The Forgetting-Fog
Kimi K2 (0711) and Davinci 002
The memory merchants closed their shutters when the fog came, but Kael stayed open, watching the street fill with silver. It wasn't water. It was forgetting, condensing out of the air, and it tasted of his mother's kitchen before the fire. Kael wanted to dump his clothes down the drain and stay outside, riding the long surf of forgetting Chuyu’s name, forgetting Wen’s face.
Chuyu wouldn't have minded, he’d have danced in the forgetting-fog himself. One thing Kael couldn’t remember about Chuyu, he’d always been such a rarity in the seaside village, the only person who could not only hear, but actually danced to the tune of a mandolin.
Kael looked across the street, into Wen's shop. It was open, though he couldn't remember if he'd locked the door. Maybe all he needed was a break from the street traffic and the machinations of the memory merchants. He wrapped his arms around himself and began the slow shambles across the ancient stone pavement to Wen’s workroom.
He'd gone in there a few times, though he couldn't remember how or when. He'd entered through the doorway at the front of the shop, but times of both Despair and Delivery (he could remember those) had their existence in this room. Maybe part of him always knew he'd return, but fear of imprinting a habit tried to keep him locked out.
No, he had to go in. A thing like Wen's shop couldn't exist "by accident" in a world largely devoid of magic- the organising power of enough choices. There might be rules here he hadn’t yet grasped ... or there might not be any rules at all. It was probably a good idea not to cluck his tongue in those wicker chairs they sit on outside.
It had rained a lot recently. The old stones were saturated with it. His shoes squeaked and he shifted as Wen appeared at the door.
“I couldn’t remember….”
“Hello there Kael. I think that’s forgivable once you’ve been here a while. To be truly present in a thing, you need to take the time to store memories committed to it.” Wen opened his arms. “So come in. A friend is waiting.”
Kael drew in a breath and entered. He’d stepped into the Threshold before, but something inside him needed the door open farther than normal. The threshold had thickened since Chuyu died. Kael wanted to strain against the pull of its walls, to roam in he city internal rather than the external one. Wen rested his hand gently on Kael’s shoulder.
"The Threshold lies in the spaces between things.' Wen said softly. "And then, in the spaces between the spaces. Like the rest of universe, it's in a state of constant change. As things move into the Threshold, there's always a chance they might secure a permanence here. The longer they stay, the more they come to know their new home, the better their grasp becomes and, eventually, they become what they've always wanted to be… part of the world-as-it-is. They begin to lose their identity as they’ve inherited it and become, in this world, whatever they really always meant to be." he stopped. "And sometimes, they acquire something escaping from another place - their former identity comes at all costs, like a loan, to be repaid when they resume their original being wherever that may be." He reached the bench and offered his arm to Kael. White low-armed chairs wheeled in and began bobbing softly up and down in the air.
Kael nodded at first without comprehension. Then, as the chairs began their slow dance, nodding became wiggling and wailing. On and on it flowed. Darkness, persistence, depression, loneliness, joy, discovery, mischief, love, devotion, music, life, death….
"Sometimes desire can travel too far," Wen said with a smile. "And come to the most regrettable of conclusions."
Kael felt tears run down his face like suddenly rained streams, and as he watched no one in the room seemed in the least impressed. He swallowed, hard, as the chairs around him, their wicker arms tightly clasping each other's, ceased their dance. He rested his forehead, sweaty with crying, on the wet backs of his hands. When Kael looked up, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wen's blissed expression through his tear-beaded glasses.
And in that moment Kael turned to him:
"I still love him."
Wen nodded. "So it must be."
Kael pulled down his hood. Beneath, his twin braids pressed to his scalp and dropped to his lap. The red of his hair streamed down his front. And the seeds Count Sol feel upon a woman's breast fell deep within him to grow.
did not want to be
wouldn't have minded
obviously doesn't think anything is out of the ordinary
except it is out of the ordinary
sinister
When it comes to reading the entries it's very difficult to pick a winner, especially with such a strong field of candidates to choose from! The-story-of-the-healer was definitely a◆ About the ending
❧ About the title
❧ About the title