Across the Fallow Plains (wip)

The ground was muddy after a recent shower, and Micah had to take care not to slip. Thankfully, after walking this way many times before, the ground had been worn down into a narrow trail, so they could see where they were stepping. They made sure to tread carefully near puddles, but occasionally the path was so flooded they had to step into the surrounding foliage to avoid getting wet.

The sky stretched high above Micah, a blanket of grey clouds sometimes broken by a muted blue. The sun, obscured and softened, hung low in the sky. It was a shame they were only able to forage so late in the day, but the rain had only just stopped and they were going that day, gosh darn it. They always went this time of week. As soon as the clouds gave way to the blue sky behind, Micah had picked up their satchel, put on their boots, and rushed out of their shack.

The valley wasn’t that far anyway, if they were quick about it they were certain they’d return before nightfall, and replenishing their dwindling food stock was well worth the (minimal, in Micah’s opinion) risk of getting caught in the night and facing what lurked in it.

Micah slowed down once again, the ground was soaked and they were nearing a bluff, so they had to be extra careful. They made sure to stay far away from the edge, the ground was unstable there and if they fell into the valley below it’d all be over. Micah looked past the bluff into the valley. A large river cut through lush grass, and many thick plants adorned the valley floor, a welcome contrast to the plateau they were currently on. There were plants up here, sure, but a lot of it was just sandy dirt, and the wild radishes here were always small and dry.

When Micah looked down into the valley, they thought the plants looked brighter than they had last week, and like they sagged a little less. As if they were able to reach up to the sun a little more. The recent rains seemed to be doing them good. Which was good, because there had been a bit of a dry spell lately, and Micah noticed that their food was a little more small and tasteless than usual. Hopefully the plants they foraged would be more substantial this time.

Micah sighed a breath of relief. As annoying as it could be to always check where they were walking, they were thankful for the recent rains.

Micah arrived at their usual foraging spot a little muddy but otherwise alright. It was on a little hill in the valley, hiding the wild radishes and field mustards that grew there from view. Micah stood back from the plants, sizing them up. They didn’t have much time, so they wouldn’t bother with digging for the radish bulbs. They would just break the long stems of the plants at ground level, and fold them into their satchel.

There were white clovers covering the ground as well, so once they were done with the other plants, Micah would take fistfuls of them back to their shack. The flowers of the white clovers tasted pleasant enough on their own, but this time they would brew them into a tea instead of keeping them as snacks. Having something warm to drink during the new, rainy days would be nice.

They knelt down, and went to break a radish stem, when they heard a chattering sound coming from the other side of the hill.

Oh god, could that be a saxilio? Flashes of stubby legs with terrible claws and thick, thrashing tails ran through Micah’s mind. They usually only came out at night, but it wasn’t impossible to see them during other times of the day. With any luck, it would be a saxilio youth, they were much smaller and Micah could outrun them in a pinch. They would usually lose interest if their prey got far enough away from them. If it was a saxilio, it hadn’t noticed them yet, so they might be able to sneak away.

Micah held still, trying to see if they could hear the horrible grating of a saxilio’s stone limbs, or the clamp of its jaws in its eyeless, featureless face.

Instead, as they listened, the chatter gave way to actual words. That gave Micah pause. It couldn’t be a saxilio, then, as they weren’t intelligent enough to actually speak. All they did was make weird babbling sounds. In fact, no creature was capable of human speech. So then, it must’ve been a person?

It sounded like someone was grumbling something, though Micah couldn’t hear what. There were shuffling sounds, and the occasional harsh step. Maybe they were kicking the grass? In any case, they weren’t a saxilio, so at least Micah wasn’t going to get eaten, probably. They could relax a bit at that. But that just raised the question, who was this mysterious person in the river valley?

Micah approached the hill as quietly as they could. They knelt down in the grass, and after placing their hands on top of it, they slowly peaked their head over.

