Timeless Waters

Part One- Eight Years Old

Clock hands ticked, the seconds passing by. For Than, each second was a prison sentence, a finger breaking, a holding in time. He begged for those seconds to go faster, for the house to go quiet and for the door to be opened. He cried out, silent in his voice, loud in his eyes, to taste the bitter air. The cold sting of water.

Time eventually fractured, turning from slow to fast and there he was, running for that small grasp of freedom. The forest was a suffocating expanse, a reminder that Than could not leave.

It was also a wonder.

Than had run through this forest over and over and he still had not found the other side. He loved and hated the mystery of it, he felt trapped in a maze, yet felt he had his own private part of the world all to himself. The pond: his favourite feature.

Moonlight fractured the ripples, sending splintering rays across the concealed area, appearing like a portal to somewhere else. When Than had first approached the writhing water, he stared down at his reflection, believing it was another version of himself someplace different. Someplace better. Innocence had slowly departed from Than, yet he remained a child and sometimes, believing in ignorant lies of possibilities brightened the next day’s sunrise.

Than bit down on his cry as he dipped his arm into the cool water. Small tendrils of red crawled from his wound into the open pond, dancing with the ripples of the water and slowly dispersing into nothing. He watched the blood the same as he always did, failing to understand how all things, no matter how they came about, eventually disappeared.

Pain ceased. Wounds closed. Tears stopped.

Picking at an old scab on his leg, he left his previous arm in the water. The scab fell off, producing an oval of raw pink skin standing proud in the crowd of paleness. A new scab would form and Than would again pick it, continuing this cycle. This way, it would heal slower. A scar may be produced and last a little longer. This way, Than would not forget and his pain would not need to disappear so suddenly. The tears he shed for this mar on his body would not have been worthless or stupid. This way, he would remember he was still on this side of the pond, still human. Still vulnerable.

Than did not know himself other than deserving. That in this world he was slow to discover, he was born a canvas for other people’s desires. Than was not yet willing to be erased. He would carry on the way he did until the artist grew bored and found a new medium to test with.

A small whisper coaxed him–there was always the chance, that maybe, just maybe, the artist would grow to love his work. He would step back and finally see the whole picture for what it was and accept it as his best. As long as there was the possibility that Than could be desired enough to be displayed, to form an understanding of why the other kid’s parents were neither hesitant nor afraid to hold their child’s hands, he would continue to go back home. For at least that way he was still acknowledged.

“You’re bleeding.”

Emerging his hand out of the water and slipping it behind his back, Than looked around to find where the voice came from.

A boy leaned against the nearest tree to the pond, staring at him. Than stared back, unnerved by this boy's silent approach.

Shuffling further away from him, Than turned his back and hugged his arm to his body. He did not notice that he and the boy shared an age, he focused on something else. His eyes. They had a particular gleam to them that frightened Than, a gleam similar to his pond. A dangerously comforting one.

“Your hand,” the boy said. “It’s bleeding.”

He walked toward Than and abruptly dropped to the floor next to him. He was so close that their knees touched, Than bristled at the unexpected contact.

“Let me see,” he said, already stretching out his hands like a claw machine ready to make its descent and grab.

Than silently complied. He did not have much of a choice otherwise. As one boy started to analyse the wound, the other continued to look deeply into the clear water. In the years he spent running away to this spot, Than had never once encountered another person. What made today different?

“You probably shouldn’t leave this open,” the boy said, bringing Than out of his thoughts and causing him to look directly at the speaker. His face was small and rounded, his black hair sprouted past his ears and fell into his face. Than wondered if he was even able to see his cut underneath the curtain of hair.

He said nothing in response. It was better this way, the boy would soon leave and they would never see each other again. Than did not make friends. He did not know if he was allowed and when he did not know the answer to open choices, the best option was usually the loneliest.

“Did you fall in the woods?"

When Than did not reply he asked another question.

“Shouldn’t you go home? Won’t your parents have a plaster to put over it?”

“No.”

The other boy smiled at hearing an answer. Then he frowned at hearing what the answer contained.

“No, you didn’t fall in the woods, or no you–”

Frustrated with the boy’s relentless questions and holding his silence, Than found his voice.

“No to all of it,” he said, then after a pause. “I’m fine so you can leave.”

The boy did not move.

Removing his arm from his grip, Than pulled back and with the ongoing momentum launched his arm forward to push him. The boy did not budge, he may as well have been glued to the leaves on the forest floor.

“Why would I leave now? You’ve only just started to talk to me.” It was a comment said with such unknown sincerity that Than found he had no reply. No matter what calculations he ran through, he could not understand what was happening.

