I remember the leaf that so delicately graced across the boy's neck and spine. I remember how my eyes could follow it all the way down to the ground even though it was supposed to be fluttering behind him. I remember how I blindly stated that I could see through him, as if he were a ghost or a figment of my imagination, and how he responded that it was because he simply wasn't real.
But that was a dream; and the scene playing out before me is not.
As soon as I had opened the blinds to let the sunlight wash in, the boy on my couch had become completely translucent. I can see the pillows resting behind his back, and the blankets that he had shoved under him to sit on. His skin has become paler than ever before, to the point that it's almost as clear as glass. I can still see the colors of his clothes, hair, and eyes, but it's as if they're dimming; ready to disappear at any given time.
He's fading under the sunlight, and it's causing him pain.
The logical thing to do would be to close the blinds to keep him from writhing in pain for any longer, but for some reason the logical part of my brain isn't working right now. I'm in awe; caught in a mesmerized state as I watch the boy slowly fade in front of me. If I had any doubts that the boy was anything but supernatural before, then I defiantly believe it now.
But for some reason I don't feel afraid anymore; the curiosity and peculiarity in the situation has blocked out those feelings and replaced them with feelings of wonder and amazement.
And there's just one thing I need to test.
So, cautiously, and being careful not to make a sound, I slowly make my way over to the couch with an outstretched hand.
I remember in my first dream, how I had spread my fingertips to the heavens to will my parents down to comfort me, and how instead of them appearing, the boy did in their place. Right now, the sight of the boy fading right before my hand reminds me of how happy I was when someone actually did show up in my dream. And how I realized that I wouldn't be alone as long as I had some sense of false hope that he would eventually come back for me.
And, in this moment, if my hand phases right through his skin like it did so many years ago, then he is the boy I was searching for, and my wish will come true.
Something makes me draw my hand back though. Maybe it's the fact that he's so clearly in pain, vainly trying to escape the sunlight even though it's everywhere in the house by now. Or maybe it's the fact that in my dream from earlier, he was clearly invisible but he could still touch me and I couldn't touch him. Maybe he's not the boy from my dreams after all, and this is just a trick that my own mind is playing on me.
Either way, I don't really want to know
Shaking my head, I run back to the window and close the blinds. Almost automatically, the boy slumps back on the couch in exhaustion, his breath heavy and staggered. His eyes return to the dark blackish-purplish color they were before and he looks up at me like I was trying to kill him. He begins to shake once again, but the fading stops and all color returns to his skin.
Hesitantly, I go over to him and feel his forehead for a fever. His skin is smooth and cold to the touch, and he flinches as soon as my fingers make contact with the hair over his eyebrows as I push it back. No fever; but there's definitely something wrong.
Staying completely silent, he allows me to readjust his light body so his head is resting on the pillows and the blanket is once again tucked under his chin. Every time my warm hands touch his cold skin, I shiver, and he flinches away from the touch. But he lets me make him comfortable on the couch, nonetheless.
"I don't think I like the day time." He murmurs; his head lulling to the side of the pillow as he looks up at me. "In the light, you can see your fears coming for you, but in the dark you can't see a thing. I'd rather not see them coming than see them clear as day."
I blink in confusion at the sudden philosophy that has spouted from his shaking lips. It's odd; everyone I've ever known has been afraid of the dark, but he just put a completely different spin on it that has made me afraid of the day time. He's trying to distract me.
I shake my head. "Don't try to play it off like you're afraid of the light." I speak, my voice quivering. "It was obvious that the daylight was hurting you. You became almost invisible. Why?"
"I think I like the dark."
It's a wonder to me how both him and I can be so calm in a situation like this. He doesn't know who or where he is, yet he's spouting random philosophies in a monotone voice in front of a girl he doesn't even know. And I believe that the boy from my dreams is now real and laying in front of me, yet my breathing is relatively calm and instead of freaking out, all I want to do is ask questions that he doesn't have answers to.
I should be hyperventilating, throwing things at the magical boy and spraying holy water to make him go away, but now that I know what he is, his presents makes me feel warm even though his skin is cold. In the dream, he said he wanted to protect me, and now I believe that. If only he knew what was happening.
So hold on...
"Do you recognize me at all?" I question, watching as he bunches his pale hands up in the covers. "Like, does anything about my looks or name ring a bell?"