There was a person on the other side. They looked young, maybe around Micah’s age. Their hair was a brown so dark it was almost black. It was short around their ears, but was a bit long by their neck and the top of their head. Dark brown hands tucked themselves into the pockets of a faded green jacket. Suede boots paced back and forth, and some patches at the toes had been worn off. The person themself, grumbling and looking down, looked worse for wear.

There were scratches across their cheek, and one of their sleeves was torn open. Micah couldn’t see well, but they thought they saw flashes of red beneath the hole. Mud was streaked across the person’s pants and shoes, and it looked like they had gotten caught in the rain. They didn’t look soaked, but they didn’t look dry, either. Their face, downcast, was stormy, and as they paced they carried themself with a frenzied energy.

Micah perked up, now that they were closer it seemed they could make out some of what this mystery person was saying.

“Stupid rock lizards…” they said, pausing their pacing to kick the ground. Then they crouched, and tangled their hands into their hair. Miserably, they went on, “How am I going to get back…? I don’t even know which way I came from…”. Slowly, they lowered their head into their lap, and went quiet.

…Well, Micah thought they’d seen enough. Their previous trepidation forgotten, they stood up and hopped down the hill.

The other person quickly looked up, and for a moment, their eyes went wide. They looked like a scared rabbit, poised to flee. But then their face collapsed into relief, and they said,

“Oh! Oh my gosh, hi! I didn’t see you there, do you have any idea where we are?”

Micah gave what they hoped was a kind smile, and with one hand gripping tight on their satchel, they gave a small wave. They could tell they were a bit stiff, but it had been so long since they had interacted with another person they had forgotten what exactly they were supposed to do.

As they walked toward the stranger, they whipped out their notebook and pen, flicking past pages of recipes and locations of food. They wrote, the other person watching them patiently as they did, “We’re in a river valley. I don’t know what it’s called, sorry. Are you lost?”, and handed it to them.

As Micah watched their eyes flit over the page, they couldn’t help but wonder where they had come from. They’d never seen anybody else in the river valley in all the years they’d lived there. It sounded like this person hadn’t intended to be there, either. And were they alright? They looked pretty beat-up…

“Oh…” the stranger said, and they sounded put-out. “Yes, I am lost.” They returned the notebook to Micah, and started fiddling with the sleeves of their jacket. “Um, I’m part of a group of travellers. We go to all different kinds of places, which means we have to search for resources everywhere we go. After we set up camp, I started scouting the area, and I…”

They grimaced, “I wasn’t careful.” A guilty look came over them, and suddenly they rushed to defend, “Nothing usually happens! I’ve been fine every time before. But I guess it was the evening.” They sighed, “I didn’t pay attention to my surroundings. Suddenly, a bunch of saxilios came outta nowhere! They almost tore me apart…” They gave a nervous chuckle, shuffling slightly, “I managed to outrun them, but I found myself lost. I barely knew where I was to begin with, so it didn’t help when I just ran in a random direction…”

They sighed, and looked down at the ground. Lacing their fingers together, they continued, “I tried to turn back, but I must’ve gone the wrong way… I’ve been walking for a few days now.” At that, they looked back up to Micah.

Well, that… wasn’t good. If they were wandering for a few days already, then Micah doubted they’d be able to find their way back on their own. Combine that with their injuries and generally haggard appearance, and it didn’t make for a pretty picture.

Micah gave them a concerned look, and a new worry came to them. They wrote it down in their notebook before turning it around,

The stranger’s eyes widened, and they gave Micah an offended look before quickly shaking their head,

“No! Of course not! It’d be a month or two before the thought of leaving would even enter their minds. We wouldn’t give up on each other that quickly.”, they finished fiercely, levelling Micah with a determined gaze that bordered on a glare.

Micah raised their hands in a placating motion and gave a short nod. They hoped this person knew they didn’t mean any offence. The other person nodded back, and placed a hand on their arm, looking much more drained than they had before.

