Flicker: Spaces Between

"Wanna be friends?"

"Yeah!"

One's first memory is rarely anything coherent, and Flick's was no different. Context was nowhere to be seen- it was as if his brain's first recording started at this dialogue's end rather than beginning. Clearly they had been doing something before... he could distinctly recall the prickly feeling in his lungs that one felt after a long run- or more likely in his case, an enthusiastic session of playing pretend.

Whatever untold activity the two had undergone, it had led them to the edge of Flick's forest. The boundary's edge was abrupt, but it was far from sudden if one was paying attention. While the night sky was dark, it was far away from the starless oblivion the firmament melded into. Living things didn't come out this far, foxes and deer kept their distance and even grass refused to grow. The border was a place comprised of dry, pale soil that simply existed until it didn't anymore.

The drop-off was scary at first, but over time, Flick had gotten used to it- as had the blonde-haired boy, it seemed. They kicked their feet over the edge, it didn't matter how thin the cliffs were, they could hold any weight, suspended by the void encompassing this domain. Still, there was always this... feeling, when you got close to that darkness. Not quite a chill- more like the muffled pinpricks one feels when a limb falls asleep.

Without much thought, Flick decided to toss a handful of loose dirt over the cliff's edge. It probably remained visible for a matter of seconds- either exiting the meager light's reach, or just vanishing altogether. Flick was never quite sure, he recalled only the intention of the action, and the palm-sized hole it left behind.

"What's your home like?"

The Forest child asked, tilting his head as he admired the unique visage of his playmate.

Even if they apparently lived close to each other, blonde-haired boy looked just so... different than him. Even in the dark, his golden eyes glinted- and his skin... it was pale... pale like the ashes he gathered from the firepit for the garden. Flick himself was quite pallid compared to his kin, 'rainwashed' his parents had called him, but his flesh was still green-ish, whereas the boy was more... yellow-ish.

The differences didn't end there- Flick's hair was like rock moss, short and neat on his head; but the boy's hair... it flowed in countless thin, wispy strands like a field of wheat... Well, Flick had never seen a field of wheat before- but he knew what one bushel of wheat looked like, so he could imagine.

"Our grass is more... yellow-ey, and the ground is waaaay flatter- you have so many hills!"

Flick was so engrossed by the boy's appearance he had nearly forgot his own question! Luckily, unlike the adults, the Field talked in a way that Flick didn't get lost in as easily.

"Cool..."

Already he was thinking of all the games they could play there- as with most children, Flick was intensely fascinated with any place that wasn't his own.

"You should tell your mom to tell my mom where you live, so we can have a playdate!"

"Okay!"

With their friendship now affirmed, the conversation quickly devolved into a deluge of appearance-related questions from both sides. It seemed Flick was not the only one curious about other races.

Though Flick's fascination wasn't laid in physiognomic theorizing; no, he was interested in the things he had heard about other people- like how Deserts never had to drink water, but Rivers got all their food through water. Of course, Fields and Forests weren't all too different- but this was his first time seeing anyone from a different clade.

"What do you hope your place will look like?"

This was a question every adult asked every child- so it was only natural the query was a common topic between kids, on par with one's favorite color. Growing up in someone else's domain provided each and every little one with countless theories as to what their own home would one day look like. Flick hadn't met a single person his age that wasn't excited for their next growth spurt, endlessly waiting until the location of their grove was revealed to them.

Of course, not everyone remained in their unveiled province- Flick's mother, for instance, lived here in what was technically papa's home. Still, she brought Flick to her fragment of earth every once and awhile. She had a lovely orchard full of plum and cherry trees whose grounds were littered with herbs and flowers. There wasn't a house there, but sometimes they would have camp outs. Those were some of his favorite times, evenings spent around a crackling firepit, huddled in blankets- he usually fell asleep before the fireflies came out, but sometimes he managed to catch a glimpse of the dancing lights before dozing off.

"I want it to be big- with a stream or pond so I can have frogs and fish! What about you?"

Flick didn't visit his grandfather often, but his forest was wet- a Swamp, his mom had called him. Supposedly his great grandma had been a Lake, a fact he was quite proud of- despite the relation being distant beyond familiarity. Regardless, the marks were there, papa had a creek, and his uncle even had a small river. This was seen as a great blessing by their neighbors, as most Forests had to rely on carriers or rain for water.

"I want a place where I can have sheep, they're funny."

The blonde-haired boy's answer was simple- but then again so was Flick's. The young sprout gave his new friend a genuine smile, it would be fun to see a farm one day.

"Flicker! Come say goodbye everyone!"

Flick raised his head in response to his mother's call. If one stood at his house and yelled loud enough, their voice could be heard from anywhere in the grove. Even if it was hard to make out, Flick understood the message well enough.

"Guess I have to go back... it was nice to meet you!"

Flick didn't bother hiding the drop of his smile, of course he had more he wished to talk about, but his mom's word was law. In truth, he really didn't understand why he had to be there when everyone left... -Then again, he didn't understand allot about adults. He didn't understand why they were so tall, why they were so serious- and why they sometimes said things they didn't mean.

Maybe he didn't like talking to adults because he had to so much. There were so many adults that talked to him like he was a baby- then they would get in arguments with his parents. There was nowhere to hide when someone was yelling, and Flick hated the sound people made when they were angry.

Though, as his thoughts clouded and he neared the treeline- Flick came to a sudden realization. Turning back to the waving boy he cupped his hands and called out:

"What's your name?!"