56th - Winter - 515AV
5th Bell
The fog was thicker than he imagined, and way colder. Wikus could barely see a few feet away, the poor light not helping at all. The dampness of the fog had already soaked his flesh and would soak his pants if he refused to find refuge, his bones aching and complaining as they rattled in cold, lightning running up and down his spine repeatedly. The main street itself had become unknown to his steps, many times having ended reaching a wall or a door when he pretended to follow the snowy road. The waterfall that characterized the city was still frozen, and so the silence was almost absolute except for his bare feet and their moist striding. It was too early to find any activity, only the isolated sounds of someone’s activity reverbing through the empty city. A few voices talked in the distance, a horse whined, and a dog barked, yet their location was a mystery. Like a ghost wandering through the fog, his early rise to enjoy the private morning was almost perfect. Now that he had decided to attempt to fit in better with the crowds and he purchased clothes proper of the season, he felt the urge to not let go of his true attire and nature. Early in the morning was the only moment to enjoy lonesomeness and feel his skin exposed to the elements without attracting attention. Later on, once the fog cleared, he’d drape himself in thick fabrics and try to be just one citizen of the city. There were a few bells to enjoy himself.
Wikus wasn’t going towards a particular destination, but instead he simply let his feet carry him onward. The time spent sleeping between high stone walls had submerged him in longing for the wilderness, even if being out there by himself was a curse. The wilderness couldn’t offer any company whatsoever, yet strangely it did offer a sense of security he lacked whenever he stepped through the gates of a civilized hub. Riverfall being no different from any other place, he was always in wait of seeing the torches and pitch forks outside his window, hearing the mobs take over the stillness of the night, and once again having to escape in order to save his life. The chases and trouble were problems he had long ago assumed were planned for him, and his only task was to keep moving and never leave a trace of his presence. Most of the times, this included not letting anyone get close enough to the truth behind his façade. Wikus’ hand rose to sweep away the condensed water from his forehead, giving a small stroke of his beard afterwards to unsurprisingly find it wet. Unfortunately, the fog wouldn’t substitute a bath, which was a real shame in his opinion. Even so, when no danger was present, he’d always follow his whims. It was his only reward to himself.
His feet ached intensely as they kept stepping on the snow, the cold being unbearable and unnatural, yet his worry was none. He wouldn’t get sick, he wouldn’t cough nor would he spend a day in bed. Of course, that would be irrelevant if he froze to death, which is why he bothered to keep a somewhat fast pace. His eyes were fixed on the white surface, trying to not accidentally follow a path taken by whoever came before him. Looking around, he found no trace of walls or buildings. Looking behind, he found only the footsteps his feet had made. And ahead there was only fog. It was somewhat amusing to find his footsteps were the only ones to lack a boot heel, and instead displayed clear toes on the snow. Winter was always a challenge as his love for flowers was paralyzed until spring came, and his mind retreated furthermore onto constant self-analysis or impossible fantasies he invented to pass the time. Even time froze in winter. The ticks sometimes stretched into chimes, chimes into bells, bells into whole days. Now that he thought about it, winter is the season he was supposedly born. Lacking a precise date or even the mathematical knowledge to calculate his own age was somewhat bitter, but it was enough to convince him that for yet another year he had managed to stay alive. Today he should do something special for himself, perhaps trying to buy himself some flowers if he found someone capable of cultivating them. Perhaps skip work and go on outside the walls for a long walk, get away from everything-----
Wikus’ thoughts were interrupted as he lost his balance, his pondering having accidentally conducted his feet towards a rope that easily knocked him down. Said rope, if under normal circumstanced wouldn’t have tripped him, but the cold was so intense it had become completely solid. Landing face-first onto the snow, his panicked yell was interrupted and instead suffocated on the snow. His flesh was, ironically, burned by the cold touch of the snow, reason why he bolted up straight as quickly as he could. Before him, he spotted a few bushes, empty of leaves and instead only being a mess of twigs. He knew where he was now. The rope was there to avoid people like him from stealing plants or stepping on the rich vegetation present every other season, and the bushes were usually full of colored flowers he had stolen mercilessly the past fall. Semele’s Park was very different in winter that he remembered. Gazing down at the crash site, the impact zone was tainted black by the ink his face had automatically segregated. Ashamed of his clumsiness, he’d leave it there as he only wished to escape, afraid someone had seen him fall like that and instead returning back into the path and wander into the park.