Micah suddenly felt helpless watching them be so sullen, and they shifted uncomfortably. How could they help this person? They gave them a quick once over again. They could at least offer them a warm meal and a place to get dry. Their shack wasn’t far, and they at least had enough supplies for that. This person couldn’t find their way back, but at least their group was still in the area…

Micah quickly looked up at the other person, causing them to jump, and, clutching their notebook tightly, they quickly scribbled something down.

The other person looked stunned for a moment, before placing a hand on their chin and looking into the sky. A smile began to stretch their face, and they looked back at Micah. They said, with tentative hope in their voice,

“Yes, actually. We were at the head of a valley, and there were these small… train? Tracks, and the remains of what looked like a kiosk.”

Micah gave them a vigorous nod, and looked down at their notebook, tapping the side with their pen. Okay, train tracks, kiosk. They thought back to all of their explorations through the valley, trying to remember anything that fit that description. Going south meant eventually reaching the ocean, and there were structures there, but nothing that fit that description from what Micah could remember. Plus, there was a beach there, so they probably would’ve mentioned it if their camp was there. West and north were more wilderness, Micah had seen a few campsites but nothing else. East…

A few weeks walk to the east, there was a town. The closer you got to it, the more man-made structures there were, but the structures stretched out even far away from the town. If there was anything like what this person described, it would be around there. They remembered, from the little they decided to explore during supply runs… park signs, fences, benches… and near the benches, in a grassy area with concrete rubble… was a kiosk! A kiosk, overlooking mini train tracks that wound around small hills.

Micah excitedly wrote down that they knew where the camp was, but hesitated before they showed them. If they gave this person directions, Micah was sure they could find their way, but would they? How many days would it take them, unfamiliar with the path as they were? They probably would get there relatively unscathed, but…

Micah thought back to the cuts along their arm and face, the miserable way they laid their head on their knees, the homesickness Micah could feel lurking behind their eyes...

No. It wouldn’t do. They’d get to their group a lot faster and more comfortably if Micah was there to guide them.

That decided, they amended their message and turned it around, throwing the other person a triumphant grin,

“I know where that is! It’s a two week walk to the east. I’ll take you.”

The other person’s face lit up, and they clasped their hands together in front of them while giving Micah the biggest smile they’d seen on them so far.

“You do!? Oh my gosh, thank you so much! And you’re even taking me as well, thank you!”

Micah gave them a smile, and waved their notebook in front of them in a way they hoped communicated ‘no problem’. It was then that they realised something, and wrote,

“Since we’re going to be travelling together, we should introduce ourselves. I’d really like to stop referring to you as ‘that person’ in my head. My name is Micah, they/them.” They handed over their notebook.

The other person read it over before blushing, “Oh! Yeah, for sure. Sorry, I uh. Forgot to ask for your name.” they rubbed the back of their neck. “My name’s Sylvester, but you can call me Sylvie! I use he/him pronouns” he said with a winning (if not slightly abashed) smile.

Micah shot him an amused grin while they were handed back their notebook. They silently hoped Sylvie didn’t notice that they had also forgotten to do introductions. While facing him, Micah’s eyes inevitably drifted towards the skyline, and they felt a small shock when they realised it had changed colour. The remaining clouds were set aglow with a subtle gold, and the sky had changed to a strange [wheedling] shade of blue that was tinged yellow at the edges.

Micah hoped they managed to tamp down any alarmed expression they may have had before Sylvie saw and got frightened. They wrote in their notebook, and flashed Sylvie what they thought was a reassuring look.

“Let’s go back to my place. It’s getting late, and we need to prepare for our journey anyway.”

Sylvie looked around himself, and said with a worried expression, “Oof. Yeah, let’s do that. I’d hate to be out in the open at night.” He punctuated that with a nervous laugh, and it was a sentiment that Micah couldn’t help but share.

Micah swept the air with their arm in a ‘let’s get going’ gesture, and turning towards the way leading back up to the plateau, began to lead Sylvie back to their shack.

