The Breeze on One's Skin

It’s dark when I open my eyes, the black clouding my senses. My hands reach out on their own, yet they don’t appear in my vision. I don’t… I’m not sure where I am, or how I got here. I’m not even sure of who I am. But there is a pull, something is calling to me, beckoning for me to come. Without much else to do beside think, I follow where the string pulls me. It never gets loose, the fisherman on the other side reeling me in with every step I take. There is no ground beneath my feet, I realize soon enough, and not much later I realize too that there is no need for me to take steps. I can just… float. So, I lean forward ever so lightly and my body follows suit.

As I pass through this encumbered limbo of black, there should be questions doing the same in my mind, but all that fills my body is peace. A blanket covers my skin, warm and soft, putting my body at ease. My mind is not fooled. I should be having questions, I know I should, but the blanket protecting me keeps them at bay. There is no time to waste, the pull tells me as it tugs me though the inky air. I can feel it better now, the pull. It’s a string wrapped around my insides, coiling around my heart, and each time it tugs me closer to the end, it constrains my heart, my liver, my kidneys, my lungs more and more. It doesn’t hurt me, doesn’t stop me breathing. But maybe that is because air has not passed through my lungs since I gained consciousness. I try to breathe in, but either there is no air around or my lungs have lost their ability to expand. My shoulder rise, but my chest stays still.

Time passes, I think, but there is no sunrise nor sundown to tell if I’m right. However much time passes I don’t know, but my mind tires and my invisible body begins to ache. I don’t mind the ache. It’s the first thing that has pierced my protective blanket, the first feeling I have experienced other than the fisherman’s string. The hole it leaves stays and grows bigger as more imaginary time passes. Sometimes I reckon I hear a clock ticking in the distance, sometimes it’s a bell ringing. Slowly but surely, however, the hole in the fabric grows bigger, and it rips itself larger as I float further. The ink spills in and takes over my mind, allowing the questions to enter finally. I thought I gained consciousness before when I opened my eyes, but I was wrong.

I have questions now. Who am I? Where am I? How did I get here? Now I reach out again and my hand appears in front of me. I’m glowing. I have a vague recollection of a colorful stick that, when I break it, erupts in light much like the outline of my hand and arm has. It does nothing to dispel the dark around me. With questions still unanswered, the string pulls me further and faster. The ink gets thicker, the resistance more difficult to move through. When I raise my other arm, it’s slower than the first. The air gets viscous and the blanket is no longer there to protect me, discarded many rings of the bell ago. I must be headed for somewhere. The string must come from somewhere, someone must be pulling it. But why? Where? Who? The questions circle my mind, badgering my peace, and I quietly wish for the blanket to return, even though I know it won’t.

I don’t know when it appeared or how it came to be, but I blink and the darkness changes. There is a ground now and my glowing shoes touch the black grass. For some time I stand still as a statue. If I could breathe, my breathing would be ragged and quick. Instead, my hands begin to shake. The pull that has been leading me forward suddenly jerks me back, again and again until I turn around to where I have come from. A gasp escapes my mouth. A tree, as magnificent as a tree could ever be, stands in front of me. I’m sure it was not there a moment ago, or I would have ran right into it. A golden light showers its leaves, coming from an unseen sun. It doesn’t leave a shadow, nor does it illuminate anything around it. I cannot pull my eyes away from the sight. Another pull tugs me closer. A bough lays on the ground beneath the tree, the leaves a solid gold. I don’t know why, but I’m compelled to pick it up. As I do so, the string immediately pulls me back in the direction I have been going and my journey continues. In the distance, either a few paces or a long hike away from me, there is something glistening and the string pulls me in that direction. Closer and closer I get, faster and faster I go. Sound enters the darkness now, the rushing of water so familiar and comforting. I will the fisherman to reel me in faster. I want to see, want to know what awaits me.

The spot of light I saw is a river rushing from blackness back into blackness, only a small part visible to me before it disappears into the unseen tunnel. I recognize the river. I close my eyes and there awaits a distant memory of a grey man sitting at the bank on a rickety wooden stool, a bucket of fish beside him. He looks at me and smiles, the glint in his wrinkled eyes so alike to the glisten of the dark river. I smile at him, but when my eyes open it’s not his eyes looking back at me.

A different figure has taken the old man’s place. He’s cloaked, his face covered in the same inky darkness I have been wading through. But he’s tall, towering over me with an air of condescension that I don’t seem to mind that much. He stands on the other side of the river, beckoning me closer. I have no choice but to follow. My light reaches him, dispelling the dark, and on the dreary bank now stands a sordid man. A shiver runs down my spine as he looks at me and I at him. A long, uncombed beard descends from his hairy chin, spiderwebs clinging to each hair, collecting dirt and dust from places unknown. His eyes are distant, unbothered by the darkness. They look at me like blazing furnaces.

One spindly hand holds a long pole and the other gestures to the river below, where an old skiff bobs gently back and forth. The wood is the same color as the strange man’s eyes, the only two things to have color in this black limbo besides my own glowing body and the otherworldly tree whose bough I still carry. They’re a dark rust color, as if they have been waiting at this river for a very long time.

“Who are you?” I ask.

