Chapter Text
From the highest point of town Arthur stands observing the overgrowth of life. He admires its intensity, with the trees never ending and the skyline dangling low clouds for the earth to touch. Faint squeals of laughter could be heard, the children run wild and he watches as they separate and join in their play tumbling in the grass and pulling long weeds; their bones wearing away from the heated breath of summer.
There is his home in the east, with its slanted roof and crumbling exterior. He catches his neighbour pulling down white sheets from the line and further down the road finds Kiku’s home, lined with its dark metal fence and slanted garden, sprigs of bright flowers bursting. There is the farm where he works, of the farmer and his wife, bare in the late afternoon light. Even with his eyes closed, he could trace it all, the vivid imprint of his life, quiet and tucked away from the rest of the world.
For a moment, Arthur considers shouting out from the top his lungs to join in with the teeming life underneath him, to prove that he was of equal vibrancy but he is hushed from the blowing winds.
Kiku is behind him adjusting the tire of his bike, trousers filthy with grass stains and mud gathered earlier from their exploration of the land. He was tired; sweat clinging on his raven hair and a heaviness on his shoulders.
They had been out all afternoon, to their usual spot in the fields sneaking away after the long hours of work. They had not known each other long, only seeing each other working day by day until naturally a conversation struck. From then on they had spent their days together Arthur knew the area well unlike Kiku although living in the village for much longer. He was not one to go out much; quiet and observant in nature. It complimented Arthur’s curiosity and led them together with something new, with each meeting.
He was explaining what lay further past the forests and it had slipped from Arthur then; his hidden place past the grove. Kiku had seemingly ignored it, continuing on. With how Kiku was, he had already known about it but never pressed on, though Arthur could tell behind his eyes the curiosity that came. It was only a matter of time until he had to explain himself for his long disappearances.
“ It’s not too late ,” he had said.
“ We could go .”
Arthur is left suspended in his thoughts, an uncertainty brewing within him. A resistance in sharing a comfort known only to him that he rarely shows: his trust still too fragile to give. Kiku seems to notice.
“Are you ready?” His voice is soft, allowing Arthur to reconsider.
Kiku was a break from the chaos below. Arthur is reminded of the wind; he cannot help but feel soothed at his sight. The trepidation simmers, he releases a sigh.
“Of course.” Arthur reassures him.
He considers the scene one last time and takes in all its contents. For the first time that day, he takes a glance at the spill high in the sky surrounding a single bright point. Mars shines strangely in that shimmering gleam, like a pearl in its shell.
Their bags remain abandoned, propped together with the rest of their belongings and bikes on an old oak tree. Work was replaced with more exploration, this time Arthur led them across the forest grove through a clearing until it finally opened to empty fields, littered with shrapnel and tall pieces of scrap metal.
The two sat opposite of a large piece of an old sign, its corner sticking out as if reaching for the sky, but failed to do so. The rest of its body crumpled on the ground, tired and rusting. Its surface contained writing ranging from small entries and observations to more intimate heartfelt confessionals, scratched into existence with a blunt knife.
There are many other pieces of metal shrouded around it, but this one particularly was given their attention. Kiku is full of intrigue as he circles its circumference.
“This is wonderful.” Kiku said after some time. Although Arthur cannot see him he still felt overly exposed.
“When did you start to write?”
Arthur watches as Kiku appears from behind the shard, outline illuminated by the sun, fingers tracing over each entry, as if carding through his very life to later judge in the afterlife. Arthur wasn’t used to sharing much of himself, it tethers to be a little too intimate for him.
“I picked it up when my family were travelling, before coming here. Back when this all started, I’d write on whatever I could. I needed something to clear my mind.”
The hand travels from an entry about a lazy summer day, to an account on the surrounding forest and trees before pausing on a more bitter entry; the scratched silver faltering at his touch. He knows that one well, an argument between him and his brothers, each stinging like a new wound. His hand hovers away, leaving all explanations to be left unspoken, Kiku knowing his boundaries.
Kiku joins his side on the grass, his body relaxing, seeming to melt away. There is the trill of a grasshopper and whispering of the trees. The air is thick and difficult to breathe in the blazing summer afternoon; a reflection of how the people had made their planet, but both had grown and gotten used to the intense weather. Kiku reaches into his pocket for a flask taking a sip of water, he gestures it to Arthur and he takes it with a thanks. The water is warm as it drains down his throat, it doesn’t refresh him but it is enough to satisfy his thirst.
