The Boy on the Edge of the World

Can you hear that? It’s the sound of the world flying to you. Let it come…

So were the words that burned in the recesses of his mind as his eyes - dark-lashed, tired, wondering - slowly blinked away the crust rimming his lids and absorbed the expanse of the black, black sky above him.

Limbs were nothing. The taste of iron on his listless tongue was nothing. The smell of dark, clear pine - nothing. He barely registered the weight of his own body; for all he knew, his skin could be translucent, his muscle malleable, or his blood drained from his brain. 

He was a waxy corpse stretched across the dark ground and left out to dry. 

Who am I?

There was only silence. 

Why am I here?

There was only the horrible blackness of the world around him. 

Am I the only one left?

He had never realized how draining it was to simply move. How much effort it required to gather his hands and feet beneath him and push until he was teetering upon the patch of land he had awoken on. 

And it was cold. Freezing, numbing cold that blanked out all other thoughts and questions aside from: Why is it so cold? 

That was when he discovered something life-altering: it wasn’t completely dark. The faintest glimmer of blue light washed over his skin, lending it an almost alien quality as if it was stretched too far over his bones. Unlike his brittle body, it emitted warmth, and in that warmth, he gleaned the comfort that he desperately needed.

Fire. 

A blazing wad of bright blue flame, tented and roaring over a heaped pile of charring logs, sat six feet away, throwing out heat in every direction but his. His hands, the nails torn and practically claws, groped through the black, loamy soil, dragging himself inch by excruciating inch until that blessed heat washed over him like a hot bath. But as he curled by that blue fire in a fetal position, veins prominent through moist, pale skin, he wondered: why can’t he remember anything about his past? 

He realized, very quickly, that the fire had to be burning at all times, or else he would die. 

Deprived of food and depleted of strength, the boy was astute in knowing that the warmth and limited companionship that the fire brought him was the only thing aiding his will to live. He still had no recollection of anything, but he knew this much; he would go truly mad if the fire burned out. When a tough wind had blown haphazardly across the plain, the fire had flickered, and as it did, a terrible chill had descended upon him, causing his limbs to fold and his heart to stutter. He’d quickly fanned the flames, and when they’d grown slightly, he’d felt the rhythm of life in his body begin to carry on once again. 

What am I supposed to do now? he wondered. Spend an eternity tending to a fire in the middle of nowhere? He knew that in his past, there had surely been…other people. But where were they now?

I’m alone. He knew this, and yet he could not quite wrap his woozy head around the concept. 

Then he heard it: the shuffle of movement. And it was not coming from him.

“Heave…ho…come and go…” sang a plaintive voice, high-pitched and trembling as if on the verge of tears but still retaining a measure of dignity. “The seas forever roll…”

Then, a deeper, more mournful voice joined in: “Heave ho....heave ho....Death will part its pearly shores, heave ho…”

“Hello?” the boy whispered, painfully pushing himself upright with his arms and crawling forward, for stars wobbled around the blue fire whenever he tried to stand. 

Throughout the crackling blue-black shadows approached two figures, walking side by side almost cautiously, but there was no doubt; the lilting, melodic voices had come from them.

“Hello.” Perhaps they would continue to walk past him until they were swallowed up by the darkness again, and he would truly be left to die here in an unforgiving, unfamiliar world. The thought of such a fate compelled him to drag himself forward a few more inches. “Hello!”

The figures continued to walk forward, the blue firelight illuminating small parts of their faces at a time, until finally they halted six feet away, eyes veering toward him. A woman and a man. He wasn’t sure how he knew this. 

The woman was much shorter, a waterfall of ebony hair blanketing her back. She wore a veil shrouded in blacks and grays, her pupils so glossy and dark that they nearly swallowed up the whites of her eyes and her skin glowing a brilliant white; it was as if she was not from this terrible world, but another dimension entirely. The man, meanwhile, was taller but a hunchback; everything about him spoke of gray, destitute, wrinkled, and sagging, from the folds of his leathery skin to his trailing robe. Together, the pair made a sharp contrast. 

“Hello,” the boy said again in a raspy voice that startled him. 

“My stars!” The woman’s face broke into a dazzling smile. “A survivor!”

“You shouldn’t be excited about that, love,” the man muttered, eyeing the boy’s pitiful condition with a touch of disdain. “He barely looks alive as it is.”

“Where…” The boy coughed, wet his lips, and tried again. “Where are we?”

“Hell,” the man snapped. 

“Hush, dear,” the woman soothed. “You’re alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But…where is everyone?”

“Gone,” the woman said sadly. “You weren’t alone, child. There were others like you who survived the Crisis. But…this world is too harsh for humans to overcome.”

“Yes,” said the man, stalking closer. “So why are you still alive?”

“The fire,” the boy whispered. “It’s kept me alive.”

The man’s eyes shot instantly from the fire, merrily emitting blue sparks, then he rounded on the woman with startling speed. “You! You did this! He would have died if not for-”

“Do we not need at least one original human?” the woman asked calmly. “The fire was a precaution; there was no certainty in this boy’s survival.”

The man gnashed his teeth, glaring at her, and the boy felt strung out between both sides of the mysterious argument, of which he was barely comprehending. “Now what?”

“We continue on our way,” the woman said.

“And the child?”

She glanced down at the boy then, her luminous gaze full of pity and resolve. “We cannot take him where we’re going.”

“Where are you going?” pleaded the boy, sensing that he was about to be left alone again. 

“To the rest of this world, whatever it entails,” replied the woman. “To see what’s left.”

“But…”

“Life,” the woman said quietly as she knelt in the dirt to take the boy’s gaunt hands, “is a beautiful, terrible thing. You may curse it as you fight to survive. You may wish you had not been the sole survivor. But take it as a gift. It is fleeting. It is ever-lasting.”

“But how?” the boy managed to say. Look around, he wanted to tell her. We’re the only ones. Clearly, it is not. 

“You cheated, boy,” the man said gruffly. “By breaking this world’s natural laws, you’re chained to this place, by this fire, alone, for the rest of whatever life you will be able to lead.”

“So this is my punishment?”

“Death would be your punishment,” the woman said, but as those words left her lips the man uttered, “Yes, Eternity is your damnation.”

They both scowled at each other. 

“Which is it?” the boy asked, shivering as the shadows drew longer claws across the dirt and seemed to darken the sky above him even though the cold was so frigid that it shook him to the core. The blue fire danced on and on…

The woman looked at the boy, her black eyes containing, perhaps, a hint of regret. “Why can it not be both, dear boy?”