Word Count968/XXXX
5th Bell
The fog was thicker than he imagined, and way colder. Wikus could barely see a few feet away, the poor light not helping at all. The dampness of the fog had already soaked his flesh and would soak his pants if he refused to find refuge, his bones aching and complaining as they rattled in cold, lightning running up and down his spine repeatedly. The main street itself had become unknown to his steps, many times having ended reaching a wall or a door when he pretended to follow the snowy road. The waterfall that characterized the city was still frozen, and so the silence was almost absolute except for his bare feet and their moist striding. It was too early to find any activity, only the isolated sounds of someone’s activity reverbing through the empty city. A few voices talked in the distance, a horse whined, and a dog barked, yet their location was a mystery. Like a ghost wandering through the fog, his early rise to enjoy the private morning was almost perfect. Now that he had decided to attempt to fit in better with the crowds and he purchased clothes proper of the season, he felt the urge to not let go of his true attire and nature. Early in the morning was the only moment to enjoy lonesomeness and feel his skin exposed to the elements without attracting attention. Later on, once the fog cleared, he’d drape himself in thick fabrics and try to be just one citizen of the city. There were a few bells to enjoy himself.
Wikus wasn’t going towards a particular destination, but instead he simply let his feet carry him onward. The time spent sleeping between high stone walls had submerged him in longing for the wilderness, even if being out there by himself was a curse. The wilderness couldn’t offer any company whatsoever, yet strangely it did offer a sense of security he lacked whenever he stepped through the gates of a civilized hub. Riverfall being no different from any other place, he was always in wait of seeing the torches and pitch forks outside his window, hearing the mobs take over the stillness of the night, and once again having to escape in order to save his life. The chases and trouble were problems he had long ago assumed were planned for him, and his only task was to keep moving and never leave a trace of his presence. Most of the times, this included not letting anyone get close enough to the truth behind his façade. Wikus’ hand rose to sweep away the condensed water from his forehead, giving a small stroke of his beard afterwards to unsurprisingly find it wet. Unfortunately, the fog wouldn’t substitute a bath, which was a real shame in his opinion. Even so, when no danger was present, he’d always follow his whims. It was his only reward to himself.
His feet ached intensely as they kept stepping on the snow, the cold being unbearable and unnatural, yet his worry was none. He wouldn’t get sick, he wouldn’t cough nor would he spend a day in bed. Of course, that would be irrelevant if he froze to death, which is why he bothered to keep a somewhat fast pace. His eyes were fixed on the white surface, trying to not accidentally follow a path taken by whoever came before him. Looking around, he found no trace of walls or buildings. Looking behind, he found only the footsteps his feet had made. And ahead there was only fog. It was somewhat amusing to find his footsteps were the only ones to lack a boot heel, and instead displayed clear toes on the snow. Winter was always a challenge as his love for flowers was paralyzed until spring came, and his mind retreated furthermore onto constant self-analysis or impossible fantasies he invented to pass the time. Even time froze in winter. The ticks sometimes stretched into chimes, chimes into bells, bells into whole days. Now that he thought about it, winter is the season he was supposedly born. Lacking a precise date or even the mathematical knowledge to calculate his own age was somewhat bitter, but it was enough to convince him that for yet another year he had managed to stay alive. Today he should do something special for himself, perhaps trying to buy himself some flowers if he found someone capable of cultivating them. Perhaps skip work and go on outside the walls for a long walk, get away from everything-----
Wikus’ thoughts were interrupted as he lost his balance, his pondering having accidentally conducted his feet towards a rope that easily knocked him down. Said rope, if under normal circumstanced wouldn’t have tripped him, but the cold was so intense it had become completely solid. Landing face-first onto the snow, his panicked yell was interrupted and instead suffocated on the snow. His flesh was, ironically, burned by the cold touch of the snow, reason why he bolted up straight as quickly as he could. Before him, he spotted a few bushes, empty of leaves and instead only being a mess of twigs. He knew where he was now. The rope was there to avoid people like him from stealing plants or stepping on the rich vegetation present every other season, and the bushes were usually full of colored flowers he had stolen mercilessly the past fall. Semele’s Park was very different in winter that he remembered. Gazing down at the crash site, the impact zone was tainted black by the ink his face had automatically segregated. Ashamed of his clumsiness, he’d leave it there as he only wished to escape, afraid someone had seen him fall like that and instead returning back into the path and wander into the park.
Word Count968/XXXX