He grumbled something resembling a ‘fine’ and returned his arm into the water, his wound flaring up. Rummaging through his trouser pockets, he pulled out a torn piece of fabric stained multiple shades darker than the original colour. As soon as the boy figured out Than’s forwarding intent, he once again grabbed his arm and plucked the fabric from between his fingers.

“That’s not something you should have to do yourself,” he said. “Let me.”

Than found himself unable to decline again, portraying submission to this boy’s commands. Fingers found the area of sore skin and pressed down gently, Than winced, instinctively drawing back his arm.

“It might hurt less if you talk to me,” the boy suggested, prompting him further as he made sure the wound was clean. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“I don’t leave the house much.” Than watched as the boy began to wrap the fabric around his arm, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re not in your house right now,” he said, a simple statement.

“No,” Than said. “I’m not.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I’m always here,” Than spilt like it was obvious. The other boy cracked a smile like it was funny.

Pursing his lips, Than spoke next, disrupting their original flow of conversation.

“Then what are you–ow!” Having finished wrapping the fabric around, the boy tied it into a knot and pulled at the two ends to secure it, sending a flare of pain up Than’s arm.

“Done!” The boy said with a new accomplished sheen to his eyes. Then he said nothing more and just stared at Than, waiting. Pain muted, Than stroked his thumb against the rough material protecting his skin and realised that it was the end of his sentence the boy waited for.

Now that the boy’s full attention was on solely him, Than fought the urge to shuffle further backwards into the water to cool his rising temperature.

“What are you doing here?” Than finally asked, turning the question back onto him.

“I ran away.”

“Really?” Leaning forward, his legs almost rose from the crossed-legged position he sat in. Than’s excitement released.

“But I’ll be going back home soon, I guess,” the boy said, his smile fading. “I just wanted to see the forest.”

“The forest,” Than echoed, his mind on the first time he ran away to the deep, endless spiral of trees, to the first time he found relief in the pond’s fresh water.

“Oh!” The boy spun, turning his entire body to face Than’s. “I almost forgot to tell you, my name’s Shin.”

Shin, Than repeated, or he thought he did. Perhaps the words never fell from his tongue, stuck on a loop in his mind.

“Than,” Than said, then added, “My name.”

“Yeah,” Shin confirmed, that same smile on his face like Than was the funniest person he had ever met.

“Than, give me your hand,” Shin said, not waiting for his response, already about to take it himself, as if he had claimed ownership over it as soon as they met.

Than once again found himself obliging, an additional voice to his submissiveness. “Why?”

“Because I have to get back home,” he said. “But first I need to make a promise. I’ll return to this pond tomorrow at the same time. You better promise the same.”

“Why?” Than repeated.

Shin wrapped his pinky finger around Than’s, securing it tightly so Than had no other choice but to follow suit. It mattered not, he found he wanted to anyway.

“Well, because we’re friends,” Shin said like he was stating the weather. “And I like talking to you.”

No one else would have noticed Than’s eyes growing wider than usual, it was only possible for Shin who had been waiting for an opportunity to see what colour they were. Green.

“Okay,” Than nodded. “I promise.” It was the first promise Than had ever made, it was also the most important.

Shin started to walk away. It was a short-lived adventure, a spontaneous act of rebellion any child wished to indulge in. After hearing his mother relentlessly warn him not to step foot into the forest behind their house, Shin simply could not hold his curiosity at bay any longer. He was glad for his choice. The forest was not dangerous; it was beautiful. And he found that it carried many beautiful features. A mesmerising pond and a lonely, mesmerising boy.

As his mother retreated further into the shadows of her mind, sickness settling in her body, Shin grew further into the wide expanse of burdened responsibility. He did not know where he was running away to, nor did he understand what he was running away from and he always knew he would be running back home. It did not matter, for he seemed to like his destination very much.

“Shin,” the boy called out after him as if it were an excuse just to test out his name on his tongue one more time.

The other boy decided to play along, a game the two had invented, “Than,” he said, a sweet laughter emerging from him.

“Goodnight,” the first boy said, now smiling, a grin appearing crookedly on his face, not sculpted to synchronise with his other features. Unpracticed and out of use. Gaps littered his smile and Shin did not think of how he might have lost his teeth, just that this was a boy his age who just might become his friend. Who already had.

“Goodnight,” the second boy replied, offering his own smile, close-lipped and deep, a smile that had been well-nurtured and well-loved.

A smile that would never be shown to Than again as a new one began to be carefully crafted, just for his eyes.

“Don’t forget our promise,” he added, right before he was out of earshot. “Friends don’t break promises.”

He said it as any child would have believed at that age, but those words were an important indent that would stick with the two of them for a long time. A message that just may break the two of them apart.