Why is the world so cruel?
To me, to the boy, Jimson!
What did you do to deserve your death and leave us behind?
Nothing.
This life, these acts of love we endure—never for ourselves.
No. We do it for hope.
That fleeting, illogical drive, that forces us to march forward with the promise of spiritual fulfillment.
It is unreasonable, unceasing, festering, yet necessary. Like a cancer, the feeling can only grow and grow. But without it you die.
So, I must endure for you are no longer with us.
This is the path forward.
My hands rest on Sharkie's matted fur.
The dog pants beside me, his tongue lolls out against the salty breeze.
This dog, Sharkie, has been acting strangely for a bit now, ever since you died Jim.
He's skittish, aggressive, snapping at invisible shadows.
Tim has also changed too; I can feel it.
Sitting ahead on Cindy, he clutches around his father's covered body.
Only the amulet strap and some beads remain, tight and empty around Tim's hand.
The boy's shoulders shake and he sobs silently.
Sharkie watches too.
Strange.
His eyes feel wrong.
They're clouded, distant, with jolts of rage.
Holding him in a gentle but binding embrace, I ride closer to Tim to inquire further.
Fuck
He just tried to lunge at him.
"Sharkie, it's just me," I speak down at him softly, but his growl deepens in response.
This is very, very wrong.
Since the fire. Since the smoke. Past the mud. Then Jim died too.
I never acknowledged it, never needed to. But now, it is evident.
We are not the same.
His breathing is faster now, his movements are jerky too.
I can only watch as his paw trembles, keeping his claws tame.
But that's it.
Perhaps I'm mistaken, maybe I should ask.
"Tim," I call out tenderly. "Is this normal?"
Turning towards Tim, I angle Sharkie up for him to see.
"He's fine." He chokes back, not even turning around to check.
"Has he eaten anything today?" I push.
"He's fine, Desmond." His voice grows firmer, but I still need my answer.
"Tim, I need you to be honest with me—"
"I said he's fine!" His voice cracks. "Just leave him alone. Leave us alone."
"..."
He twists back around staring at his father's shape.
He is a child after all, what am I doing?
I sigh my sigh of resigned air.
I am the adult here. I have to take the initiative myself, even if I make a bad judgment. Before it felt powerful but now it feels burdensome.
I must do what I think is right.
Regarding this dog, I don't know anymore, but, he really seems off to me.
If push comes to shove, I need to be prepared to—"
A blinding light cuts through the chasm ahead. The canyon walls widen. Through the gap, I see green. Real green, not that sickly pale moss of the dark lands.
We must be close now.
Sharkie whimpers vomiting a puddle of black bile landing on both arm and fur alike.
Tim, looking back at the sound sees it as it falls giving me a scared look.
"What's wrong with him?" His tone seemingly more timid now.
I just asked that. I thought you knew. I hold back my bitter words and try to comfort him instead.
"I don't know. Maybe it's something he ate. Just be careful alright."
I swear sometimes, kids, confusing. But that's the point I suppose.
Sharkie convulses once again. More black.
"Des.." His face goes white.
"He'll be okay. We just need to—"
Snap. Teeth graze across my hand. I barely manage to pull away as his jaw clamps down on solid air.
Be rational and patient was what I was going to say, however...
My vision locks onto the dog and I grasp him tighter.
From the corner of my eyes I see glimpses of Tim as he stares back.
You see this, don't you? The way his eyes have gone wrong. Please, Tim, please see what I'm seeing. I can't be the only one who understands the situation. If I have to be the one to do this alone, if you hate me for it—God, that just might destroy me.
"He's sick," Tim whispers.
"He's dangerous." I warn.
"Really sick." He repeats back louder.
"No, dangerous."
"Just look at him." he points back sharply before giving me the side eye.
He makes a point, maybe I was too harsh in my assessment.
After backing down I resign myself to a moment of silence then I try to divert the topic.
"Either way, we should stop here, the yonks need water anyway and I can hear a stream ahead." I try to explain.
"But the prowlers!" he refutes before I cut him off.
"We will only be a moment." I reassure him, preparing to dismount on our approach.
He stays quiet nodding slowly.
---
We find the stream not long after, cutting through the ravine's side. Within its isolated enclosure, it runs shallow, barely clear enough to see the bottom.
The yonks charging over grunt loudly as they drink from the water.
Jumping off in the muddy water, I wade over to help Tim down from Cindy.
However, upon my approach he dismounts from the opposite side, hiding behind the fur.
Ignoring my presence further, he waddles past scooping Sharkie up without speaking a word.
The dog, unable to resist, looks too weak now to hurt anyone.
I should apologise later, my ignorance regarding this world and its culture made me say something offensive. Biting is just a form of play after all, I was being too overprotective.
