"Hm, what's that?"

 

He stopped. Abruptly. His peripheral caught, telling him there’s something odd. Ah! He shouldn’t have done that. A sharp jolt of pain and the shifting sky position reminded him that he still very much stood on muds.

 

Thank goodness it doesn't sprain. What was he thinking? He could be injured. How ironic that would be after finding some clue of possible survival. Here lies Euca, died as he was alive: slipping toward oblivion.

 

Sighing. He turned his head left side. Might as well take a look, what in the hell name that makes him st—

 

—is that real?

 

"T-that's not right..."

 

A purple, almost blackish vine was entangling one of the birches.

 

Cracked wooden high without a single sprout of leaf, the branches bare, the trunk fragile —struggling to support its own weight.

Around it, the other has the same look of decay. Their leaves yellowed, their root dried.

 

Parasitic vine.

 

That's not what drew his eyes though. No. What drew his eyes was its flower.

 

A flower that glowed complete darkness.

 

"...is this real?" Rubbing his eyes several times, he found that the flower was still there and not in fact a figment of his hunger-induced imagination.

 

The flower was black. No. Not black. Dark. Like the part of deepest night. Like his ceiling when it's blackout. The flower was dark.And not just dark. It was two-dimensional dark. Like a cut in space. Like seeing vantablack.Still unlike vantablack, it differed in one way. The darkness was a progressive, darkening dark. Light was getting dimmer the closer he was to the flower.

Pretty sure that not how vantablack works.

 

How he knew it was a flower was even more bizarre. It has an outline. An outline made of purplish neon glow. Circling its five petals with seldom buzz.

 

"... not to discount polarization effect like chirality. But that only applies when viewing light from certain angle, and I mean, it's... there are no winds!" Fumbling. He swung around his hand feeling for a breeze. None. The wind that has blown since he woke now had stopped.

 

He took a step back. Taking a look from down, left, and right. There was no difference.

 

"A true black body. But how could I still see the outline?"

 

"This makes no sense. If only I brought my scissors —NO, BAD EUCA—, If only I brought my camera."

 

"Phone! Yes! Where is—"

 

"..and of course it's gone.""Should I touch it?"Saying he was tempted would be an understatement. This was huge. Per-perhaps he could reach that 20 on his h-index in a year? His left hand moved. Ever so slowly, reaching the—

 

—he froze. Slapping his left hand, he trembled. What was he doing? He almost touched a specimen with unknown properties! Unknown danger!

 

"...well, I could just note the place and came back lat—"

 

POOF!

 

"*COUGH!* *UGHK!* My eyes! What the HEC-!" The flower sprayed at him! God! Water, water. Where is that bottle when he needs it?

 

"Ehe."

 

"Heh. Hehe..."

 

"HehehEhEehe...""EheHEHE!"

 

Why is he laughing like crazy? No! It's the flower! It must be toxi—

 

"muAhahAHhahAHHA HA! HA... HA... HA! I CAN DO ANYTHING!"

 

N-no...

 

"I'M ON TOP OF THE WORLD!"

 

H-he ss-hould...

 

"WHO CARES AM I LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE! THE GREAT AMAZING ME, MUST BE ABLE TO FIND DESTINATION BY JUST POINTING MY FINGER!"

 

SPLASH!!

 

"puAh!! what the HELL? Who ARE..are..YOU..—help—.. PEOPLE!"He growled. Who’s the heck splashing water at him! Rude! He should kill them! Yeah, rude people deserve to die.Wha...?

 

Splash.

 

"Keep splashing. Aim to his face."

 

"S-sToP, PUAH! S-STOP!!"

 

Don’t they hear what he said? Don’t they understand English? Stop. Splashing. Water. At. Him!Cont...Continu— "Continue."

 

"Aargh!"

 

"Hold him still." Thump! "GET OFF ME!" He screamed. Struggling. A stupid woman landed on his back, pinning him down. He tried to punch her. How dare she touch the great him? Don’t she —don’t they know who he is?

 

It's no use though. Her grips were too strong. He can't move beyond useless wiggles. She weighed like his damn spring bed. A slip in the doorway and he was buried for solid half-hour. At least until his loyal follower, Derek finally heeded his call. The lazy bastard.

 

"HRKK"

 

Euca feels his throat tighten. The old man! He choked him! What the hell? Are they with the mafia?

 

"Don't move, boy!" With his left hand, the old man yanks Eucas' back hair. Pulling it upward.

 

It's hurt! It's hurt! What with this crazy mafia! Shouldn't they just extort him? Take his stuff? No... His stuff was already taken. Except for that water bottles. Why are they doing this then? They dropped him in the middle of nowhere, making him spend the night in a god-awful forest, and now they beating him up! What the hell? Is this some kind of sick game?

 

"D-damn you."

 

"Splash him again."

 

Splash.

