*
The fading light helped to illuminate the small glade, bathing it in shades of red and pink. The rose hued light fell softly on the green grass of the clearing, a sight which was added to the growing list of impossible things. Kneeling down, he plucked a single blade, needing confirmation of its healthy emerald hue. It was alive, of that much he was sure, yet he could not fathom how it -and the grove- had remained impervious to the corroding pollution.
Ever since his rough awakening, he had seen naught but death and decay, with even the green of the forest a washed-out eulogy to its former vigour. But this glade, this circle of life, was a bastion of hope for Barsch. If grass still grew here, and trees still kept their leafy adornments, then perhaps the blight had not been as destructive as he had thought. As he was examining the emerald defiance of expectation, a soft sound broke through his thoughts. It was a bubbly sound, unmistakably formed when flowing water met inert rock. Looking up, he found the source: a small, -less than a foot wide- clear-blue stream. The bubbling brook weaved its way through the small clearing, cutting a sinuous path into the field of green.
As he stood, yet another of his senses noticed a change in the air. He had not noticed it sooner, simply because it was the absence of something that he had long taken for granted: the smell of decay. From his moment of waking to his first sighting of the isolated green of the forest, the stench of death had been unmistakable. But now, as he actively searched for the putrid odour, he could not find it. In its place was a smell that he had long forgotten: the sickly-sweet scent of life.
It came from all around him, rising up from the glade like a swooning bubble of joy. The moment the smell touched his body, an unbidden -but not unwelcome- smile brightened his sallow face. It was as if the clearing was washing away his fatigue, his worries, and his burdened state of mind. For the first time in a very long time, Barsch felt at peace. At that moment in time, he would not be at all hostile to the suggestion of staying in the glade forever. Even the ghostly apparition at the far end of the glade could not dim his mood.
“Wait... what?”
There, near the far tree-line, was a ghost. At first, Barsch thought that she was merely a trick of the light; or something conjured up from the depths of his memories, and brought to life by his recent distress. But, as he calmed down from his sudden realisation of its presence, he looked closer.
The ghost, if that is what it was, had taken the form of a young girl. Although he was generally a poor judge of age, Barsch put her age near his. She was shorter than him, but not by much, and she had a figure that could only be described as slim. In keeping with her ghostly theme, her hair was the colour of the afterlife: moonlight white. It swayed in the breeze, even though no wind had found its way inside the glade. She was standing with her back towards Barsch, her hidden eyes seemingly searching the darkening sky.
And, despite her unearthly appearance, Barsch thought that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Um... Hello?” As far as memorable first words, they were not the best, although they did get her attention.
As she turned, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The green of the grass; the black of the early night sky; even the blue of the bubbling brook; all became washed-out shades of grey in comparison to her. Barsch's eyes were first drawn to her unbelievably pale skin, followed by a quick glance at her ivory toned lips, until finally working their way up to her eyes.
Her eyes were like no other, and to call them unique would sully the word itself. They shone from within with a violet light, like dual windows into a place unvisited by man. However, in that place, in that time, they were the final pieces of the puzzle. With time still suffering a prolonged delay -which must have wrought a great deal of damage to the space-time continuum- their eyes met.
His, with their eternal battle between green and blue, and Hers, with their violet iris's boring a hole into his soul. And in that moment, Barsch knew that she lived, for no god, no matter how cruel, would rob such a beautiful enigma of its life.
For Barsch, it was a moment of confusion, as feelings of shock fought against feelings of wonder, leaving a perplexed smile on his face as the victor. He half-wished that the moment would never end, while his other half hoped that the end could not come soon enough. It was in that moment -when his mind was in turmoil- he felt something take root. At first, it was a subtle feeling, like a half-forgotten memory trying to resurface, but every passing non-second it grew bigger. It was a feeling of bondage, of a link between him and the girl with violet eyes. Even in his confused state, he could tell that it was real, though he could not tell if the bond was one of slavery, or bliss.
Slowly, yet still taking longer than Barsch would have liked, time resumed its eternal pace. As it did, the moment in which Barsch's eyes met those of the enigma faded, leaving only silence.
Until the enigma took a small step forward, and said, “Who am I?”
Of all of the things Barsch had imagined her saying, her asking who she was had not even made it onto the list. However, before he had a chance to answer her soft-spoken query, she fell.
It was a delicate collapse, one that suited her lithe figure, but it was a fall nonetheless. As she fell, the light in her eyes went out, like the dying breath of a star. Her ivory-framed head was cushioned by the soft grass, as Barsch’s legs had become frozen where he stood. The suddenness of it all had claimed his reflex to spring forward and catch her, a fact which would most likely haunt his dreams for many years to come.
Finally, he managed to shake of his shackles of shock and surprise, forcing his body to go to her aid. His first step was hard, as he had expected, but the weakness of his second surprised even him. It was if all of his reclaimed energy had been spent on their meeting. Already, he could feel his earlier fatigue return, sapping what little strength he had left.
“Come on Barsch! Whoever she is, she needs you! I don't care where you get it, but I need you to dig down deep and come up with some more energy. And I'm not taking no for answer!”
Barsch briefly stopped to consider the fact that he was, in effect, shouting at himself, but the sight of the girl allowed him to temporarily ignore any questions about his sanity.
Struggling to move, Barsch inched forward to the unconscious girl, determined to reach her side, no matter the cost. And although every step was a cry of agony, and despite the siren song of sleep coming from a treacherous part of his mind, he persevered.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally made it to the sleeping girl. He barely had enough time to check her for injuries before his own fatigue felled him like a rotten trunk.
As he fell forward, he had just enough time to look at her pale, otherworldly face. It was resting on a bed of dead grass, which had begun to spread outwards from her immobile body.
That should have disturbed him, the sight of the grass dying, or the smell of decay returning, but at that moment, his focus was on her. With only her in his sight, he lay down, or rather, collapsed to the earth. With his last molecule of energy, he reached out his hand, until it found hers. Her slim fingers felt so brittle, but there was a solidity to her that comforted him. And although it was faint, he could make out an erratic pulse. She was alive, unconscious and apparently amnesiac, but alive.
His last thoughts, as sleep finally claimed him, were, “Who is she?”
As this tableau of activity faded, a new sound entered the glade: the crunch of leaves under heavy boots, which were worn by an unseen watcher now approaching the two slumbering youths.
Awakening Page 7