LITMIR.BIZ

      ***

      He is standing on the very edge.

      In general, the weather today is windless, but not here, not up there. However, the wind is a friend, one of the few: violent, uncontrollable, necessary.

      Now any gust threatens to rip him off the roof. Rip him off, throw, spin… no, not now… a little more later…

      Down below, behind him, a dark ribbon of river winds, lazily rolling its still-cool waters into the distance: a few weeks, and the heat will take over. A heat from which he must get away. Is it worth it?

      For what now?

      Why should he go back to his homeland now? Alone… without her…

      What’s driving him back?!

      Spring…it’s all her, part of the eternal cycle of this world. The law of the universe, if you will. A law demanding and inexorable, embedded in the very depths of the subconscious. To go back…

      He thought they would go home together. Together from this seemingly benevolent place to which they were strangers.

      Aliens. Incomers.

      Scarlet faces, scarlet feet, white covers.

      They are different.

      No, they haven’t been harassed here for a long time. They’re even protected. People take care of them, you could say. But people care more about themselves and their well-being.

      What about them? They’re not from around here. Valuable, but different.

      They will never understand each other. And people are stronger. Stronger, more insolent, more demanding.

      And they take the water. They limit themselves, but still inexorably take away space for life. Not here, but there, just to the north – here he came by chance, circling and circling, and here – but the city will soon approach there as well. It would come and take new lives, as it had taken his beloved. Would kill others as it had killed her.

      No, no one hunts them on purpose: the local governments have long forbidden such things. But man stains everything around him with his presence: everything he has created can bring death. Many things are not her weapons at all, but almost every grain can suddenly summon this cold, empty-eyed lady.

      Simple fuel for people’s boats is poison for the likes of him.

      Dirty death. Accidental death.

      They were found too late.

      He called out to people, calling desperately, trying to lead them to her, dying in that muddy puddle, but people didn’t understand. They shouted in admiration, pointed their fingers at him, smiled, wished each other happiness. As if he had come to them to show off. As if they couldn’t hear the hopelessness and grief in his cry.

      People sat in their cells scattered over the ground, stacked one on another, formed the tall ant towers like the ones across the river. People sat there thinking only of themselves.

      Sometimes they remembered creatures like him, too.

      Not everyone: only the most understanding or those who could benefit most from it.

      Then they decided to surround the strangers with care.

      For now, all care is the bracelet draped around his leg. Yes, they had put a tag on him – trying not to hurt him, but still against his will – a tag that could be used to track his life.

      But what does it matter to him?

      His sweetheart also had a tag, a shiny little thing wrapped around her shin.

      Did it help when the wearer was convulsing? That’s right.

      They also gave him a name. A strange name, similar to their own.

      Heng Chun. The Permanent Spring. The Eternal Spring.

      Hah!

      There is nothing eternal in this world, only the stars that light up in the blackness of the nights.

      But they are there, far away, leading with their radiance to home – that’s all.

      And there is no spring in his soul.

      Her breath is all around… everywhere… everywhere…

      Everything is blooming, everything is alive… Only it is as if he died inside on that shore, where she let out her last breath.