While Micah wanted to say that the path from their shack to the foraging grounds was just as short as they made it out to be, with the sky ever-darkening, the walk back felt much too long for comfort. Evidently too long for Sylvie’s comfort too, since the whole walk back Micah had to reassure him that the shack wasn’t too far. When the shack finally came into view, the relief between them was palpable.

It had sturdy walls made from thin wood planks, which Micah had personally taken from wood pallets, that had lasted them years of wear-and-tear. They only occasionally had to replace or reinforce sections. There was a blue tarp that lay over the roof, and Micah mentally pat themself on the back for deciding to bring it back from a broken department store, because it did an excellent job of keeping out the rain. The door was made from a portion of a tree that had broken off, and Micah prided themself on adding a rudimentary lock to it. All of it came together to create their home, a place of their own they managed to create over years. The fast-approaching night only served to make them really appreciative of its existence, again.

Their heart began to beat faster with anticipation– they were almost home-free. They resisted the urge to look around, because wouldn’t it be just like the world to be ironic, and have something try to chase them down when they were so close to safety. Micah wanted nothing more than to run up to the door and throw themself inside, but they felt as though any sudden movement would alert some nefarious creature, or indeed, perhaps the world itself, that they were onto their little plan, and would spur it on to pouncing on them before they were close enough to the shack to safely escape.

Which was most certainly not what was happening. There was probably no creature about to pounce, which was why they wouldn’t even bother quickening their pace. Not to mention, it’d be really embarrassing if they just started sprinting towards the door in front of Sylvie (or worse, it might scare him. They might make him think that they really were being chased).

Once they were upon the shack Micah wasted no time opening the door and ushering Sylvie inside. It was only once the door was shut and locked that they could relax. Micah could practically feel the tension leave the air now that they were finally inside. Micah took a moment to collect themself and formulate a gameplan before they started writing in their notebook.

Sylvie was looking around their shack when they turned around. They were currently in the storage room, so there were many things to see. Shelves lined every wall, and while most of it was filled with preserved food and utilitarian items, Sylvie’s eyes would catch on their more eclectic belongings. He was eyeing a small snowglobe with curiosity when Micah’s sudden turn caught his attention. Micah held out their notebook while pointing to their bedroom, which was attached on the left side of the storage room.

“This is my house. Please take a seat on the bed, I need to ask you some questions while I prepare dinner.”

Sylvie hmmed, and gingerly walked the five steps needed to reach the bed. He sat down carefully, clearly trying not to disturb any of the clothes and items dumped on their bed or the nearby shelves. “You’re even giving me dinner?” He said, “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”

Micah shook their head and waved him off. Nonsense! As if they’d just leave him hungry if they had enough food. Micah slung their satchel into a corner and grabbed a large jar from a shelf before making their way into the kitchen. It was a small thing, but then again, the whole shack was small. They took a large frying pan out of a cupboard and placed the jar on the counter. After they put the pan on a hotplate and sprayed a little canola oil, they took the jar into their hands. Slabs of meat were curled inside, submerged in a yellow liquid. The meal wouldn’t take too long to make, since it had been cooked before being preserved in the jar. They would just be making it more palatable.

After washing their hands and gently placing the meat in the pan, Micah got out their notebook and wrote down some questions for Sylvie on a blank page. Where was his camp in relation to the kiosk? Were there any other landmarks he could remember? Describe the landscape. Did his camp make a fire, set up tents, or make any other obvious structures? While Micah knew the general location, any details could be greatly helpful. They slowly tore out the page (it hurt their heart to do so) and handed it to him before returning to the food.

Sylvie was just behind the corner, so Micah couldn’t really see him from where they were in front of the hotplate. But from the soft thumping they could hear, they thought Sylvie might be swinging his feet against their bed as he considered their questions.

“Hmm, well…There were a bunch of these orange flowers where we were, and there were lots of small hills as well. But we were on a larger hill that was next to another large hill, and there was this great steel bridge that ran between them. I was too nervous to walk across it, though. It looked really rusted.”

