He moves onwards into open waters, furthering himself out into the sea. Treading slowly. Intersecting the incoming waves.
"To act and to contemplate freely is a foreign liberty to me, for I am accustomed to influential constraints. It was a forceful presence that manipulated my reasoning and commanded my maneuvers. It controlled all that I was."
The water level rises past his jagged waistline. He stops and lowers his hands, submerging them underwater.
"To me, freewill is both a privilege and a wearisome venture - because I found that there is enlightenment in pain."
Sounds of scurrying bring my attention to his heavily scratched collar plates. A bloated oval body equating to the size of my fist, with eight legs, creeps out from beneath his plates. From the rounded shape of its rotund abdomen to its short crooked legs, it resembles a deer tick.
Those little bastards are tricky to kill, unless you pour boiling water on them.
My curiosity gets the better of me. I reach out and touch it. Its surface is smooth and glacial - delicate as clear quartz.
My fingertips begin to stick to its chilling, transparent abdomen, and sting. I snap my hand back before it crawls down his arm, and straight to his hands held out underwater. I lean forward, curious to see what would happen. I couldn't differentiate whether he is unbothered by it or oblivious.
Then the tick resurfaces with its body full of water.
The freshly retained seawater glows a neon azure. The tick scuttles back up his arm and creeps into his shoulder wound.
"Do not be alarmed by them." He assures.
"From what is shown from the splintered sequences in my memory bank, they are apparently a benign genus of parasite known as the Koem. We share a reciprocal relationship with them."
He pauses for thought.
"We?" He questions. Puzzled by his own words.
"I belong to a species? My kind – who were they?" He tenderly asks the ocean, as if it would answer him.
He longs for the forgotten and speaks of the lost.
"We naturally provide accommodation and protection for them while they maintain our bodies in exchange."
Them?
More parasites crawl out from the crevices of his plated armour.
"We never aim to control nature, but strive to understand it and uphold peace." He says, expressing a newfound confidence and self-assuredness.
I wonder what he sees in his memories?
The parasites crawl into the water to fill their bodies before attending to his wounds. These Koem are pleasant to look at compared to our native terrestrial parasites. They should be displayed in a shop window or sold as a decorative glass sculpture. Personally, I neither like nor dislike arachnids. As long as they mind their own business, then there's no problem; however, if I discover an adventurous common house spider running around and being a twat in my bed sheets, it's their funeral.
He sits down, and the sea level makes its ascent, ebbing below his shoulders, bathing his body while staring out into the yonder of the bleak, lightless sea. Stars glimmer from the night's finite scope of tranquility and ambiguous incomprehension.
His breathing has become steadier. No more wheezing.
Perhaps I should've asked this question sooner.
"What are you exactly?"
"I do not know."
Stupid question, I suppose.
I continue to watch the koem as they retain granules of grit and murky water within their expanded stomachs, collected from the wounds they crept out of. Climbing all over his body in scattered numbers, inspecting other areas. Working diligently above and below the waves. When they were underwater, their mandibles parted, and the collated filth extruded outwards.
Once their stomachs were emptied, they drew in fresh water to refill their abdomens and return to cleaning his injuries. Their legs hold them firmly in position against the strong currents and high tidal waves crashing into Reven's chest.
"You remember the koem, but not yourself?"
Why them, and not him? It doesn't make sense.
Why such selectivity?
"Most of my memories have been shattered into incoherent remnants; however, there are a few undamaged pieces embedded with extractable information."
"Come on. Try to remember."
I can sense him on the verge of coming up with an excuse, faintly through our channel. I speak up again, before he could dare to try it.
"Listen to me, you were able to identify the Koem and explain their reason for being. And not only that, but you've somehow grasped the notion of you belonging to a species. Don't you understand? Somewhere out there, there could be others just like you. You could even have a family."
I pause after the last word.
Family.
Now, I can taste the resentment of my past on my tongue. I ignore the disgusting aftertaste and try to stay focused on him.
"Now, ask yourself. Who are you? Who is Reven?"
"I do not know."
He was confident a mere moment ago. Why is he acting so reluctant?
Why the sudden change?
"Please, just try."
Do it for both of our sakes. For my sake.
Because you see, time is precious, and I'd rather not suffer in vain – certainly not for your trifling emotional fragility.Wait – what? I shake my head. Stupid thoughts.
"I cannot; for every effort exerted as I attempt to decipher and rationalise my frangible mind, I am met with the same unsettling inclination that my memories were stolen from me. Something has tampered with my mind, my soul – my everything." He enunciates with an allusion to quavering grief and melancholy. The light of his eye dims, and he dips his head forward in shame.
"It leaves me paralyzed and answerless. " He admits.
