Across the field the wind blew, moving the grass. This motion, this scenery was something so simple, known, seen and understood by many who spent their lives here in this world. Did they think however for a second the what was going on behind the scenes; what was being told as air combed through the hairs of the earth, playing together a song they composed and mimicking the waves of the ocean, whom they cannot be? Perhaps not, perhaps yes. While a boy laid bare beneath the cherry blossom tree, he thought about these things.

He thought about the stars gleaming above him, he thought about the tree behind him that offered himself to, he thought about the firefly that just whizzed by, maybe desperately trying to find a mate before his soul was once again claimed by the very earth he came from; he thought about the moon that did nothing but reflect the light of the star that was now hidden wearing the finest of shawls: Night.

His hand twitched without him wanting it. The chill has not yet reached his body, or even if it did there was no implication of it. With his half-open eye, he looked towards above him once more, to the branches of the tree. Gray, brown and black branches had reached for the sky, twisting into the shape after years of living. Illusory pink leaves were on them, lots and lots of them showing their eloquent and gentle dancing, but also compounded together as if they threw their nonexistent arms around each other to protect themselves from the coldest of nights.


Spirit of the tree, the kodama of the tree, had long and thin hands. Its height was of a small child, but no words would quite tell its weight in a comparison like that; kodama was almost paper thin and its movements akin to a handkerchief left to the gale was not saying anything contradictory. Its forest green skin was spotless and smooth to the touch. Its head, like the rest of its body, looked like it was cut out of paper, thin, featureless and just with small dots of pink; three of them standing in a triangular position, turning with each movement as if it was trying to catch up with the rest of the body.

It hovered, or did it fly? Above the boy lost in thought, it stood and reached down. Its hands grasped the each side of the boy’s torso region-- closer to his chest. The human skin tingled meeting with this external sensation but not because it had cold or warm hands, however! The blood that bound many to the life had never resided inside this being and this was the source of its childlike curiosity towards this human boy lying beneath the veil of pink leaves. The warmth of a human, their hearts, minds, skin, genital regions, arms and their short fingers and toes. The simple thinking mind of a kodama didn’t see more to him, it didn’t question why it was shackled to this kind of creatures; none of the spirits did throughout the ages.

The kodama slowly moved his hands downwards, it left a meek trail of a gooey substance, translucent and smoky green on both sides of the boy and stopped his hands. The substance left behind had made more sounds than it was supposed to, like someone dipping their fingers into a jar of jam, squishy. Was the loneliness of the night which, aside from the duet of wind and grass, was silent amplified the smallest of sounds?


“Stop,” said the boy. His right eyebrow was raised higher than his left while rest of his face painted a picture of tiredness. The kodama immediately floated a few more centimeters upwards and left the body alone. It took the boy a few seconds to regain the sense of his body, his cold, cold body. He pressed down on the soft soil beneath him with his left fingers, then his palm, then his wrist and allowed the pain in his bones to pour back to earth. The same set of motion was then repeated on his other arm and hand after finally he raised and leaned on the tree, instantly, the many sharp features of the bark pierced his skin and he felt a small of pain ripple on his back. He took soft breathes with half open eyes, his diaphragm moving up and down. This stance, the dirt on his body and him being naked looked nothing less than someone who was about to die.

And someone had died like that, exactly like that, repeating the exact motions but without one kodama around him. Not one, but thousands of them around him. It was this body that had died like this, and no longer did it contain the soul of a clockworker.

The boy reached towards his left. On the ground stood a sprawled robe, milky white colored with gray trims. Fine fabric, velvety texture but thin. Steady movements were required for the boy to put it on himself, but he finally did.
“Isn’t that going to get dirty?” the kodama asked.
“Yeah it will,” the boy answered. He took a step forwards and stopped to listen to his body. It was fine, he could do this. Then another one followed. He was leaving the tree behind as he moved towards the small hill that faced a cliff. He knew he had to be careful, but he wanted to see the scenery from that place. That special place.


From the cliff, the wind now caressed the back of the boy. His facial expression remained neutral and he wiggled his feet to bury a small portion of it under the earth. His chest tightened with anticipation. He was sure it was going to be here, and it would be here, right? Those ten thousand souls, ten thousand departing souls would soon show a final glimmer to him and light up the night with their color. Time continued to tick away as the clockwork world continued to slowly phase into tomorrow. None of them were here yet, why were they not.

The kodama followed the boy and stood next to him. Without the light reflected from the cherry blossom petals, the tree spirit’s skin was much duller and gray-like.
“Are you waiting for them?” the spirit asked and twirled vertically once on the spot, a move so ethereal that it looked more like bending of a light; an illusion that happened in a flash and was now released, showing the original again. The kodama floated like it always did like it didn’t even move once.

But it had moved, it had done that small loop, clunky moments. It was almost like the living itself, maybe, but no one other than the pink butterflies that started to emerge from the unseen bottom of the cliff would understand that better.
“Ah..” the boy exhaled as he started to watch more and more emerge towards the sky. The butterflies were completely pink and were letting out lights just like their color. A small trail of pink sparks, although a bit more unsaturated in color, would be left behind as they flapped their wings.

Soon, there would be thousands of them.


His eyes relinquished his tears away from him, but his face did not alter, no, these tears would forever refuse to be under the brand of sadness. A tint of melancholy, sure, perhaps, but they would within carry joy. The boy stared at the butterflies all around in front of him, each of them going slowly towards the sky.

“Ha--” the boy let out half a chuckle as his right hand grasped a bit of the robe on his chest and bruised it. The velvet texture easily overflowed between his fingers. His whole body demanded to kneel on earth, his chin yearned towards the earth but he would stare, listen and love those butterflies.
“Let me help you,” the kodama spoke and floated behind the boy and a bit up, until half of its body was above the boys head and placed its hands on the each side of the boys head and gently nudged it up before floating back once more. It knew that this wasn’t a painting for him.

Salty drops would follow each other like a small river as lightened green eyes observed the event. The boy would finally chuckle, the chuckle would turn into a heartfelt laughter, a laughter that wouldn’t just echo among the night, but also flush within himself. Like an ocean wave smoothing the mightiest of rugged mountain, his laughter would warm his body and soothe his soul, his insides becoming into a smoother baseplate for more to come.


Among the butterflies, he let his knees free and they met the soaked ground. His mouth half open as his muscles were tightened, some of his tears would find their way inside his mouth. He tasted his own tears, he tasted the product of this human body. Yes, there was more, there was more to his flesh than he initially thought. What left of the mortal spirit of the clockworker and the immortal spirit of the paars tree fighting as they were pulled into merge together was a fractured persona.

“Yes,” he muttered, then inhaled sharply as he regained his strength. Corners of his mouth would curve themselves into a smile as his eyelids raised even more and his eyes swallowed the landscape fully.
“Yes, I understand! I do! I really do! I promise I do!” he screamed towards the butterflies, or maybe directly at them. His crying would not stop, but neither would his smile.
“I will find you... yes, of course, I will...” he muttered, his words were quick and disorderly, but did that truly matter at that point? There was someone lost-- no, that was the most selfish of thoughts-- there were many lost out there.

And each of them, every single one them deserved a hand before they also blurred their trails in the world of the living, joining the dance of this unthinkable natural phenomena.

Exit.