Chapter Text
Mother’s Hill was named for the souls lost in the storms that plagued the Mineral Town over the past five years. It must be the most beautiful and most haunted place in this town. A snowstorm claimed the lumber-cutter’s wife and daughter. The innkeeper’s wife caught pneumonia on her anniversary. The mayor’s frail wife fell off the edge when trying to keep her child from being carried over himself by a gust of wind. One would think that people would avoid this place, but it’s the best place to see the stars around here. Some come up here to look for the stars that their departed loved ones allegedly became. In fact, most times that somebody came here looking to jump off the edge, they would think better of it and leave with some willpower and sometimes even a bucket list.
I never understood why people didn’t go through with it until I was led here myself a few months into arriving here. I had no direction in life anymore. I couldn’t go home because nobody would be waiting for me. I was running out of money because nobody was hiring at the time. The townsfolk were wary of me, probably because I didn’t talk a lot (hard to explain why). I was spending all of my spare time in the Church. I figured nobody would miss me if I disappeared. So I made my way up one night.
I wouldn’t notice it at the time, but as of yesterday, I can say that the path leading up has a great atmosphere. There is a lake where the Kappa is said to live, but I don’t remember the name. It’s surrounded by lush forest on all sides except for a small clearing with a flower meadow. Then, in the last hundred feet, you can see everything turn from grass…to moss and lichen…to rock, as if everything was dying. And yet as the ground died, the sky came alive. The light pollution would die out and you could see so many stars, more than you’d ever imagine existed. It was almost as if the spirit of every living thing—plant or animal—was up there.
Had I been thinking straight that night, I would have called it poetic. But I wasn’t. I just wanted to fade away and forget all of the pain this world and I had caused eachother. I couldn’t see my mother in the stars watching over me the only way she could anymore. The breeze that would now hug me and reassure me that I was welcome here was just a cold wind that felt like it was cursing me for taking the easy way out of my troubles. There were not yet little lichens forcing themselves between cracks, no dandelions. Just an abyss waiting to swallow someone else.
Ending it all would have been easy. All I had to do was close my eyes, spread my arms, and let the earth below break my fall…and probably my spine. I wouldn’t have to feel useless, feel alone, feel…anything at all anymore. But then I made the mistake of looking down. Not even straight down either, just ever so slightly so that my chin didn’t hit a ledge on the way back to Earth. Every time the protagonist in a movie was in a high precarious place, somebody would tell them not to look down. It’s the same in real life. If you see how high you are, you’ll either lose your nerve and freeze up or you’ll stumble and fall and end up hurt so badly that you’ll beg for death. And yet, I willed myself to look anyhow.
I saw lights. I attempted to focus. They were flickering and wavering. Were those lanterns, I wondered, or the light of houses in the distance. Either way, there was someone out there. Somebody had found life on the other side of the hill. I was almost jealous, because this was where so many people came to die, but there was a new life so close to them. After a minute, I made out some buildings with two stories, others with one. There was an entire village out there. As I scanned inwards, I recognized some metal buildings, an electrical plant of sorts, a pond, a shoreline, some tents, an inn, a forest, two farms and a river.
I was finally looking directly downward. I expected to see either a void or jagged cliff. Even the bodies of those dearly departed. Instead I saw two separate cemeteries. The one closer to the cliff was larger and held a few dozen tombstones, each flecked with about a couple dark dots. Flowers. The other, which was closer to the river, was overlooked by a small old house and housed five larger tombstones, each with almost a dozen smaller darker flowers. The numbness had long given way to a morbid curiosity. Why were the tombstones separated? Who was buried in each area? Who left the flowers? I took a deep breath and backed away from the ledge. Whatever lay beyond this hill, I wasn’t going to find out by jumping. I left the hill, grabbing some wild berries and herbs for breakfast tomorrow.
Tomorrow. I did not think I would have one of those. Then again, when was the last time I had anything in particular to look forward to?
I was jolted awake by the sound my door opening. The innkeeper’s daughter had come in to do her daily rounds. I should have probably anticipated her entry. Every morning she works her way down the hall, placing empty mugs and packets of instant coffee and tea on each table. She then proceeds to change out sheets on used beds and fluff the pillows on the unused. And every morning she still manages to scare the crap out of me when she gets to my end of the hallway. I can make out a change in her expression once she sees me, but my eyes are so crusted over that I cannot recognize exactly how it changed.
