"Thinking back to it, I was always told,
'Don't talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.'"
Strangers - Ethel Cain
Blistering wind blew relentlessly across the sandy plains before my eyes. I blinked furiously, my misty gaze beginning to sting. The air was dry and cool, but I'd been walking so long in the treacherous sand that I was perspiring, the wind providing a chilling effect. I felt weighed down by the bag on my back. My mouth felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton.
I need to find water.
I'd ran out of water two nights before and still hadn't found any sign of any town or oasis or even living creatures. I suppose I could have packed more water. In my defense, though, I should have come across another city by now. My assumptions about the difficulty level of traveling a rocky desert were obviously incorrect.
My stomach rumbled, as well. I still had one more bag of almonds left--I hated almonds, but I didn't really have the option of being picky about what little I brought with me at the time that I packed them. Heaving a sigh, I turned right and pushed through the wind, trying to get closer to one of the cliff walls. Perhaps I could find a little cranny to sit down in and finally earn some peace and quiet from the howling wind.
I was actually correct in my assumptions, and although it wasn't very far inside the cliff, it would still help. I lowered onto my hands and knees and crawled into a close-spaced cubby hole in the rocks, taking my bag off and hugging it to my chest. With one more cautious look outside, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the gallon bag about halfway full of almonds. My mouth was still dry, and the thought of eating dry nuts was very unappealing, but I wanted to be further along than I was, so I needed to keep my energy up. Reluctantly, I threw a handful into my mouth and chewed slowly.
I should have been at least within sight of the towering skyscrapers in YorkNew City, but not even one of them were anywhere to be seen all day. My face twisted into a scowl. Perhaps I'd been too hasty; perhaps I shouldn't have left so soon. I angrily threw another few almonds into my mouth, chewing aggressively and allowing my memory to rake over the catalyst events which sparked my fleeting escape a month prior.
My mind instinctively shied away at first--I didn't want to remember at all, let alone purposefully. But lately it was all I was able to do. Everything that kept me from turning tail again and going back home was within the same excruciating thoughts that haunted my mind unapologetically. It was the only way to keep myself sane, to remind myself that my actions were justified, that what happened was in no way my fault, that people of such valor could never learn to care for me and that I would just be manipulated into doing the same thing over and over again until I left.
So, that's what I did--I left. There was nobody to stop me, thank god. It felt like I was under constant surveillance back home, or where I grew up, I suppose. I didn't like calling it "home." To me, home should be somewhere one feels safe, secure, and loved by all those surrounding them. Where I grew up was none of those things. I knew I had a mother and a father somewhere, and in my mind, as a child, I always entertained the idea of my mother coming back for me or my father coming to rescue me. Now, though, I hated the thought. The mere mention of a mother and father was sickening to me. In fact, it was easier to believe nobody had ever loved me even once than to believe I was once loved and then abandoned to a wretched group of slave masters.
Hatred was simple; love was simple. Forgiveness was a real feat. If you asked me, I would've told you it was damn near impossible. If I did have a mother who loved me for even a split second, I can't believe that she would ever give me up to such a horrific fate, that she would sell my soul and my being and take off like a bandit with the money. So, I didn't. She never loved me, whoever she was; neither did my father. I'd like to say I never loved her, but I'd be lying. There was a time, when I was very young, when I would cling to her memory so desperately, when I would beg my own mind not to forget her voice, her face, her touch, just so that I would be able to escape one day and find her again and tell her I forgave her. But not anymore--I'd rather just forget I ever thought like that. It would be easier. Everything would be so much easier.
My eyes focused back to the present, and as I became aware of the dwindling light from outside my little cave, I realized I'd dozed off. I looked down and saw that my bag of almonds had been left open, and a tiny mouse was sniffing around it. My gaze softened for a moment as I stared at the creature, exposed and helpless and hungry compared to me.
"You shouldn't have come out of wherever you were hiding," I murmured softly, as if the mouse would hear me and heed my warning.
