Hide and Seek

Out of all of my memories of All,  one particularly stands out. It was on a chilly, wintery day. One of those days where everything was bleak and dull in hindsight, but happy and carefree in the moment. I do not experience the joy of snow anymore. Now it is more of a nuisance than anything. However, on that day, it was exciting. 

I think it was during one of those days before Christmas. That buildup to quite possibly the biggest holiday of the year.

Anyway, on that day, All and I were all dressed up in warm clothing. Boots, scarves, hats, the whole deal. Our house is nearby a clearing in the woods. An ideal place for playing around. The game we were going to play that day was Hide and Seek. I was the seeker, being the oldest one. That's how it always went. The first round, I was seeker. The next, I was the hider. Of course, All grumbled about it. He always did.

In the middle of the clearing was a cluster of trees, stripped completely of their leaves from the autumn that had passed. I faced them, covered my eyes with my hands, and counted to ten. There was a clomping of snow, moving away from me, for a few seconds, but then it stopped. All had found his hiding spot. I kept on counting to ten, anyway. No point in breaking the rules.

When I was finished counting, I called, "Ready or not, here I come!" and went searching for All.

I forgot how long I searched for. Minutes seemed to stretch to hours. The forest seemed almost timeless. Eventually, I got worried. My search became more frantic.

And then I found him, standing in the tree cluster at the clearing's center. This confused me. I had never seen him there, and there was no way he could have passed by me without me hearing him. More then that, he was grinning in a rather unnerving manner. But I had found him, and that's what was important.

Instead of playing another round, however, All insisted that we go inside. He said he was cold. I wasn't all that chilly, but I decided not to argue.

After that, All let me be the seeker all the time. He said he was happy with hiding. Every time, he stayed hidden for ages, only for me to find him in a place I had already searched.

the forest had claimed him

Grave

At the highest point of Rhododendron Ridge, there is a grave. It is dark gray, cracked and mossy. The ground around it is covered in rhododendrons; a final gift to the dearly departed. The person buried under it is actually very close to the surface, but the Rhododendrons mask the smell.

Anyway, this grave marks the burial site of the renowned poet, Robetta Nites.

Her poems are noteworthy for being mysterious and cryptic. In times long ago, she was thought of as a prophet, but of course that's not true. She just wrote very vague poems that could apply to future events if you squinted at them.

Of course, that's not to say they're not good. They are! But I really hate people who think prophecy is a real ability. The future is undefinable. You can't see it.

Anyway, here is one of Robetta's poems, 'The Face of the Unknown':

Across the creek of our home
Lies the strange and the unknown
The creature lurks, a curious man,
His legs stand tall, his skin untanned.

He looks upon this town,
With his eyeless gaze
His expression is a blur,
His motives are a maze.

He proposes a simple game,
One only won by chance,
A deadly, unworldly gamble
Played under the nocturnal ambiance.

Yes, that's right. This poem is what this very blog is named after. This poem has stuck with me ever since I read it. I was going to show it to my brother, but then...

Anyway, people have tried to decipher this poem, find out its 'hidden meaning', but I just think it's about the unknown, the strange, the mysterious. Things with no meaning.

That can actually apply to all of Robetta's poems.

Morality

Over the course of the years, the population of my town (affectionately called Rhododendron Ridge) has decreased as people have moved away. It's sad, having a neighbor that you've known so well suddenly move away. It's almost become a tradition to leave without telling anyone.

The nickname of our town comes from the fact that when somebody moves away, they place a rhododendron flower on a little shrine out in the woods. It's an old relic dedicated to the sun and the life it gives. Many a lecture is given on the shrine in history class every year. As you could probably guess, I have no love for the shrine. It stands for loss, and that, well... you know.

Past, always the past. Why are we so obsessed with it? We should be looking at tomorrow, not yesterday. We are fools, slaves to our previous actions. It's stupid.

Luckily, one person who has never moved away is my best friend, Kip. She's a big fan of horror stories and the like. Constantly she creates conspiracy theories about Rhododendron Ridge, like the story that a werewolf lives in the forest, or that a ghost lives in the attic of the mayor's house. Silly things like that. Kip is the only thing in my life that brings me joy now. She helps me move on just by existing.

Despite the rumors, I do not have any stronger feelings for her. We are just friends. I don't think I could ever like someone enough in order to really, truly love. Like most things, it's a meaningless word nowadays.

A common misconception is that you have to be able to love to be human. That's not true. To be human is to feel emotions, any emotions. To not be a silent observer, watching the world fall apart around you, not caring and not doing anything. To be human is to care. And sometimes... the line between 'human' and 'inhuman' blurs. Morality is not black and white, it is black and gray and white and blue and orange. The vague areas are ones in the middle and the ones outside the spectrum. You can't really totally define morality; it is a human concept, and like all human concepts, it could change in the future.

We have to look forward to the future.

Past

Every day, the void within grows.
Every day, the pain, the challenges we face get tougher, making it harder to carry on.
Every day, the present is decided, and through the present, the past and the future.

I know what pain is. Since I was young it has followed me, hunted me down. I know what it is like to lose a loved one. It never gets any easier, that emptiness in my house. I keep on hoping to find out he's still alive in the morning, keep on hoping that it was all a bad dream.

But it wasn't. I have to come to terms with the fact that you cannot change the past. You have to move on, move on, move on. Have to find your own path without letting your pain follow you. But how can you escape the inescapable? How do you escape sadness?

I know that I'm blabbering, saying a bunch of words that look like they have meaning, but don't. However, I need to type. Need to write. I never stop. The keys click and clack under my fingers, never stopping. It is a good sound. It fills the emptiness of my house. I can't look back. Can't. No revisions. None. It is written, and it stays. If I changed things, I would get false hope. It's better if I never change a thing. I never say sorry. It never erases what happens. If I could do that, I would. I'd give anything in the world to be able to change what happened prior to the present. Give anything to save my brother somehow.

His name was... actually, I can't really tell you that. I'd prefer to keep my family members' names a secret. I am Void, and he was All. He was about one year younger than me. When he died, he was eleven and I was twelve. The worst part about his death is that I have nothing to blame it on. He died in his sleep, but of nothing. It was as if someone had yanked out the plug of a TV. Instant death.

I cried. Probably. The next few days, weeks even, were a blur. He was there, and then he was gone. Though we fought often I loved him. To lose him was unbearable.

But I did. Some things are just unavoidable.