"Fine, take Sharkie. I need to check on your father, make sure he's... secured properly for the last stretch before camp." I mutter out in defeat.
Tim, with closed ears, slumps flatly on a rock nearby the stream and holds the dog.
Taking a second, I watch them; the boy and his dying dog.
Remember, I'm just a guest here. Speculation doesn't trump experience. I remind myself.
Turning away, I lean over Cindy and pull up his blanket to grab at the pendant now around Jimson's neck.
My fingers unfasten it, working out that tired knot until its set free.
For now I am more concerned about the dangers of this 'thing'.
Holding up the lace, I inspect it deeply.
We must leave it here, bury it, whatever needs to be done. We can't have the prowlers attracted to the camp.
That would only be a massacre, Jim mentioned as such himself.
Determined in this, I shift my gaze back to see if Tim's watching.
"Help!"
Tim?!
I run.
Tumbling around the yonk, I freeze.
The dog has Tim pinned, back against the ground;
His arms are clearly strained keeping the snapping jaws away from his throat.
The dog snarls, completely lost to its own madness. It has become feral.
"SHARKIE, NO!" Tim howls. "IT'S ME! IT'S ME!"
Making my move, I grab hold of a nearby rock.
Both cold and solid it's enough for the job.
Good.
Moving for the finish, I bring it down on Sharkie's skull.
Once.
I reach out as it yelps and staggers, trying to contain him.
No use.
It turns toward my shadow and lunges.
I catch him mid-air then we go down hard.
Teeth snap past my face.
I roll, pinning him down once more before hammering his skull with the rock.
Crack.
A muffled cry, followed by quiet.
"I'm sorry boy" I mutter softly and stroke behind his lifeless ears.
That sound replays itself in my head: Wet, stiff and final before the body went limp.
I rise, my chest, heaving.
Black stains are smeared everywhere now: On my shirt, on the rock, on my face.
Taking a step forward, I look to Tim for assurance.
On approach my shadow only grows bigger. It shimmers strangely as it casts itself over his collapsed body.
I feel intimidated by this presence.
Then the stone slips from my hand, falling into the water with a splash.
Crouching down, I reach out to care for his wound.
"What did you do?" He slaps my hand back before hearing me out.
His left shoulder hangs limp slightly injured. Shallow, but turning red as he holds it with his other hand.
"Tim," I breathe. "Are you—"
"You killed him."
"He was going to kill you. You saw!" I speak to defend myself but it only causes him to fall back on butt.
Scraping the rocky gravel beneath, he drags himself further then further away into the river.
"Tim, look at me. He attacked you. I told you, he was dangerous. That unknown sickness—"
"Stop." His shoulders shake.
"Just stop." He turns away from my gaze collapsing into the shallow water.
"He was a good boy," I murmur. "I won't deny that. But he tried to hurt you."
I spit on the ground to cleanse the foul from my mouth.
"What do you know?" He retorts defiantly and curls up.
"Jimson's dead now. The weight of those words may never sink in, Tim, but whether we like it or not, I have a responsibility now to keep you safe. My life and yours are both entwined and hanging like a threaded needle. I just couldn't let anything unforeseen happen to us."
I kneel next to him offering out my hand.
He shivers, clearly processing everything that just happened.
His face then hardens as he shifts his pointer to the nearby distance.
"What did you do to his body then?"
I turn and look to where he's pointing.
There's nothing there.
"What am I looking for Tim, there's nothing." Then it all hits me.
The corpse. Where is it?
I turn back to him and notice he's only in more horror pointing at something in my hand now.
"Why-why do you have that?"
Shit, he saw that too.
I open my palm and show where the strap was hidden, Tim's suspicious eyes follow each of my movements.
"You were going to take it," he says. Not a question. A blatant accusation.
Should I lie? Make an excuse. Say It must've fallen.
No, that is not what trust is about.
"Yeah," I admit.
"I was going to bury it here. Leaving it behind."
"But why?"
I take a shallow breath then a long exhale.
"Because it's my belief that it is the cause for attracting the prowlers. When your father used it initially, when it healed him, they reached out for it when they attacked.
I thought if I just... removed it, you wouldn't have to make that choice."
"You mean you were going to just take it away." His voice is harder now.
"To protect you, yes."
"By lying to me?" Tim's hands clench as he pulls himself upright.
"By sneaking off and burying the last thing I have left of my family?"
Those words make my gut clench and make me feel sick, but my resolve hardens.
"I made a promise to your father, and Tim, I intend to keep it." I lift up the object in front of his dripping face.
"Your life, boy—this pendant may hold meaning to you. I won't discredit your feelings for it. But we cannot keep it any longer."