Micah checked that the meat wasn’t going to burn immediately and walked a little towards the storage room. Now they could keep an eye on their dinner and actually see Sylvie if they leaned a bit. Just as they thought, he was swinging his legs. Then he got a contemplative expression and looked towards the ceiling, bringing up a hand to frame his face with a finger and thumb.

“Our camp isn’t that far from the kiosk, maybe a half hour walk. We set up tents! They’re a dusty red colour, and there’s tarps hung over them on poles. Well, maybe,” Sylvie suddenly took on a rueful look, “We always have these silly arguments over whether we should hang them. I’m half-certain it’s a joke, but people get so passionate it’s hard to tell. It’s been raining a lot recently so we’ve mostly been keeping them up, but there’s always a few people who want to test fate. They’re really committed to the bit!” He threw his hand up.

[They share personal, light-hearted stories. Sylvie probably mentions how his parents built the smokeless campfire and brags about them. Micah shares some fun things they’ve done, like making ink and notebooks or gardening. Or exciting things that’ve happened, like climbing trees or outrunning saxilios. Since they only ever mention themself, they imply they’ve lived by themself for quite awhile (like, ‘cus the stuff they’ve mentioned was years in the past).

Micah calls Sylvie over to help with dinner ‘cus they’ve just been leaning around the walls this whole time, so it’ll be easier to talk to him + cook if he’s there.]

Sylvie came over, and looked slightly baffled when he saw the meat slab. He seemed to come to a realisation, though, since the confusion quickly slipped away. They milled around the kitchen, adding spices and otherwise prettying up their dinner in between conversation. Micah had to show Sylvie where they kept all their kitchenware, and soon enough they were bragging about the hinges and the magnetic strips they added to the cabinets and showing off all the garnishes they made themself.

Sylvie moved with the same gingerness as he had before. His arm was rigid as he dropped some rocket leaves onto the meat.

“How come you’re so stiff?” Sylvie looked at their notebook and then them with a suddenly very perturbed expression.

“I feel like if I touch a Single thing I will Shatter it into a Million Pieces. There’s just so many things on shelves and countertops, it would be so easy to bump into stuff and send it to the floor.”

Micah blinked, “Relax. My shack’s made of tougher stuff than that.” They should know! They built the whole thing, they’ll be damned if a little bump sent it all to shambles. “If you break something, I won’t be mad,” Well, if he broke one of their trinkets, they’d be a little mad. “I won’t be ~~mad,~~ *too* mad, since it’d be an accident.”

He turned back, and while his movements were more assured as he flit around the kitchen, there was a lingering uneasiness to his gait.

Micah tapped Sylvie on the arm with their pen, “Most of this stuff is replaceable anyways. No harm no foul. And if you replace it *yourself* we’re definitely golden.”

Sylvie gave Micah a small smile, and seemed to relax more, “Right, right. Of course.”

Micah examined him. He definitely looked more at ease than he had been, his back wasn’t as straight and his arms weren’t tense. From what Micah could tell, he seemed like he earnestly believed that it wasn’t a big deal. But there was still the slight tenseness in his jaw, and his grip around a glass bottle of dried cilantro was tighter than it had to be. Micah looked back at his face and realised that he looked tired.

And, Micah had never been that good at parsing expressions and body language // incongruent with initial meeting. Change needed. //, even when they were around people near constantly. So, maybe they were misreading him entirely, let alone their next conclusion. But, as they cast their mind back, particularly to when they first met, they became less sure this was entirely about wanting to respect his host’s belongings. Micah tried to think back to his expression when they first entered their house, or when they were just chatting a moment ago, but it was too fuzzy. They just couldn’t remember well. Had Sylvie looked like this the entire time? Had they just not noticed?