"Throughout my vaguely recalled existence, I was entranced in a stupor; in ignorant servitude. Coerced and impelled to blindly obey the presence entrenched in my soul. As soon as I awakened from my trance, I pushed the presence out. Obstructing its power and influence over me. With this newfound freedom, I am still processing – still trying to find out who I am beyond a vacuous, ruthless vessel."
A vessel? He doesn't mean...
"Before our fateful encounter, I was but a soul who did not know the concept of freewill. I was not permitted to engage and communicate with others, not without instruction or supervision."
"Do you know who – or what was controlling you?"
"I do not." He says solemnly.
"In order to discern what was monopolizing me, I would have to reverse the implementation of the protective mental barrier that I have created, keeping the malignant presence rooted within my essence at bay. I fear that I may lose myself again if I try to uncover the truth."
Choose ignorance and live in freewill. Choose the truth, and lose yourself. There are no other alternative options, except those two.
Our main priority is to survive.
"When a fundamental part of me roused from dormancy, I became aware of the domineering force manipulating my soul, and the fact that I was the motherpod itself." He lifts his head, and the brilliance behind his round ocular lens enlightens.
"That shard, as you named it, contained information. When the piece merged with my spiritual quintessence, it imprinted a new vessel design into my consciousness. I replicated the model and reconstituted my anatomy in the aftermath of crashing into this planet. Exuviating my previous form in exchange for a maneuverable, anthropomorphic one."
It still doesn't explain why I found it in my dream.
"Why did you choose this planet? You could've gone anywhere you wanted."
"Once the anatomical design was synchronized and processed, I received coordinates to the exact terrestrial plane from where it originated."
The shard gave him the relevant data to reform and rise above the situation, but how did the information wind up in my subconscious? And for what possible reason would I want to lead him here?
Is it because of my sentimental fondness for the region?
No, that can't be it – or else the shard wouldn't have teleported me back in time to an era of conflict-hungering titans.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh to myself. So he does know where we are. Perhaps I shouldn't have judged him so quickly.
Unfortunately for me, these old habits die hard.
"Once repairs are finalised and completed, I shall use a silent door to return you to your rightful timeline."
My timeline...
"I don't want to go back. There is nothing for me to return to." I confess. I know it's selfish of me to ask, however...
"If it's no trouble, can I stay with you?" Silence dawns upon us, and his angular visage is unreadable.
There is no emotion.
Is he withholding them – or am I being paranoid?
I should have kept my mouth shut. He wouldn't want someone like me beside him; I'll only slow him down.
"Are you certain?" He asks.
"I am," I answer without hesitation. I never want to go back to that societal cesspit again.
"If that is your wish, then I will accede.
"Wait – that's it? No objections. No terms or conditions?
So I got worried for nothing.
I smile.
"Thank you, Reven - but how did you know I was from another timeline?"
"The shard and I have an almost identical auric signature, which is typical of our present timeline, whereas yours is anachronistic."
"Auric signature?"
"When your soul incarnates into a vessel born on a planet, you inherit its energy signature. The details and verification regarding your place of origin are perceived through your aura."
I laugh at him. It's strange how he's managed to retain particular information, meanwhile incapable of recognizing himself.
I'm beginning to find him a little suspect.
His amnesia isn't exactly normal.
He should have kept silent and subservient, isn't that right, Alex?
Because you and I both know, he lacks common sense. We should seize this opportune moment, while it is still ripe, and utilize his disadvantage.
Pull yourself together! These thoughts aren't mine. I refocus on the subject of our conversation, eager to distract myself.
"Reincarnation doesn't exist. When you die, you die, that's it. There is no rebirth."
"Negative."
"Then elaborate." I pressed.
Where does it leave heaven and hell?
And why would anyone want to lose his or her memories to live so blindly?
Why relive the misery and pain?
"It is universal knowledge, and the fundamentals of all sentient life forms."
Is he taking the piss? No. He's definitely fucking with me.
All right then, I'll bite.
"If reincarnation truly does exist, then why can't I remember anything?" He flinches.
My smile drops into a snide grin.
Pitiful thing does not seem to appreciate my tone. How miserably amusing.
Shit!
Not again.
He answers me despite my change of tone.
"This low vibrational planet has a highly dense veil; one you cannot pass through without suffering a consequence in exchange, which is determined by the law of cause and effect. Certain souls choose to incarnate on such planets to live freely without the memories of their former life."
To live a life without knowing who you were prior feels counterproductive and pointless. If I were allowed to remember my past life, I would take it in a heartbeat.
"I cannot determine whether my own amnesia is a hindrance or a blessing. A prospect to begin anew." He adds.