 

"Aah!"

 

"I said don't move, boy."

 

He froze. The old ma— no, the old mafioso draw a machete. A freaking big ass machete! With silvery gleam and all that.

 

"Now tell me where's your company?"

 

"M-my what?"

 

Flicking his hand. The old man put the machete on his neck. He blanched. J-just a few more millimeters and he's a goner.

 

"Your company! Your friend, boy! Don't try to play with me!"

“Hiii!” "Tell me where they are! Or..." The old mafioso left the last part unsaid. Not that it was important, he could feel the iron cold of the machete's blade touching his neck.

 

"I-I don't know! I don't know! P-please sir, I'm alone!"

 

"He's useless, Sir."

 

"Bah! If you don't talk...” He saw the old man draw the machete backward. Arcing it to his neck. “...you might as well die."

 

S-so this was it. This was how he died. At least it was unique. How many people could say they died to a freaking machete? He supposed it a tad less cool than those who died by artillery firing, drone bombing, or god forbid, nuclear explosion. But it's enough. It's enough. He'll take it. Better this than died alone in some nowhere retirement home.

 

What the hell?What happened?! Amusement and acceptance? He's going to die for god sake! Still in horror, he watched as that part of him seize that train with such force. It frightened him.

 

So this is what it called? Being human? A contradiction even in death? He always imagined himself die kicking and screaming. Those don't go gentle into that good night kind of thing. But that part of him won't let that thought go. He tried to scream, he tried to cry. Yet, all he found was peace.

 

It succumbed into him, blunting his anger.His fear.His horror.The monkey had stopped screaming. His nagging rational self fell silent.What remaining was him, And he, he—

—he closed his eyes. Good night, Euca.

 

A breath passed

 

Then the next.

 

Then the other next.

 

He opened his eyes. The old man had sheathed his machete. His body lied on the forest floor.

 

"W-why?" He shivered. On the exposed edge of his left ankle, he felt a slight itch from the muddy ground. He let it be though. Staring at the open sky, he repeated his question once more.

 

"Why?"

 

"He seems all right right now, Sir."

 

"Are your mind clear now, boy?"

 

"W-what?"

 

"Are your mind clear, now?"

 

"Of course my mind is clear! Who are you peop—"

 

His mind! That flower pollen! H-How? Euca head snapped. Turning to the old man, to the woman, and to the old man again.

 

"A-are...you...helping... me?""Looks the boy all right."

 

"T-thank you... Thank you! Thank you..."

 

"...what happened to me?"

 

"You boy, got a bad case of Verdi."

 

"V-verdi?"

 

"Verdi. Fool's bravery. See those? Those are Eperti. Its damned pollen was born from dark malice of —grace us with your light of day— Kraa himself, " The old man pulled his right palm to his chest, facing front. "Give it an hour and you will challenge kobold chieftain with your bare hand."

 

Kobold? Is he hearing that right? Is he? Is he... NO!

 

But, the flower!

 

"The only cure is a depressing thought. Terrible, terrible depressing thought."

 

"...or spirits."

 

"Yes, or five pints of spirits, Amy. Five damn pints. Haven't I taught you better?"

 

"Sorry, sir."

 

"...Never waste your wares. You have a good heart, Amy. But not all people were decent. And not all those decent have money."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Thanks again, Ms. Amy, Mr..."

 

"Terence. Call me Terence boy."

 

"Mr. Terence."

 

"Why are you here boy? Are you lost?"

 

W-what should he say? If that were true, It means...

 

Ah! he's been pausing too long. They began to look at him weird!

 

"Y-yes. I just on my way to the nearest town." Phew. Would that be enough? He could just pretend to be confused from those V-whatever. Yes. Yes! That's should do it!

 

"Ar'endal? Just half day away then. Come. Amy will lend you new shirt while we dry yo—"

 

"UNCLE, What's taking you so long?" As he’s standing —staggering from what happening. He could see a miffed young boy around thirteen, perhaps fourteen shouting at the old mafio— at Mr. Terence, running toward them.

 

The boy was followed by a frazzled-looking man. He seemed to be struggling between keeping the boy in line and placating his ...horse? ...normal horses didn't have cracked stone scales as skin, do they? And were those old wild west styles' carriages?

 

"Eh... who's this weirdo?"

 

"—urs. Don't interrupt me Besnik. I'll be there shortly." Mr. Terence shot an apologetic smile at the frazzled man.

 

"Have you finish practicing your letters?"

 

"Eeeh."

 

"Besnik, when I agreed to let you join this—"

 

"Okay, okay, I'll finish it. Sheesh..."

 

"That brat! I thought my older brother was exaggerating. Not one peaceful day since —Bah! Forget it!"

 

"Right I haven't got your name. What is your name again, boy?" the old man turned toward him.

 

"Boy?"

 

"A-ah Euca, my name is Euca."