There was a blanket of uneasiness that had settled over Sylvie. An undercurrent to all his actions. And Micah wasn’t sure it’d ever go away until he’d been reunited with his group. They felt their face begin to twist, and flattened it hopefully before Sylvie had noticed. That was probably too much to hope for, so Micah just dropped their gaze to their notebook and hoped Sylvie wouldn’t be able to understand it.

“But, y’know…” they began, the previous mood clung to them like a static buzz and they tried to brush it off as much as possible, ”maybe throw in a little something extra, and I’ll forget all about it.” they tried to affect casualness, but they weren’t sure if they actually succeeded. Hopefully they didn’t look off, or hopefully Sylvie was just as bad at reading people as they were. They did the best to lighten their thoughts and put on the sleaziest expression they could manage. They were never that expressive with their face, after all. Micah brought up their hand and rubbed their thumb against their middle and forefinger.

Sylvie stared blankly for a moment, before hitching his shoulders up and making a sound in between a dying duck and a spooked horse. His hand flew to his mouth and he turned away, squeezing his eyes shut while he barked out laughter. He turned back around and placed his hands on his hips, leaning his face forward, “Oh my god. Har har, Micah.” Sylvie elbowed them in the side, and they elbowed him back.

They went back to working around the kitchen, occasionally handing each other bottles of herbs or utensils. But as Micah milled about they couldn’t help but think. Why did they say that? Well, they knew why they said that, but why that specifically? It’s not like Sylvie would actually be able to replace anything if he broke it. It’s night, so it’s not like he could search outside now. They’re leaving first thing in the morning, too, and then after that he’ll be back with his group. They’re simply not going to spend enough time together to be able to do that.

Micah’s mouth twitched. Well, no. It still makes sense that they said that, since they’re pretty sure people aren’t usually being literal when they speak. When a person asks someone how their day was, for example, while they do care, they probably aren’t actually asking for a rundown of their day or their true feelings, they’re pretty sure. They were just joking around to make Sylvie less nervous. Micah was just using humorous exaggeration to illustrate to Sylvie that it really wouldn’t be a big deal if he broke something on accident, since most of their stuff could easily be replaced. All of Micah’s actions made sense within the context of their situation– Micah would bring Sylvie back to his group, his family, and then they would part, and that would be all.

After shooing Sylvie away to clear their bed so that they could sit there (with an instruction to just put everything on the floor), Micah got busy plating their dishes. There really wasn’t much to do, they just lay the meat down and put some lettuce on the side that they plucked from their plant that was sitting with its roots in a container of water. They grabbed some bottles of ketchup and mustard and walked over to their room.

[Description of Micah’s room. Micah places the condiments on a shelf. Sylvie has not been able to see the food yet.]

With a flourish, Micah tilted their plates towards Sylvie with a smirk. They handed his plate to him and sat down. Their bed creaked with years of use, worn mattress dipping under them the same way it always had. Their hands clutched the edge of their bed on either side of them, bundling up the coarse sheet in their palm, a soft and faded yellow. When Micah turned back to Sylvie not a second later, he had an expression like a rabbit caught in a trap. He turned to Micah and gave them a smile, but it was all strained, like it was trying not to turn into a grimace.

“Oh. Okay.” Sylvie stared down at his plate like he was trying to figure out a complex maths problem.

Micah made sure their food was balanced on their lap before they took their hand away to grab their pen.

Sylvie’s eyes whip up from their notebook to their face, blown wide and body tense.

“Uh– Well– Er, I mean–!” Sylvie smiles, but his brows are furrowed and he overall looks like [a man on a sinking liferaft // Replace this! //]. He’s silent for a moment, hands splayed apart in a frozen gesture. Suddenly, he turns forward and slumps, putting his head in his hands.

“Yeah. It looks really bad. Well, not bad, but–” He straightens up to give a vague gesture to the meat, face scrunching up all the while. His face completely smooths out as he turns to Micah, giving them a blank stare, “It looks like [roasts it by comparing it to something bland/flavourless]. It looks so bland. This looks like the kind of food they’d give to astronauts.”

