By: The Blue Nile
From: A Walk Across Rooftops (1983)
442Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIhzJgmbCih
How was your trip to Burmecia?
...
I was walking below the bridge, and...
How can I say this?
— Mister! Hey, Mister! – said someone in the middle of the crowd, at me. It was a kid, who later said – there is poo on your foot – before I took notice of.
Well, I thought It was a joke. After some weeks spent at Burmecia, you learn that it's better to ignore when someone calls you in the middle of street. Weeks... I'm here because of her. Had it been only for this irrational destruction, I would never. It's so depressing to look at, no wonder Crescent grew with that sullen face. No wonder I saw myself on her. So, walking on the street, poo got in my shoes. To begin with, I didn't paid that much of attention, as usual. Until I took a look, to see something unusual. As if my nose haven't felt it already... Well, just like the boy told me, there was a piece of shit on my right foot. Not below as it should, but upon it. Yes, it fell upon my shoe, a dog turd.
That thing doesn't fall out the skies, unless you are under a window, and... maybe it all happened soon as I crossed under the bridge. One of the few whom people can cross below without a boat. Speaking about brown things, I could have let the rain wash it for me, but that day wasn't a rainy day. A pleasant drizzle happened on that afternoon, something rare as poo above my foot.
And how did I got that out? Well, remember that boy I told you about earlier?
— I can clean it for ya – he said. He came out of nowhere by a blink.
Perhaps I have made a new friend. With a single piece of rag in hands, and a walk to a corner, that brown moisture was gone. And that good boy happened to appear in front of me, to be the first one who told me about the stuff in my foot. I was fooled, you see, by chance. Out of a hundred, I was the one who took the blow. But what was done is done, and before I kindly took the gils out of my pocket, the boy announced a price higher than the average wage belonging to the majority of burmecian workers won in a week. Of course, I gave him enough money so he could get off my back and do his business on others.
And when I told this to Freya, she began to laugh. So much that a phlegm bubble came out of her nose, and hopefully didn't bursted on the food. Guess that we all laugh at something that would piss us off if it happened to us.
With a clap of hand, comes another.
And nobody complains how clapping hands hurts, as much as there are some who drink hot coffee without burning their tongues. And when your chin gets hot, they think you've got fever, all deduced by a single symptom. Then I got to lay on a bed, and I couldn't even feel the scent of fennels. I hate these, they make me quCan'teasy. But Freya was there, and if I could give her a scent, maybe... don't know, but something between chamomile and onions. That's all she had to offer me, and I had no complains. Couldn't smell then, neither I could feel their taste. But that I would be better soon, surely I would. Can't await to be able to distinguish capers from olives again, not that I ever liked both, or did I? A dish tells much about a person than her own name does.
Now, when you look to the abyss, it begins to look at you.
When I looked to the Burmecian palace, I couldn't forget the glory of past days when it stood lit and only rain poured on its walls. Not only belonging to the palace, but homes who couldn't be ignored by my nose. Blueberry pies stood in the window, instead of cracks. The scent which stood most belonged to the one who prepared the pie And that hand... empty, fallen as the body of a maiden. Defenseless, stabbed on back, once a widow, but that doesn't matter anymore. Statues fell down, only to be brought back. Those who didn't became statues were gone to earth. The earth couldn't take them all. Only the distant fire stolen from gods to offer heat, and a quick way to end a grief, for a life already met of its a beautiful day. Another pitiful day, even after a rainbow showed up the clouds. So far that nobody could catch of its colors, neither a Dragoon with the tallest of the jumps.
Why... Why am I here? To offer help, I answer. Puck is here, because soon he'll be the King. We used to be the same, lone wanderers, but comes a time when we have to get back home. Some birds fly miles to reproduce on same place they've been born. I'm not here for such a thing, neither Puck. He's too young, in this case. I can't say I'm innocent, but... I kinda forgot. Water pours out this fountain, as much as rain won't stop pouring on the ground, on the people, anything below. I see a floating cloud up at the skies. Funny how they move and they never leave Burmecia. That's a desire of many, my own desire when I was young.
Wait, I am young. Nothing lasts forever, they say, yet I wish some things could. Like this rain.
— See that wall? – a little girl pointed to a house. One of the few who had been finished, the only holes with windows on their places. It's like a tourist spot, rare to see around. Funny, Burmecia's history resides at ruins.
— Yes, I see.
— It looks like a waterfall is pouring from above it, don't you think? – I stood quiet, for a moment.
— Uh huh – I said. My head was aching, and I wanted to go home. I'm already here, taking a walk with a kid. She said something about showing the best of Burmecia. A house whose bricks were built by alexandrians. Funny how a 'waterfall' seems to appear in front of that wall, like an oil painting. And to think Fratley and I once traveled to the heights, and we had the chance to drink some water from its source. It tasted like mud, but anyone who's hungry enough can eat sand as if it was flour. Not a thing this little ever did, I presume.
...
— ...Have you been near a waterfall before, Fratley?
— I... I don't know – don't know, can't remember, are you sure... really? I'm getting tired of these. We all are. I'm tired all the time, reason why I am here, so do you. Just both of us, to cherish of time together – as a matter of fact, though... yes, I once fell down a waterfall stream. Couldn't hear my own scream, or so that's what the people told me.
— Yes, the people – there's the saying 'the voice of people is the voice of god'. It's a farfetched though – they do remember.
— I love you, Freya – something about saying these words... something always happens. Well, she said nothing, but holded my hand tight. Like, holding it so fiercefully that, had not been for my strenght, my hand would have broken. Did I said anything wrong? Maybe it's the effect of seeing these ruins, as Freya only sees ruins on anything for a while.
...Like now.
I remember that day. Amarant said something about being made a fool by a kid, yet again. Freya holded my hand very tight, as if she hated seeing me like that. Seeing her home in ruins, despite the many houses rebuilt. Built with alexandrian bricks, destroyed by same hands. She's a person who follows her emotions, at the same time it tries to hide them all from the rest. Sometimes sad, sometimes happy, there's nothing else to understand. For someone who got this close, at the point of hurting... I want to get below her skin, if I could. How many secrets are sealed by skin. There are many things that should never get out of our beings, like desire. Desire for anything that's wrong, that's against the rules.
Thunderstorm plays hide-and-seek. Somehow, cold comes to this room. I feel cold, guilty and empty. Is it normal to feel like this? Answer me, Freya. You have the answers. Maybe she doesn't. It's a weird feeling, like I've lost a bit of my life, but knowing we gave it to each other makes me feel fine. The end of the world, and I feel fine by taking away joy and pain out yours. I won't take away your sleep, though. We're safe on dreams, and to take away that safety would be mean, ugly, inconsiderate. Seeing those clothes without an owner, as if we've vanished from this reality to another... it feels so weird. As weird as a rat who thinks. It wasn't only the rat on us who felt joy.
I love you, Freya. There are many ways to show it.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
