The river flowed endlessly along with the passage of time. Or perhaps the end existed —only it was way too far.
Memories are fragments of reality —not remembered frame by frame, but preserved through emotions.
That's why, sweet memories were still and tranquil while the bad ones surged with raging currents.
Memories of this boy however, were very different. He had covered those violent waves with false scenarios somehow.
These scenarios were nothing but imitations of reality that he himself knew were false but still tried to put his belief in them.
Why did he do that? Obviously, to avoid more pain.
As a womanly silhouette appeared in the dark depths of his painful memories she posed a question,
"There are hardly any aspects of your life that I am unaware of. Still, that lost time feels to be the most intimidating part of yourself. If I may ask, why is that?"
August was silent. He never wanted anyone to witness what he had gone through. Not even a traitor like her.
Her betrayal meant she was once someone close to him. That was the truth indeed, after his parents she was the only one who knew August actually for who he was.
He had shared a better portion of his life with her. That was exactly why he couldn't let her peek into the moments that he was hiding even from himself.
The violent waves were hurtful and only consisted of pain. As his mother always said, no soul in this world deserves to be hurt.
So he cut himself off from that depressing past.
Because even thinking about it now would mean opening a window for lady mist to peek through.
He replied only by forming a thought,
"It doesn't matter."
The woman with pearl white hair gave out a disappointed smile,
"What you wanted to say is that —I don't deserve to know."
She looked at the sky-water all the same —above looking for the light of his present conscious self,
"Say what you want, be rude, I don't mind. But don't you say that it doesn't matter, Augustus. Because it does."
Her dive into his memories were supposed to make him recall the person he once was, but unbeknownst to her own self she was also recalling the sweet time she spent with this child.
When he spoke however, his tone was indifferent,
"As I said …it doesn't matter."
As a creature of mist, all her life she had known nothing but loneliness. Only in the actions of this innocent child has she seen a genuine sense of familiarity towards herself.
A kind that cannot be faked.
A sense of belonging that made her feel more guilty for what she had done to this soul.
In the madness of her hate she had committed a more hateful crime that was not worthy of forgiveness.
What was worse, she didn't even know how much damage she had done to him.
And August was still refusing to let her suffer the pain.
'what have I done'
Perhaps it was the warmth of his familial affection she had just recalled or perhaps it was her own self looking for a way out of this guilt. She asked hesitantly,
"Say, August—do you believe me if I say I had no choice?"
He was silent, in the tranquil peace of his made up memories even the sound of flowing water wasn't to be heard.
"It depends…" he replied after a while. "Are you saying that you had no choice?"
In truth, she might not have known the consequences but she damn well knew the result of her actions won't be nice.
Hence, there was no reason to lie. It only means she was lying to herself.
"No," she replied. "I can't say that."
August spoke with calm indignance, "then you know my answer."
Of course, why did she even think he would not blame her. What was she hoping for in the first place?
Forgiveness?
No, the matter was far beyond that.
With that she let go of her worthless thought and drifted deep towards the tides.
She saw his childhood, the fragments of it actually. The happy ones and the sad, the things he had experienced and the ones he had not—every blurred frame was becoming clear.
The visuals of moments imposing on each other and becoming whole—true reality. Or the one that had already happened.
With her help August was watching the faded and unseen moments of his past.
She saw him living his life in conditional peace. Joking around his loved ones.
Most of the happy moments consisted of his time with his mother and his time with father —who naturally cared for him, hopelessly so.
Shelly also took a decent portion of his memories, she laughed with him, made fun of him and of course took care of him like an elder sister.
Only when he was away from such familial affection did the mist woman watch him cry in pain.
She saw him struggle under the painful effects of echoes. Every time that thin trail of blood dripped down his ears she felt it too.
The pain, the agony, the overwhelming helplessness.
However, as he slowly grew up the show of his pain started to become more private. Because no one knew the cure to his situation, then what was the point in making them watch him cry in agony?
More importantly he didn't want his mother to watch his helpless state. She had seen enough and every time she would just blame herself and he had to watch her tears fall.
Which was more painful to him than the actual pain.
She dove deeper and saw him happy, she saw him sad, sometimes he struggled and sometimes he smiled.
But every time he would stand, again to fight, to endure the pain for another day.
For someone who had seen the display of his desperate struggle with her own eyes every single time, lady mist couldn't help but be afraid.
Terrified of his resilience, of his determination. His will to stand once again and face this exact pain on another day.
And so they say, if the danger doesn't kill you, it only makes you stronger.
So she was afraid of how much stronger his already monsterous resilience would've become by now.
As she moved ahead slowly with the flow, the years of his life passed in an instant.
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