She greeted me as she places a cup and container of drink packets on the table. She asked me if I was enjoying my stay at the Inn. There were many ways that I could have responded. I was enjoying it until I was woken up. But that would be needlessly rude; she was only doing her job. Considering I almost killed myself last night, no. But then I’d be put on watch by the doctor…assuming he thought it was part of his duty to do so. I was actually thinking about dead people. That’s just creepy.
I settled with a bleary stare. She shook her head and proceeded to fluff the pillows of the empty bed and smooth out the covers. I stretched and wiped my eyes I watched her, listening to her humming as she worked. After a moment I recognized the tune as one my little sister and I used to sing often.
She paused and looked at me. She asked if her singing bothered me, which I refuted. In fact, though I couldn’t tell her, I didn’t want the song to end, not while I could still hear her voice. She continued humming, a little more quietly this time. I wonder if she’s still alive, and if she remembers that song…
I headed to the library. The fact that it was a building branching off of somebody’s house as opposed to a building of its own amused me. Maybe I picked out the wrong kind of mushroom, because I thought it was like a “baby” library. Like it was budding off the other building and would grow wider into a huge building of its own. Or maybe the house grew off of it?
When I went inside, there was a young girl at the counter. I didn’t know librarians could be as young as me. She was writing something on a notepad, humming to herself. I attempted to get her attention without scaring her. She slowly looked up, then greeted me, smiling wider than I’d have expected of a stranger. I asked if she had any books on plants. She responded by…laughing? I didn’t think my question was that dumb. When she saw my expression, she apologized. As it turned out, her father was a famous botanist and a great majority of the library was dedicated to plants.
I asked if she knew where I could find books on glowing plants. She dashed to the back and started looking through one of the shelves. She came back with a few—one featuring deep sea plants, one about plants that attracted bioluminescent creatures, one on rare bioluminescent plants, and one about how to cultivate genetically modified glowing plants. I debated taking the first but decided to come back for it later if I was still interested. I thanked her, then searched for a table to read the other three.
I had to say, this girl’s father was incredibly thorough in his notes on each plant. Data that rich must have taken years to compile. The pictures were mostly elaborate sketches as opposed to photos, I was tempted to examine each and every diagram and description that he’d laid out, but I didn’t trust myself to remember everything. I kept skimming through, looking for the flower I’d seen the night before. It was then that I realized I had not gotten a good look at the flower at all. I didn’t know if the glow was from the flower or a creature inside of it. Was it constantly that hue or did it change color with changing sunlight or pH?
By the time the girl approached me again, I was frantically flipping through pages. She tapped my shoulder and I yelped, which caused her to jump as well. She apologized, then asked what I was looking for. Admittedly, I had told her, I was not quite sure myself. I relayed what I had seen at the top of the hill, making sure to leave out the bits about being up there to end my life. I saw a small sparkle in her eyes. She flipped through the book on natural bioluminescence until she reached a sketch of a red tulip-like flower with protruding green glowing stamen.
From what she told me, this was a variety of flower that grew alongside fens and riverbeds. Her father had recently observed a major bloom in the neighboring village. Forget-Me-Not Valley, they called it. While the family was aware of the flora and fauna that thrived there, the news of gravestones was new to them. When I expressed the desire to see them up close, she dragged me by my sleeve out the door. She managed to open the door, flip the sign to ‘closed’, and pop my elbow in one motion. She was going to ask her father for a map so that I could explore for myself as soon as possible.
Yes, the same map I gave Aja years ago I wonder if she kept it still, after everything she went through. At the time, though, I decided to store it in a drawer in my room. I didn’t want anybody asking questions, especially when I hadn’t the words yet to answer them. On another note, I would have to cut through those woods to get to the path and I was really afraid of getting lost on the way. I visited that ledge again the following morning. The flowers on the graves were now clearly red and at different stages of death. I had originally assumed that they would be some strain of carnations or roses, both a common gesture when a loved one died. In the light, the tulip-like shape was clearer. What’s more, there were two people now attending the graves and depositing a bright red flower on each. They moved slowly, leisurely. As if they were at home near these departed people, as if walking alongside their spirits.
The following morning, I planned my trip to the bottom of the cliff.