Mirai

This birthday had been no different from the others. Mirai only realized it the following day, once he’d sobered up. That was mainly because his age had long since passed the hundred mark. He couldn’t remember the exact number. Or rather, he didn’t want to. And this birthday had gone exactly like the hundred before it.

As he did every day, he sat alone in a crumbling hut surrounded by banana trees, their thick green leaves blocking the sunlight from reaching the ground, hoping another year would pass unnoticed. The bottle of rum he’d stolen from the villagers was already half empty again.

He let his arms fall limply from the armrests, glad that at least gravity still applied to him. After a while, a wet black nose brushed against his fingers. He wiggled them, earning himself a few licks.

He liked that dog. Lately, he’d even been considering putting a curse on him so he would stay by his side for the rest of eternity. The dog had grown since Mirai had found him, and he was afraid he might lose him soon.

As he gazed at those sad, drooping ears, so long they nearly touched the ground, he remembered the first time he’d found him in the jungle. He’d witnessed his sad story from the very beginning. Floppy had been his closest companion for quite some time now. A miraculous survivor, just as Mirai himself had once been.

Eventually, even aimless idling grew tiresome, so he headed deeper into the jungle. He knew every path by heart, yet he still wandered through it every single day. The soft rustling of the wind and the whispers of the animals quieted his thoughts, if only for a little while.

Floppy followed close on his heels, though he couldn’t move through the dense undergrowth as silently or gracefully as Mirai could. After all, Mirai was one of the island’s spirits. Or at least that was what he liked to tell himself. He’d given himself such a grand title because, over the years, he’d discovered that when he was alone, he could be whoever he wanted.

It wasn’t until he heard footsteps behind him that he was pulled from his thoughts. He froze and spun around. His senses were always sharp. Nothing ever caught him off guard. Silently cursing himself, he frowned at the old man staring back at him.

“You only ever show up when you want something. What is it this time?”

The ancient shaman, the Giver of Fate, was the one person Mirai truly didn’t want to see. And not just because he was the one who had cursed him all those years ago and turned him into what he was now.

“You haven’t come among the spirits even once, Mirai.”

“I don’t belong with them,” he muttered, lowering his gaze. He was perfectly content on his own. He didn’t need any of them, or their reproaches.

“If you’d tried harder, things would have been different.”

Mirai gave a bitter, sad smirk. “The best thing about hating life is that no one will ever call you an optimist. Works for me.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself!” The shaman’s thunderous voice echoed inside his head. “So at least listen to me here and now.”

Mirai hated when he did that. As though he were nothing more than an ordinary mortal. “I’m listening,” he said with a resigned sigh.

“Two hundred years have passed, and your time has come again.”

Mirai frowned, mentally counting the years. He had been given one task, and one task alone, after being cursed to an eternity of immortal suffering. And it was that very task he’d spent all those long years trying to avoid at any cost.

“It’s time.”

The old man waved his hand before Mirai could respond. He stood before him, his eyes glowing with mysterious power. Raising his arms toward the sky, he began chanting an ancient spell. His movements were smooth and calm.

“Wait!” panic seized Mirai, but an invisible force had already caught him in its grip, holding him so tightly he couldn’t move.

The shaman ignored him and continued chanting in an ancient tongue.

Mirai felt his body begin to burn from the inside out. It was as though someone were tearing him apart. At first, there was only a faint trembling, but then the pain spread through his entire body. His skin stretched, his bones snapped and reshaped themselves. His arms and legs began to shorten, and his skin turned to fine, soft fur. His eyes grew larger, allowing him to see better in the dark, and a tail appeared.

For a moment, the agony was unbearable. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. Where Mirai had stood moments before, there was now only a small lemur. He breathed heavily, exhausted by the painful transformation. His new eyes opened, meeting the shaman’s gaze.

The old man gave a faint smile. The transformation had been successful.

The world around Mirai seemed larger now, more frightening, yet fascinating at the same time. He took a few unsteady steps toward the old man. His furious voice echoed inside his head, but he couldn’t utter a single word. Still, he knew the shaman understood him. He knew he could hear every word. He cursed silently, railing against the old man’s thoughtlessness.

Suddenly, he heard heavy breathing and a low growl behind him. Startled, he turned to find Floppy staring at him suspiciously, his teeth bared.

Mirai panicked and bounded toward the nearest tree, reaching it in a few long leaps. The dog gave chase, but the moment Mirai climbed onto a branch, Floppy stopped below, staring up at him and baring his teeth.

In his mind, Mirai repeated the same threats over and over, determined to force the shaman to change him back.

“You don’t need me for that,” the old man straightened and watched as the lemur perched in the tree slowly transformed back into a human.

Mirai gritted his teeth through the pain and glared at the shaman. Then he realized something was different. He no longer looked quite like himself. His body was younger now, and slightly smaller.

“You’ll blend in better this way,” the shaman muttered, answering the questions Mirai hadn’t voiced. “The world has changed over the years.”

His apparent attempt to help did nothing to soften Mirai’s mood.

“Do you have to transform me when you know I have a dog?” he released the branch and landed heavily on his feet. Brushing off his hands, he continued to glare at the old man.

The shaman regarded him, apparently unimpressed by his jokes. Then he turned his stern gaze toward Floppy and began muttering under his breath.

At first, the dog didn’t move. Then, after a moment, he began to whimper and collapsed to the ground in a violent spasm. His body jerked and twitched as though electric shocks were coursing through him.

“Stop it!” Mirai snatched the staff from the old man’s hand and hurled it into the undergrowth, fixing him with a furious glare.

The shaman waved his hand, and his enchanted piece of wood was once again in his grasp. The look he gave Mirai would have terrified any ordinary mortal. “Compassion without limits is self-destruction. That animal has upset you for no reason.”

“Say whatever you want,” Mirai stroked the dog’s head, positioning himself between Floppy and the shaman so the old man couldn’t hurt him again. “I don’t need your advice. Save it… for someone else.”

“The Chosen One is already on the island,” the shaman gave him a meaningful look, though he continued to glare disapprovingly at the long-eared animal. “When you see that she’s ready, reveal everything she needs to know.”

“Fine,” Mirai growled without looking at him. “If that’s what you want.”

That was all the shaman had come to tell him. He gave Mirai one last look before vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Mirai pretended he couldn’t care less. Instead, he scooped Floppy into his arms and carried him home. He cursed silently once more and closed his weary eyes for a few seconds.

Every decision had consequences. And Mirai couldn’t help feeling that his own had been haunting him far too painfully.