HE HAD BEEN SOMEONE BEFORE THE FALL
If I am anything, it is this:
Rain. The smell of smoke somewhere dank and forgotten beneath it. An angry sea; a gunmetal sky. And, and,
and
I think,
the taste of copper like blood. I run my tongue over my teeth. I lick the water from my lips, relieved it does not taste of salt, and think of how even though it is pure and fresh and from the sky it is already ruined by the fact I am thankful it does not taste like salt. By thinking it does not, I think of if it did—I think of seawater and blood instead of rain and the metallic flavour of my own mouth.
Am I biting my cheek?
I don’t know.
The sting is there and gone. If I could only know her thoughts, if I could only tell her my teeth are blunt but my mind and heart are not, and they roar within me like a lion starved. I offer a smile in earnest—in earnest, yes, in earnest, because a hunting lion may very well grin at a gazelle. “You’d like it even colder?” I ask, lightly. I even laugh, and my deception has myself fooled. “That is insane.”
If I cared more, I might have noticed that she does not seem inherently vicious; her presence has not quelled the singing from the distant trees, or resulted in an austere stillness. If I cared more, I might find it strange the world continues to pulse and move as if she is unthreatening, as if she is simply another grazing animal. If I cared, I might notice those things. But I do not care, so they merely seem bizarre. Perhaps it is because I have seen too many “unthreatening” creatures grow fangs and transform into something monstrous. Perhaps it is because the scent of the sea she carries with her, both sterile and strong at once, betrays her as something other.
“Vapor Treaders?” I am genuinely curious. “Is that what you are?” There are many words for water horses, but this is not one I am familiar with. I contemplate what she says: duel nature. She speaks of something I do not believe in. Perhaps she has legs and fins. Perhaps she has both lungs and gills. But a creature of the sea will always be a creature of the sea. The ocean is only “duel” in that some days it does not decide to sink vessels or drown swimmers; other days it does.
For me, a creature of extreme measures, I do not understand the duality. I do not believe in it. There is only one, or the other. I do not say this, however. I let the softness sit on my face; I let my mouth work as if to ask a question, only to decide otherwise, and then gain the confidence to at last ask it. “Do you not prefer one more than the other?” Her eyes were not drawn to my throat as I had hoped; but perhaps she is cleverer than her cousins. Or more foolish.
I laugh as she stumbles; jovially. I roll my shoulders and begin to walk toward the distant city, never truly looking away from her. “It is a touch suffocating,” I agree. “Regardless, would you like to accompany me, at least on the walk back. I could use the conversation.”
I assume she will follow. “Tell me more of these Vapor Treaders?” I ask, intrigued. “Are there many of you? I am Torix, by the way. It is rude of me not to introduce myself sooner.”
Is this not the first and only commandment?
Know thy enemy.
There are many kinds of camouflage; there is something within me that feels like spring coming, something growing, hopeful, bright.
Perhaps they aren't all gone after all. Perhaps there are still many, many monsters to hunt.
"speech"