I’m not sure how I can still speak with no air in my lungs, but stranger things have happened and my mind can’t focus. The man doesn’t respond, merely holds out his hand.

“Do I… Do I get in the skiff? Is that what I’m supposed to do? What is this place?” I try again to no avail.

He points at me with a single dark finger. The golden bough under my arm sparkles. I hold it out in front of me.

“This? What is it for?”

His arm remains outstretched. Without much else to do, I hand him the bough. He takes it and it disappears underneath his cloak. His hand reappears and points at the skiff. I remain in place, waiting for him to say or do anything I can make sense of, but he doesn’t and the pull returns and tugs me forward. I almost stumble over the edge, but catch myself just in time. With shaking legs, I step into the rickety skiff and sit down.

“Where will this take me? Why won’t you say anything? Who are you?”

He takes his pole and pushes the skiff off the bank. The current works instantly, carrying me and the skiff along the dark river. I look back to the strange figure, but find that he has already gone. The river follows his example, disappearing the further I am carried along. Each time I look back, the same amount of river flows behind me and each time I look forward again, the same amount of river lays ahead of me.

The world around me returns to what I have known. Inky blackness surrounds me once more and all I can see is the skiff upon the river and my own glowing body within it. I don’t pay the questions roaming in my mind any attention. I know they won’t be answered while I’m here in this strange limbo. The string around my insides tells me to be patient. I’m headed for somewhere and all my questions shall be answered once I’m there. Peace settles on my mind once I realize this, not unlike the long discarded blanket. I lean back, close my eyes and pretend I’m breathing in the fresh air. My body relaxes, stops shaking.

A bell rings in the distance, I’m sure of it now. It’s loud, much louder than before and unmistakably the ringing of a bell. The sudden sound startles me and causes my eyes to shoot open. Light enters with a flash, burning my eyes with its fierce brightness. My hand shoots up to block the sun high up in the sky, yet it does nothing. My hand is still translucent and the sun is unbothered by my attempt to block it off. Only moments ago I was surrounded by darkness, carried along by a river of ink. Now I find myself surrounded by blue skies and white clouds and a bright sun. The grass on the bank of the river is a vivid green, damp with the dew of the morning. White flowers rise above the blades of grass, gathered in small groups dotted around the green hills.

The river continues to guide my way. As my eyes adjust to the brightness, a town appears in the distance, the river vanishing behind the horizon. As I travel closer, the town fully appearing in my vision, no longer hidden away behind rolling hills, memories start to tickle the back of my mind. I know this town. I recognize the large oak trees and the old, dilapidated buildings on the outskirts. The river meanders through the town, carrying me past vague memories I no longer own. I float past a playground, the empty swing set and the bright yellow slide so familiar to me. Next to it stands the school, the colorful chalk on the stone ground of the empty schoolyard causing me to smile.

The river ends eventually and the skiff comes to a stop. Towering above me is a little parish church, moss and vines growing between the old stone bricks. Once more the ringing of a bell startles me, but this time I’m able to see where it came from. The sun reflects off the metal of the bell hanging high above in the tower of the church. This must be it. My destination. I stand upright and carefully abandon the wobbly skiff in favor of more stable ground. I wish I could feel the sun kiss my skin or feel the breeze brush against it softly. I remember now how it used to feel, even though I’m not sure when that was.

The pull returns now, stronger than ever. It leads me around to the back of the church where a cemetery stands spread out. It’s old and worn-down, many of the headstones taken over by moss and grime. I make sure to walk carefully between them, afraid my ghostly touch will disturb them. I know where I’m headed. I don’t need the string to guide me anymore, so it falls slack. My eyes set upon a gravestone and my body follows. The name etched into the stone is mine, though I don’t remember it to be. The ground beneath me is still brown and loose. Flowers are spread around, left behind by unknown mourners, filling my heart with warmth.

I’m not sure how I know to do what I’m about to do, but I follow my instincts nonetheless. I go to my knees and turn around, laying down on the upturned ground. Slowly I sink into the cold earth, the clouds above still moving across the sky and the sun still beaming down upon me.

I gasp awake. Air fills my lungs in quick, heavy breaths. My body shakes violently. When my nerves have settled down, I look down at myself. Dirt covers much of my clothes, but as I look at my hands, they are no longer translucent. They are solid and warm. They touch my face, my hair, and everything else to make sure all of me is solid and real. And it is. I am real. All my memories rush back in to answer all the questions that have been patiently waiting in my mind. I know, now, who I am.

I sit up and look around. The headstone beside mine reads a familiar name, the same name that belonged to the fisherman in my memory. I know it was him that reeled me in and I know where I will be able to find him. So, I stand up and dust myself off before beginning my walk back to the river.

There, on the bank beside the skiff, he awaits me. He sees me coming and waves at me with that kind smile of his. He draws his fishing rod back and throws it back into the water. The bucket beside his wooden stool is filled with fish. He pulls out another stool, placing it beside him. As I reach him, he looks up at me.

“Took you long enough,” he says. “Now sit down and tell me about your day. Have fun at school?”

I can’t help but smile. Sitting down on my own wooden stool, I close my eyes and allow the warm sun to kiss my skin. The fresh breeze blows through the town, brushing against my solid skin and remaining there like a blanket for the rest of my time.