His lids are dropping, eyes foggy and shoulders slumped over with exhaustion. "There's ringing in my ears, if that's what you mean."
I'm starting to feel bad about keeping the blinds open for so long. I mean, the color has returned to his skin, but not as vividly as it was when he first woke up. And his eyes are still black when they were colors of the galaxy not too long ago. Did the sunlight really do all of that to him?
I sigh, seeing how the blinks of his eyelids are becoming slower and heavier with each second that passes. His breathes are more even than they were before, but they're deeper, which tells me that he's going to fall asleep soon.
"Go ahead." I tell him.
"Huh?"
"I know you're tired, so go ahead and sleep."
He turns and looks up at me, his irises now too dark to see the pupils. It's quite unnerving. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
I blink at the statement, remembering how I used to ask my sister the same thing when she was still here living with me. I always wanted her around after my parents died, and made her sit by my bed while I took naps with my small hand in hers. It makes my chest feel heavy.
"Yeah. I will."
...
Two hours later, the sun is high in the sky and the boy is still asleep on my couch. He started to sweat around 10:00am so I smothered the fire and pulled the blanket back down to his feet. It didn't seem to help with the problem, so I turned on the ceiling fan and that seemed to sooth him a bit.
But the suspense is killing me.
I want him to wake back up so I can ask him more questions, but he's sleeping so peacefully that I'd feel awful if I woke him back up. So, instead, I decide to consult the book.
It's still laying on the table where I last left it, the pages open to the pencil-drawn sketch of a boy that looks a lot like the one sleeping in my living room, but it doesn't even surprise me anymore. It's pretty clear by now that the boy on the couch is related to the boy in my dreams, and is most likely the same person. I just need to find out how.
As I sit down on the kitchen chair, Widget hops up to my lap and begins to get cozy with her head on my stomach. I pet her furry head while she purrs happily, and begin to read through the book starting with page one.
"In a land far away," I read aloud to Widget, who seems to be looking at the book as well, "A king with a failing kingdom stands on the roof of his grand castle. As he looks at the wreckage below of a wonderful world that once was, he wonders if he was the reason that his kingdom has fallen. The scenery below used to be one with great beauty. The grass was green and lush, the river was sparkly and blue, and the people used to look up at him with great smiles on their faces. But now all he sees is hatred."
I swallow down the bile rising in my throat, suddenly remembering what happens in the story next. I cuddle Widget closer to my chest, and she stays surprisingly quiet.
"The king is too young to be in such a high place of power," I continue, "and at the mere age of eleven, he realizes that he is no longer fit to be ruler of this fair kingdom, and that someone else should take over instead. 'How?' He wonders, with bitter tears streaming down his face. 'It is against the sacred rules to step down from the throne just because you want to. And my poor dead mother and father in heaven would be so deeply disappointed in me if I were to give up my place as king.' The young king looks down at the ground again, and to his surprise, sees an ocean of brightly shimmering stars beckoning him from below..."
It's the same ocean that I saw in my dream.
"The king realizes that if he were to jump into the pool of stars; he would die." My voice cracks and I cover my trembling lips with a trembling hand. "He realizes that if he were to do this, he would no longer have to be king in the kingdom of hatred that he has ruined. He would be able to go back to his mother and father, and the world would no longer be dark and grey. He'd become one with the stars; colorful and shimmering for all of eternity. But he is too young to die, and the universe knows it."
I stop to catch my breath and look over to the boy sleeping on my couch. Yes, he was too young to die, yet he wanted to anyway.
"So, the gods above created a plan. They would let the young king 'die' and escape his failing kingdom, but they would capture him before the point of vanishing and turn him into a hero, just like the boy always wanted." I continue. "So, as the boy fell off the roof of his castle and turned in midair so his last glace of life would be the stars, the gods made him into one. The boy became The Night; a being made out of glistening stars and dark sky dust. He became the hero for all humans who wished to die before their rightful time, and he vowed that he would show them how truly important they are so their will to stay alive would grow stronger than their will to die. He would teach them how to hold on."
The story doesn't stop there, but I stop reading because I can't bear reading a fairytale that's beginning to sound more like nonfiction the farther I go along. The book is hitting way too close to home, and I can't believe that I haven't noticed the similarities between my dreams and this story before now.
I no longer have any doubt left in my mind.
"I told you to hold on." Says a voice behind me.
And all I can do is nod.