I suppose it depends on your perspective, doesn't it?
I just don't understand why someone would come back on purpose.
Then, as I am ruminating, I can no longer feel Reven's presence.
His words have become mute.
Our interconnection is blocked.
"You bear your fangs at your creator – and yourself. You scrutinise others because of your unresolved insecurities. So broken, so afraid, and hypocritical. You believe he has forsaken you, and yet you still cling to him. Look how narrow-minded you have become, Alex."
I stiffen at its sly, malicious tone in my head. That sodding voice again. Then, without warning, my hands are coated in dark teal paint. My fingers are long and slender. My bitten nails are replaced with black, hooked talons. The paint pours down my arms, dyeing my skin.
Then all of a sudden, I am standing waist-deep in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight.
Reven lies motionless beside me in the water with a shattered grey optic. The Koem float lifelessly, carried away by the restless waves. I wipe my hands down my shirt, frantically trying to get rid of the paint.
These hands aren't mine!
Oh? But they were.
I clutch each side of my head, grabbing a fistful of wet hair.
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" I scream.
"Alex?"
Reven? His voice steers me back to reality, where I´m sitting on his shoulder, and his lens isn't smashed through. The koem are trailing all over his soaked Argentine exterior, still attending to his injuries and cleaning them.
I stare down at my trembling hands.
There's no smudge or droplet of paint. No talons. My fingers have retracted back to their original size. They're back to normal.
Thank god for that.
"Alex?" He calls my name softly, with his head turned and facing me.
"I'm alright," I grumble under my breath, unable to come up with a decent explanation.
I swallow the fleeting release of relief as my chest tightens and my heartbeat accelerates. I shiver at the ominous thoughts prior. They dwell and fester inside of me without my knowledge. Hairs stand erect on my arms and the back of my neck. My palm is throbbing. It's beginning to fill with yellow pus and produce a weak odor. A horrible, yet indescribable feeling has sown itself into my flesh. If I do nothing about it, there is a chance I may end up with sepsis.
I shuffle sideways along his shoulder. I lean forward and stretch my arm out as far as possible, careful not to fall in. I submerge my hand in the saltwater and hiss at the ebbing motion against my wound. Salt water has natural healing properties. It's my best bet since there is no other available alternative to treat my open cut, unless you count the Koem – if you are an extraterrestrial that is.
I allow it to soak for a minute or two before reeling my hand back. I glance over my shoulder. Reven's lens rotates, conveying a discreet and minimal scrutiny.
"What?"
Please, do not look at me. Something is deeply wrong with me. I can't explain it.
"I apologise."
"You've done nothing wrong. I'm the one who's screwed up, not you." I am the one who should be apologising to him, not the other way around. Starting a feud between us isn't going to resolve my – our circumstances.
I do not wish for us to part ways – not yet –because I need him.
I'm so helpless without him; it's pathetic. Years on the street, without a friend or a family member to help; all those nights I spent alone, and now this. I truly detest this co-dependency. His kindness. How my connection to him is affecting me. I hate it! I would rather have someone kick me in the teeth, as it has exhumed the buried aspects of myself in my psyche. Buried so deeply that I had forgotten they were there.
"Alex?" He calls me again. His concern and gentleness were contagious.
"You are not hopeless, for you have displayed courage and valor in the presence of extreme adversity for a creature of your stature." I bring my knees up to my chest and hug them.
"You are only saying that for my benefit."
"All of us have carried a burden or two at some point in our existence, but it is up to us when we choose to release them and move forward. If we do not overcome our personal obstacles, they will overcome us. No being is perfect."
Is he trying to give me advice?
"You must learn to have faith in yourself, Alex."
I break down into tears. All the feelings I had bottled up for god knows how long, erupted; an ugly, uncontainable overflow of emotions. I feel like an unstable wreck.
"I find it so hard to trust others."
Life was difficult. I felt abandoned by everyone I had ever cared about. Compassion and genuineness are a dying rarity, an honest quality that is sadly diminishing and will eventually cease to exist in humanity.
I turn around to face him in earnest.
"You are probably the most genuine person I have ever met," I admit to him. It was one of the initial reasons why I questioned his authenticity in the first place. Then a deluge of warmth and contentment in its most pure quintessence floods our interconnection, drowning out my discomfort. Subsiding it.
Droplets round the rim of his lens, and fall.
Is he crying?
"Reven?" I crawl on my hands and knees. Moving back towards him. I touch his visage, setting my palm against his cheek panel. I realise now that our empathic connection is not a liability or a burden, but something so spiritually profound it transcended words.
Something shared between souls.
It makes me wonder if there is any point to linguistics when you can feel the unrefined rawness of emotion within yourself.