Sylvie looks away to the ceiling, brows furrowed with thought while he smiled, “I don’t know. I saw the meat before when I first came over and thought it looked really unappetizing, but then I went–” he raises his eyebrows and stares at the floor, throwing an open hand next to his head with his palm facing Micah, “‘Oh, of course! It’s in the middle of cooking, so it looks different from how it will when it’s finished.’ But it was already cooked, huh? We were basically just heating it up.” He looks straight ahead with a rueful grin, hand falling into his lap, “Shoulda guessed meat from a jar wouldn’t be great.”

“Yeah. A natural, if unfortunate, consequence of circumstance. When you’re working alone with limited resources, efficiency comes before everything else. And efficiency means putting meat in jars filled with yellow liquid. I promise it won’t taste that bad. It won’t taste *great*, but it’ll at least be *alright*.”

Sylvie looks a little doubtfully at his food, but nonetheless accedes. “Well, if you promise…”

They eat their food together. The meat is dry and takes a while to chew. It tastes vaguely like [plant]. [Hmm. I would like to describe eating, but I would not like to discuss mouths.] [The meat feels dry and rough across their tongue. It takes a while to chew before they could swallow it.] [The meat is a dry, thin slab that still takes a while to chew before they can swallow it. It feels rough going down, and the only flavour they could discern was a vague imprint of [plant]]

“Sooo…” Sylvie drags out, glancing at them from the corner of his eyes. “You live alone?”

“Eh– Well… I gathered…. There’s only one bed after all.” Sylvie leaned back with his hands pressed together far in front of himself, looking at the back wall, before rocking back. “It just seemed kind of…” he made a circular motion with his hand, eyebrows scrunched as he looked to the floor, “rude to point it out since you hadn’t brought it up yet.”

Micah glanced around their room, eyes catching on beat up action figures of shows long gone and coloured balls filled with glitter water with brand names splashed across the front that Micah didn’t know. Well, they appreciated the thoughtfulness, but there was no need for concern. There was no tragedy that had left them alone, no monster to take away their loved ones. They could understand why he’d thought that– many people had lost somebody. But they were not one of those people, and thus perfectly fine talking about living alone.

Besides, they hadn’t really talked to another person in a while. Let alone talk about themself. They had journals, many– picking up steam after that first one, all lined up at the bottom of a shelf once finished. But talking to another person… they don’t know. It’s…

They could feel their heart beating faster, and it felt like there was something pressing down on it. They read once in a book that the main character felt something that “set their teeth on edge”, and it stuck itself in their head, like a little, crystalline shard. The quote felt sort of visceral to them. It lodged itself in their head again, then.

Micah nodded their head to show Sylvie that they understood his line of thinking. Sylvie scrutinised their expression, and Micah felt a thread of nervousness run through them. They weren’t sure what he was looking for, and they weren’t sure that he’d find it. Their face wasn’t always the most reliable at showing what they were feeling. Would the conversation fizzle out, even if they were feeling exactly what he was hoping they would?

Sylvie leaned back, seemingly satisfied, and said, “What I wanted to ask was, what’s it like living on your own? My parents were already with our group when I was born, so I’ve only ever known what it’s like to live with other people.”

Notes

This was written as part of my creative writing class (different class than the one I wrote The House Party for. This was also written before that)! If I ever finish it, I'm gonna send it to my teacher.

I have an outline for how the rest of the story will go, although it's not nearly as fleshed out as the one for The House Party. I have a good idea for how this first "chapter" would go, and after that it's vague, then the ending is more planned out. That's cus I was gonna flesh out the outline one chapter at a time.

Fun fact! When I was writing notes to myself, I formatted them like html notes (). Obviously I couldn't keep it like that, since they wouldn't show up otherwise, so I changed them to slashes!

PS: "Saxilio" comes from the latin "saxum" and "stilio", which mean rock and gecko/snake respectively (although I was going for lizard. ~~*Ignores stelio*~~).