12-09-2007, 01:06 AM
It isn’t possible to see through the rain anymore. They can’t see each other. You can’t see them. But it doesn’t matter. There is thunder. Lightening flashes above, but it illuminates only sheets of rain.
Em sits down on the wet ground and huddles in a soggy ball. Fish lost sight of him a while back. She stops a minute later. She stands with her eyes closed. The rain soaks up the legs of her pants. Moments pass. So do the clouds. The downpour turns to a sullen drizzle as twilight comes. There is a rainbow. Em gets up first. He holds his head with both hands to keep the soggy world steady. Then he finds Fish’s scarecrow silhouette some ways away. When she opens her eyes he is beside her. There’s no question of sleep. They keep walking.
“It’s dark.” Says Em. It is dark. There are no lights. No stars. The clouds are veined blue, but illuminate nothing. They cannot see the mountains. The only sound is that of their muffled footsteps. The mist is a blanket over the plain.
“Where are we?” Asks Fish. Em doesn’t answer. Fish hums. Em harmonizes. He puts words to the harmony. He tells the story of a marble rolled under a stove. How a girl rolled it there in a game and it got stuck. How it stuck there for years until someone smacked it out with a broom handle. Fish harmonizes and sings back up. Em steals her hat and she glares. They are silent for a time.
“It’s not so dark.” Says Em. It isn’t as dark. The sun comes up. It hides behind the clouds. Everything is gray. The mountains sparkle in gray. Fish’s black boots and Em’s black suit are both coated in a fine gray clay mud. The white umbrella reflects the gray sky. They’re moods are gray. The mountains seem no closer.
“White sand and gray sand…” Em starts singing ironically. Fish doesn’t catch the reference but laughs anyway. It’s expected from his humorous tone and she is tired. Em laughs too. And trips over his own feet.
“Let’s rest a minute. The world is beautiful isn’t it?” Fish doesn’t answer him, but crouches down some ways away. They rest a minute. The mountains seem no closer. They walk on. The drizzle drizzles on. There is a figure ahead. They both think of veering off. But neither has the energy.
“Hello…?” the figure calls. The travelers stop. The figure turns and walks closer.
“Hello…?” It calls again. His eyes are wide; his shoulders up near his ears. He’s shivering in the cold. “I have a message! He says he’ll be here tomorrow!” A pause. The boy glances around. They see him run off into the mist.
They continue walking. Faster. The rain lets up. The sun casts a rainbow. The mountains look no closer. Em tells Fish about the amount of mud on her clothes. Fish tells Em politely to be quite. He is.
A lot of walking happens. And a lot of bickering. And some more raining, very small amount of sleeping, and an even smaller amount of smiling. They reach the base of the mountains. It is desperately cold. Em stays close to Fish for warmth. Fish stiffly allows it. They don’t know what to do. They bicker some more. It is difficult to bicker with some one you need for warmth.
They’re arguments are vague and circular. They see no more trees. But it doesn’t matter. Every day they see the boy. Maybe a week passes. He says the same thing. They start wishing he would come. Just as a break from the monotony. Then one day they see lights in the sky.
The lights are great green swirls and purple streaks over the stars. Like a huge cobweb draped over them as a canopy. It shimmers and shifts, blown in some celestial wind. Hundreds of shooting stars fly down.
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