As the little animal stood up on its hind legs, twitching nose in the air, I extended my aura silently, stealthily. I had no idea if this would even work correctly, but I'd always known how to do it even after it was constantly blocked. The ignorant thing had no idea what was happening as I wrapped my energy around it, absorbing its own life force. My head began pounding painfully as I did so, even the small bit of energy from the mouse feeling strange and foreign after not having used this ability for so long. I watched, emotionless, as the mouse's body seemed to contort, twisting around as if being ringed out. A gargled squeaking sound came from its mouth as I drained it of the last of its energy, and the limp shell of a body crumpled on the ground beside my bag of almonds.
I let my head collapse in my hands, my eyesight feeling blurry and my breath shortening. The long period of time since having used my exorcist-like ability had taken a toll on my mental and energetic strength. Of course, the constant Nen-blocking I would receive before making close contact with any of the slave masters didn't help. I groaned weakly, feeling numb as I fell on my side, curling up in the tiny cave. My eyes closed, and I tried to relax my pinched expression, hoping it would help with the unbearable headache. The parched feeling in my mouth was what I tried to focus on, deciding it was the lesser of the two pains. I felt blood threaten to drain from my face. Consciousness slowly slipped away.
- - -
Was there a God? Or maybe a Goddess? Did He or She or They care? When They gazed down upon planet earth, were They disappointed with her? Perhaps They weeped regularly over what had come of the world. I like to think They do. I like to imagine a beautiful being, devoid of gender or identity or shape or limit, filled with an ancient sadness over Their creation. Perhaps this beautiful being takes pity on those who see Their pain, who understand the sensations of utter, desolate loneliness while being surrounded by mindless drones droning about their days. It's comforting to imagine that They know each of us personally, and yet they are also consumed by the same indescribable isolation. It's comforting because at least I know there is someone else within or without the cosmos who feels the same.
I was not within consciousness while these thoughts roamed around in my mind, but I was aware of them. It was like I was watching from a third perspective, my brain being on autopilot or something. I watched as questions like these floated on by. Were They looking at me now? Did They care about what was happening to me? Furthermore, if They did care, could they do anything to stop it? Or had I been given ultimate autonomy through my birth, but I had forfeited my autonomy when I thought I could trust other autonomous humans? Would They do anything to ease the sharp numbness raging inside of me if they could? I like to think They would.
The pain in my head seemed to be dissipating as I thought, but my body still felt heavy and immovable, like it weighed two trillion tons and my consciousness was still buried under it. At this rate, I wouldn't be able to lift it for a while yet. Various images flickered across my mind's eye as I began finding peace in the surreal present. Perhaps all of my wondering about the supreme being of the universe had sparked a reaction from Them, and They were finally coming to my aid.
I knew I was dreaming, so I allowed the dream to take its course--at least They were helping me now; I felt gratitude towards Them. The scent of something herby and warm filled my subconscious, and if I could have smiled, I would have. It was a pleasant scent, and somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew it was real. I imagined I was being surrounded by the arms of someone else, someone who understood me and saw me as me and didn't know me before this very moment. Perhaps the God/ess of the universe, Themself had come down to carry me away from the earth.
My eyes opened--or was I still dreaming? Were they still closed? I had no idea--and I looked up hazily. Even though I knew I was hallucinating, I was still shocked and admittedly disappointed at the appearance of Them. God/ess looked inherently male, or at least was taking on a male form while They were present on the earth. The male face above me looked stoic, calm, and gentle. I felt a drunk smile form over my lips. Sure, it was disappointing to know the God/ess of the universe decided, of all forms to come down in, to be a man, but at least He was pretty.
His eyes were a misty gray color, almost amber if they would have been exposed to sunlight. I had the odd sensation of cluelessness when it came to the time--I couldn't decide if it were day or night. Surrounding Him was darkness, but there was a source of strong light coming from somewhere as well. My mind was too disoriented to think straight, but it didn't matter, anyway, since I was imagining all of this. If He wasn't God/ess, I had a stronger subconscious than I originally thought. I felt convinced I was finally being taken out of this world, taken somewhere to live in peace and isolation as a companion to this forever lonely God/ess. The more I thought about it, the more I knew this was the truth.
His eyes moved away from my face and to something in front of us. I couldn't turn my head--it still felt like it was weighing down at an impossible rate. However, I felt something keeping it up. It was then that I realized He was carrying me--or was He just holding me? Were we even moving? I wanted to smile at my own mind, enjoying the feeling of finally being protected. At least I knew nobody could hurt me anymore. Even if I did pass out and I was just hallucinating, I'd die of dehydration soon. One way or another, I would see God/ess.
