The two are one

"Hah! All that fuss about raising the bones of the dead. I will tell you which bone he couldn't raise."

Heckled an onlooker at the sermon of the willer Kam'mayt before she was mysteriously struck by lighting.

The boy woke up sometime later, roused to attention by a familiar sense he could not quite grasp.

He felt a warm dampness beneath him as he came to and assumed he was sitting in a pool of his own shame. But when he looked down to see what stained his shorts, he discovered it to be not the foul yellow but the precious crimson.

Matters were soon made worse as his ears picked up a noise carried by the wind. The sound of movement and chatter meant that the day had come and the denizens of Vagren were now awake and roaming the streets.

The child had to vacate this alley soon before someone happens upon him, for in this most vulnerable state, he is powerless to resist.

But the boy did not move.

The next few minutes saw him lay on the ground motionless with his head hung low and his legs sprawled out. His hair, ruffled from the fall, now flowed down like a veil covering his face. And even as its rough and coarse ends found their way to the many cuts and wounds on his limbs, the boy did not move.

He did not even bother to swat the locks that pricked the white of his eyes.

He did not, because he could not feel any of it.

The child felt nothing.

In the position he sat in, with all his weight thrown against the wall and his knees facing outwards, all his pain somehow vanished.

His once grumbling stomach whose noise betrayed his position was now silent. The dizziness that made his world spin as he dashed away barefooted to escape the clutches of the town's guard was no more. The twitching in his eyes as he refused them a blink out of fear of the stabbing pain faded away.

The boy became numb to every hurt he once felt. Even the hunger that led him here seemed like a distant memory.

So the boy stayed put. He did not dare move a muscle, even as more of his life force leaked out to never return. He was weary that even a single twitch would disrupt this newfound bliss.

He flirted with the idea of spending the rest of his time, no matter how short it may be, in this state, free from pain and suffering.

He questioned the need to go further. After all, even if he were to make it out alive, what is there for him to look forward to?

He considered his battered state and realized that there was nothing at the end of this for him. Nothing but a few more days of living in squalor and breathing the same stinking air as he waits for an end that was soon coming.

Why should he suffer waiting for death to waddle its way through this land towards him. Masking its cold and draining touch as mercy when it finds him bedridden and maddened with pain.

Why should he delay?

Why should he relinquish the power to end things on his own terms?

Even though they were dry and lifeless, the child's eyes spared a tear as he thought of how close his relief was. And how lucky he was, for all he had to do to reach it was to perform the simplest action known to him — nothing.

It was then that something tumbled within the boy, a rumbling in his mind and a misted beat in his heart. And he heard a voice in his head speaking to him, a voice he was all too familiar with.

How could he not be, when he spent countless nights conversing with it as he gazed at the sky and envied the amity of the moons.

He knew the owner of the voice and loved him, and he loved none beside him. He was his only friend and solace in this world. In which he confided his many sorrows and shared with his aspirations — Trivial dreams to many but not to him, no, to him they meant the world in and of itself.

But he hated the voice was the same breath, it filled his heart with disdain and he cursed at it many a time. How could not, when every time he heard it reminded him of the root cause of his misery.

'Not you, not now...'

'I can't let you do this. You cannot throw it all away!'

The words were in a tongue the boy could not speak. Its vowels sounded like the howling of wolves and the consonants like the splattering of rain on a puddle. Yet their meaning reached him all the same, no matter how hard he tried to block it away.

'All, you say? Heheh...'

The boy strained a chuckle even though it threatened to reignite the dormant pain.

'And what all is that? Say, what is the all of nothing? Because that is all I have.'

'Do not disregard me. The decision is not yours to make, or have you forgotten?'

'I forget nothing! I am in control now. I am master of my own fate.'

'And this is the fate you chose? This body is not yours alone for you to surrender it unto death.'

'Not mine? Tell me, this taste of dirt, in whose mouth does it linger?

Who of us resorted to munching dirt to silence their cravings.

Whose joints ache and squeak as though they were made of wood?

Are they yours?

Do you know these feelings?

Of course, you don't. Because right now, you are nothing but a daydream, a whispering bug that eats away at the back of my mind.

Leave me alone! As long as this pain mine to feel, so is this body mine to do with as I see fit.'

Even though the words never left the boy's lips, shouting in silence at his own mind still left him breathing heavily.

'You can't stop here, It can't end like this. To die knowing nothing about the truth we seek. The truth of our lives, our parents...

To perish ignorant of even our name!'

The voice in his mind was unceasing, its tone filled with urgency and pleading.

'Look around and tell me, what good is a name without a grave to mark it on?

I will die here, that much is clear. To tell the truth, I don't much mind. I tire of living, if that is indeed what I was doing. Death couldn't possibly be any worse.'

The boy felt the voice in his head yammer for a final time, but he could not hear it. And as his consciousness was fading, he caught himself mumbling an invocation.

'Heh, am I praying, even now? I am so hopeless.'

Those were the last words the boy uttered as his body slowly slumped to the side.

Death. Nothing else in this world is more disputed. It is different things to different people.

What did I just sit on?

What is that thing that moved in the dark?

What is inside that locked chest?

People's minds reject the unknown, and they strive to uncover it, fear and rules be damned.

But few dare try to uncover death, the knife stops short of their necks, shakes in their hands, and then plummets to the ground.

So they pretend that they know it, they hope it to be what they think it is.

Some believe it to be an interlude to something else, they wish it to be the start of another life, a better life.

Others peddle it like wares, they insist that their way is the right way. With faces adorned with smiles flashing teeth that mask their vile tongues behind; they spew their poison with each word they utter. They sell it with the lure of salvation and the threat of damnation.

So did the boy have his own wish, molded from the many encounters he had with death.

What he wished for was simple. Silence, darkness, eternal rest without disruption. Endless slumber where he could feel no hunger or famish.

But this wish, like many others, was not granted. Because instead of falling down to his demise, the boy found himself a prisoner in his own body, starting through its sockets.

'You! You can't do this, you have no right! It is not your turn.'

'I will have no turn left if I let go through with it.'

'I don't want this. Please, I can't do this anymore.'

The boy's arms moved without his consent, and it caused what was numb and distant to return with a renewed vigour.

But the crushing pain of his shattered limbs was not met with further complaint. For it served to remind the child of something he had long forgotten.

And even though the movement of the arm that unraveled the tattered shirt wasn't his. The tears that refused to drip down from his eyes were.

'I..I am sorry, I am sorry, I am so sorry.'

'Don't be. It's okay, it has been a long time since the last swap. It is only natural.'

'No, I-I was going to kill us both. I thought I was the only one carrying this burden. I thought you did not understand. How could I forget?'

'It is a heavy burden and a great deal of hurt. We can't let it break us. Neither of us could carry it on our own, but as one we can. Please, it is too soon to give up.'

The tear was slow and heavy as it lingered on the tip of his nose and caused him much discomfort.

'I hope you can forgive me, I am returned and again in your debt. My one and only friend.'

'Think nothing of it and welcome back. My companion and only solace.'

The lip that quivered belonged to them both. No, it belonged to the child. For the voice was his own, and they were both one.