To the East, the Moon was also set in the sky, reflecting a transparent white, and a single flickering star shone prominently from the grey of the North.
The display was altogether unsurpassed in its spendorous beauty, rendering my skin with chills that permeated throughout, leaving me humbly enamored. I reached up to confirm that the sensory dream about me was not simply another projection of a voided mind. All things again in their assumed places, I then observed fragmented shards of remembrance reappearing in my mind. I was not sure if they had truly been mine before, but they were now all I had to know or look upon. I searched but still could not gain any understanding of who I was.
I more carefully surveyed the peaks below to notice someone lying hidden amidst the illuminated grasses, only a rock face below. Slipping a couple times in the vehement Winds, I caught myself on the various rocks jutting out from the mountainside, and slid my way down to the narrow ledge.
Now upon the plateau, I saw him to be a lean, youthful man of his twenties; with short ash blonde hair and bold features, he had fiercely stern eyes fixed on the beaming horizon. I was somehow surprised to hear his voice break through the shrill, calling gusts.
“You know, this place fucking sucks… the skies are always grey and heavy…as if all of the dark clouds in the world have themselves settled here.” Eyes still locked to sky’s edge, he flashed a smile that looked as if the relief of it it had been a very long time coming. Countenance bathed in the Sun’s golden rays, his eyes softened and he continued, “The storms never stop scourging their way through here, and it’s ugly. It’s dismal, it’s cold, unforgiving, and it’s lonely…” he paused as if to catch his breath; of which I noticed was increasingly shallow and rapid.
“But every great, great once in a while…” he sighed slowly, “it’s absolutely beautiful… Though I never could figure out,” he closed his eyes, as to reflect upon something, “If it was worth it.”
I observed a small, steady stream of blood running from an extensive gash tracing down his forearm . The blood gleamed an otherworldly red again the florescent greenery.
He did not speak again.