“Do you often look back?” Kiku raises.
“No. I don’t. Do you?”
“Sometimes, when it comes to me. I’ll think of the sea; I’ll think of home. It brings me comfort. You’ve got all your memories stored here ready to visit, I assume it’s never too far away for you.”
“I don’t really come here to think about that. I write how I feel and move on. There’s not much to gain for me looking back.”
“Do you not think of home?”
“What’s left of it?”
He tries to avoid the past, he had come to the conclusion that there was no need to look back. Not with the current circumstances in this world, he had already lived through it all. If he had left it with the others perhaps. Maybe then the world would seem nothing but a distant dream to long about. But he is here, unequivocally and undeniably bound to a doomed planet. He peers up to the moulting colours in the sky, of what is to come when it mixes with the Earth's atmosphere.
Will they burn up as brightly as Mars is now?
Thinking about these things only added more weight on their shoulders. Arthur resolves in chipping away dried mud off his shoes, there was no use in looking up at a sky that binds him.
“I guess it’s different when you’ve made peace with it. In the end, what is there left to really do?”
Kiku’s words linger in the air, like water turning stagnant. It lays heavy in Arthurs heart, but it is the truth. There was nothing they could do.
In the past he had been heavily upset about his helplessness and it remains a part of him that he sees in others too. With each place he had traveled a new regret would be unearthed and the numbness would overtake everything. There was no feeling or reasoning behind his existence, and he would look at life with a chilliness. Within time he had learned to ignore the situation, to detach himself from his feelings and to simply live, though sometimes he is cold to touch.
“I wonder what else you have to write about.”
Arthur raises a brow, but does not reply. He waits as Kiku looks, far away from where they were illuminated by the yellow of the sun; the sky, bruising around him. When he turns towards Arthur, there are soft shadows on his face where the sun does not hit.
“You have now and the rest of this world to write about. Maybe you might find something new about yourself. Maybe you’ll find your worth in this lifetime.” Kiku’s voice turns soft in the end.
“Do you get lost?” Arthur doesn’t know exactly what he was asking for. There was a pause, a slight hesitation from the other, Kiku opened his mouth to speak but nothing came from it. He gives a smile, timid and genuine.
“We’re all looking at the same sky I guess.”
Kiku seems to wilt as if bearing the heaviness of the world. There is a new sense of vulnerability that Arthur catches. There is a carefulness in Kiku’s words, where it no longer felt like he was speaking to Arthur but rather himself, their distance unravelling.
He shys away from the others' gaze. It is apparent there what Arthur seems to lack the most; hope, he had lost it and never looked back. He lived bare and bleak, wired to simply survive.
Kiku was rich like the Earth once was, Arthur is what is left of it.
“At least you have this.” Kiku said, “For when you do feel lost or troubled, you will always have something to lay it to rest.”
He shifted to look towards the metal shard, he had lost count of how many entries he had written. It held more of his humanity than perhaps he did, like an extension of himself, hidden away and easily dismissed without proper observation.
“If only all of our troubles could be taken care of as easily as that.” Arthur breathes, he catches something stirring in Kiku’s expression; a mysteriousness Arthur could not pin down. It reminds him of why he never shares this part of himself. It feels too much, too invasive, too personal, like shedding his skin. His face bloomed from exposure and something more.
The sun dips low on the horizon as if cowering from their confessions. Arthur considers the many other metal shards, their surface blotted with blood red in the low light, dying in their decay. Their dark shadows thinning and reaching out towards their feet, watching the sun set alongside them.
He had kept this part of the village for himself, but now it feels too much to keep.
Quietly, Arthur shifts himself reaching into his trouser pocket to pull out his pocket knife, unsheathing it. The blade gleams like soft candle light, silver blending into his skin. He passes it to Kiku who cradles it, there is a tenderness in his eyes; a silent ask and Arthur’s gentle appeasing. A simple unspoken promise.
He does not see what Kiku had written, but it lies as another mark in his collection of thoughts. He had chosen the metal shard on the left side of his, thinner yet taller than his own.
They stay only for a little longer, never speaking a word, waiting for twilight to replace the day before heading back to the village. There were no lights on their path, only the stars above to guide them.