really thought about where she was, what she was doing, and how she was experiencing it all. As she listened to the muddled sounds, trying ceaselessly to unravel one from another, she marveled at her own ability to do so. At the idea that she could even be having these thoughts and experiences, and that she was able to experience them at all. Did many people stop and think about that, think about what thinking actually was? She was not a smart girl, anyone looking over her choices of the last year could see that, so she had to imagine she could not be the only person to ever stop and think about thinking. Did those same people ever really consider what the things their eyes saw were, or about how their minds interpreted those things. Did they think about the sounds they heard, really think about them? Or was it all taken for granted? Most people spent their whole lives seeing and hearing, likely couldn't recall a time when they hadn't seen or heard things. Most people had never had much cause to imagine what not seeing or hearing might be like. Was it the same with thinking? Was there a person for whom thinking was not so familiar, that they could stop an appreciate it the way a blind girl might appreciate color? She supposed it must be so because, even thinking about her thoughts, Aegle was unable to make much sense of her own wonderings. She felt like she was trying to lift something too heavy for her, thinking about thinking, wondering about wondering, like she was trying to hold sand in her hands, and her hands were no good for holding anything. The thoughts slipped through her grasp, intangible and refusing to be held. She felt on the verge of understanding something profound, but could never quite bring it into focus.
Aegle touched the hoodie that lay across her lap, its orange fabric ripped and torn with half-a-hundred slashes. In that thoughtful frame of mind, even her sense of touch was novel and alien and strange. What would it be like, she wondered, to not feel? She'd spent her whole life feeling, so could not imagine its absence. For that matter, could she even imagine being blind or deaf? She could close her eyes and stop up her ears, but those organs were still present and functioning. Aegle half smiled, and rested her head against the truck at her back, and looked up into the hazy shadows above her head. It hadn't been till she was fourteen that she realized not everyone could hear their own hearbeat. Even with her ears stopped up, she could still hear it. She couldn't imagine living without that sound. Had she ever truly heard silence?
The day had put her in a pensive mood, alright. It had her thinking thoughts she'd not had since before the operations. Was that why she hadn't gone to sleep when Qiu'li did? She lowered her eyes to the hazy outline on the other side of the campfire, and watched the slow rise and fall of the big man's shoulder as he slept. She was tired, and doubtless she could have used the sleep, but sleep had not come easily for a long time. Now, sitting in the forest with only a campfire for light, with only the sound of the night for company, sleep did not want to come at all.
'Or perhaps it's simply me who is unwilling to sleep.'
Aegle lowered her eyes to the hoodie across her lap, and pulled snug the blanket across her shoulders. Long, deep, ragged tears had ruined the cloth, and its vibrant orange was stained all over with the rusty brown of dried blood. Her arms, beneath the blanket, itched where the ursa and the creeps and the boarbatusk had cut them. So too did her stomach and her chest, where they were visible through the tears in her black tanktop. Sullen redness and the pink of freshly healed skin crisscrossed most of her upper body in fact, where the days fighting had marked her. She wondered if those fights had something to do with her contemplative mood. Doubtless so, she decided; The fight with the boarbatusk, especially, had brought certain details of her existence into cutting sharp focus.
It had been that fight which had set her to wondering about thinking, and how she could not know what not thinking felt like. What not feeling felt like. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she was crazy. Not stupid, or reckless, or even merely different, but whether there was something inside her fundamentally twisted or broken, if her mind was not as crooked as her shambles of a body.
'But I can't know how anyone else thinks. I can't ever know if they think the same way I do.'
She grinned; It often seemed like they didn't. Other people often felt an utter mystery to her, enigmas which she was incapable of solving. She got on well enough with most of them, had been treated very well since coming to Haven in fact, but she never felt like she understood anyone. Even her fumbling efforts to understand Carmim and get closer to her had proved strange and bewildering. Like the two of them were speaking different languages just barely similar enough to mistaken for one another, but where the words didn't quite mean the same things.
'I like you, Carmim...'
'I like you too, my friend.'
Part of it was her fault, and Aegle knew it. Her fault for not saying what she meant half the time, and not being clearer when it was obvious her meaning had not been taken the right way.
'What do I want?' She wondered, 'Not just from Carmim, but from everyone; Everythin'... What do I want? Why am I here? Why am I doin' this?'
Questions without answers or, at least, not answers she could admit to.
'Can't even be honest with myself.' She thought back to the fight with the Boarbatusk, to the fight with the ursa, to the fight in Shadecloak's class, 'It's no wonder nobody can figure me out.'
Her eyes lingered on the torn and shredded remains of her hoodie.
'Paeon gave me this,' Aegle ran her fingers across the ripped and stained fabric. It was the brightest, most hideously eye-scorching color he could find, 'So people would have to notice me when I wore it...'
She had worn it every day since coming to Haven. Whenever she had not been in her uniform, she had it on.
'My armor.' Aegle thought, thinking also of Reynard and their meeting in the quad. 'That's what armor is. It keeps you from bein' hurt.'
It was all bloody now. Her blood stained it in daubs and streaks where the Boarbatusk and the Ursa and the Creeps had cut her.
'Some armor...' She giggled, and pulled the ruined hoodie up to her chest, hugging it close, and returned to watching the forest, and trying to soak in every detail, just as though it might be her last chance to do so.
words - 1,471
total - 1,471