He looked down to me again, and I felt something touch my face. My body began tingling as a new living sensation swirled around in it, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to be taken to heaven or the afterlife or wherever you go after death. His kind eyes were wide and non-judgemental. His lips were relaxed, emotionless. I felt safe. If this was God/ess, perhaps I wasn't disappointed. Something traced under my left eye gently. If God was this man, I would gladly worship him and thank him for taking me away from this cruel earth.
Is that his hand?
My eyes twitched. He even had a cross-like shape on His forehead--perhaps Christianity hadn't been too far off from reality, afterall. Was this Jesus?
I feel cold.
His arms around me constricted tightly as a strong breeze mussed his hair, which was a dark brownish-black shade, and it fell loosely around his face, framing his pale, pale skin.
Where am I?
My eyes blinked, and I felt myself return to first person, no longer in such a strange dream-like state, but my body still felt exhausted. I turned my head lazily to the side, focusing on what was in front of me. Was that a fire? Was the sun still out, or was that the source of light from earlier? My gaze flickered up to the sky. It was a dark blanket covering the earth; it was definitely nighttime.
Who is this?
As I came back to consciousness, I looked back to the beautiful man's face. Was this God? Was God in physical flesh? When was the last time I was held by another human? Was he trying to keep me warm? Where did the fire come from?
Where did he come from?
The man's mouth opened like he was trying to say something, but it sounded muffled. My ears were ringing loudly, my body tingling as it returned to autonomy. The staticky sound subsided a little bit, and I could hear tones come from his mouth. They were rich and smooth--his voice was soft, not too deep, velvety. I tried to focus on what he was saying.
"...Can you hear me?" said the man, his tone concerned.
I opened my eyes wider, directing my attention to him and using his distinct face, touch, and body heat to bring me back down to reality. My mouth opened, and I tried to speak, but hardly any sound came from it. Instead, I nodded up at the man.
"Are you able to say anything?" he inquired softly, pushing hair out of my face as the wind whipped again.
I opened my mouth again, this time willing a sound to come out of it.
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, I can... speak."
His lips turned up just barely into an endearing half smile.
"What is your name?"
The God-man's question caught me off guard. What was my name? When was the last time somebody had used my name?
Slut.
Whore.
Mine.
Slave.
Wench.
Bitch.
Those weren't my names, were they?
"Do you not have a name?" he murmured gently, gazing deep into my eyes with his wide, intense stare.
I felt soul-searched by him, completely exposed. However, I felt safe. I didn't feel used or taken advantage of. I was vulnerable, but I was safe. He made me feel safe.
When was the last time I felt safe?
"I... I think my name is (Y/n)." It was the first word that came to mind, but it felt like it carried some sort of significance.
Was that actually my name? I can't really remember. . .I suppose it is now, though.
"You think?" The man chuckled, a look of sympathy suddenly shining through his gray, glassy orbs. He was silent for a moment. "I didn't have a name, either, when I was young."
His gaze grew unreadable as he stared into the fire. The feeling of his arms around me suddenly became much more prevalent, and I realized he had me cradled against his chest. I felt something soft and fluffy by my head, and I turned to see what it was. The coat he was wearing was rimmed with some sort of animal fur--I think it was authentic. This long coat was draped over me--I'm assuming he did so to keep me warm. The inside of it was crushed velvet.
Expensive materials. Who is this man?
The question should have raised further questions, like why I wasn't afraid or skirmish at the feeling of another man holding me without my consent. But I couldn't feel those things. It was impossible. The man holding me gave off no energy. I could only read what was present in his expression, and mostly, he remained expressionless. It was almost as if he had no aura, or was using a strong Zetsu technique. I carefully analyzed the strange shape tattooed onto his forehead.
"Do you have a name now?" I asked curiously, enjoying the feeling of warmth coming from the fire.
"I do." His voice was monotone, serious. "Chrollo Lucilfer."
So, he was simply a man? Was he not Jesus? My mind still felt confused.
And why does his last name sound so familiar?