"It is my belief that we must let go of the past to move forward. Take my words with a grain of salt or learn from them, hate me even, but no matter how you justify it, the memories of the past hold less weight than the potential of your future.
You can only move forward by carrying the past with you, not being crushed by it.
Don't throw away your life like that, I won't let you."
I step closer. He doesn't flinch.
"Your memories aren't in that pendant. They're here." I tap his chest gently. "Where no one can ever reach."
"But what if I forget—"
"Then you shall forget," I say bluntly.
"It will hurt. But you'll be alive to experience the hurt. That's the difference."
I hold the lace between us.
"Tim, listen to me. I wish I could give you time. I wish I could let you say goodbye on your own terms, bury it with your father properly at Settlers' Camp, do this right. But we don't have that time. The prowlers could already be tracking us. Every minute we keep this thing is another minute closer to dying, you know this well."
"So I don't have a choice then." His voice is hollow.
I pause. Look him in the eyes.
"You have a choice," I say carefully. "But I need you to understand what you're choosing between. Keep the pendant and maybe we make it to camp, maybe we don't. The prowlers might find us. They might kill us both. Or maybe I'm wrong, and nothing happens."
"Or?"
"Or you let it go now. We bury it here, we move fast, and we have the best chance of reaching safety."
"That's not a choice. That's you telling me what to do."
"No." I kneel to his level.
"These are the stakes reality has imposed onto us. The choice remains still yours. But Tim," I grab his uninjured shoulder and hold squeeze it, "If you choose to keep it, and they really come, I won't blame you. We'll fight them off together. However I need you to choose knowing what might happen, the cost of our actions. Not hoping. Knowing. Is that moment worth your life?"
His eyes don't move off the lace in my hand. His breathing is uneven.
"What of the dog then, what did you do to his body?"
"I'll be honest, I have no Idea. How about you, did you see anything regarding that."
At that his body goes still and his chin goes stiff.
"No. I didn't see anything at all." He manages to get out before changing the subject.
"I'll trust you since you were honest now, but please don't do that again. I think that's what dad would've wanted from me."
He finally manages to stand up, and, after thinking for a second, he grips my hand in his, drenching it all wet.
"He'd want you alive.. Even if it meant letting him go." I blabber on, but I think I get my point across.
Stopping in his track he reaches up with his injured arm before whispering.
"I want to keep it. Just until we get to camp. Just for a little longer."
My grasp tightens, about to criticise.
"But why? I can't. Can I? If what you're saying is true, I'm choosing this thing over both our lives. And that's... that's not what he would want. That's not what I want." His voice breaks.
He looks up at me, eyes turning red.
My chest tightens as weaken my grip.
"But I hate this. I hate that I have to choose. I hate that you're making me choose."
"I know."
"And I'm going to be angry at you."
"I know."
Breaking his hold, he takes the string from my left hand and holds it close to his chest.
I stare into his eyes unflinching, weaving my fingers through his brown curls streaked with that all-too-familiar highlight of his golden fringe.
His face catches the fluorescent green glow of the mossy overgrowth above, casting deep shadows beneath his troubled eyes.
What is he feeling? Hatred, emptiness, defeat, a burning, all-consuming rage. I know I deserve it all.
He looks down for a moment, our gazes descend into quiet rumination.
Then, he tosses it away—the string, the ornamental beads on it. They collide against the rockface, scattering and drifting along the water currents before vanishing into the narrow crevices along the canyon's edge.
The echo of their silent fall still ringing in my ears.
His shoulder begins to shake before his holds it again.
Then he leans into my embrace, other arm wrapping tightly around my body, tucking his head beneath my chest, quivering.
"This is what you wanted right!" His voice volatile, fingers clawing at my back.
"Well?" I stare down at him.
"No matter what it was, I realised it never really meant anything to me. I was convinced that somehow holding it would give me some comfort, some presence to his memory, but" He looks up at me with thick tears.
"It was my father who valued it, not me. I don't know why he did, I don't need too. It means nothing. Just please… don't ever leave me," he softly squeaks, "I need you!"
My eyes soften. My heart palpitates.
What is this? I've heard compliments and gratitude many times throughout my life for my deeds, but they never meant anything to me—too shallow, too insensitive, or too misaligned with my perception of my actions' worth.
But now… why does this feel different? A small warmth flickers in this infernal void of mine.
What is the difference? Is this what people call bliss? Why am I only feeling it now?
Lightly, I hold his back, patting it gently.
"I will be here for you always Tim, we'll stick together. You can rely on me just as I will rely on you."
He laughs and looks up at me through smiling tears revealing a struggling but toothy grin.
Then his smile falters slightly. "Rely on you?" he giggles to himself then he looks down.
A smile returns, but there's something different in it now.
I can't bring myself to let go.