The sun awoke and knocked on Sol’s open window. Without its presence his sleep was a coma. It tickled his neck and danced in song on his bare ebony chest.
Wake up, sleepyhead.
Do not go straight back to bed.
It’s time to rise! It’s time to shine!
It’s time to open your trap and dine!
Music, passion. Wove jingles from nothing.
Open your trap and dine? “That is correct. I should have one from Below waiting.”
Waiting?
Captured, hooked, snagged.
Hostage.
Murderer.
The Other wrung his mantis fingers, cracked his giraffe neck in preparation.
Ritualistic.
His kill. His feelings. His movements. All planned. Forever the same.
Murderer.
Sol opened the front door, calm.
Murderer.
Eyes closed, arms opening to embrace the scream that would engulf him. Part of his present.
Murderer.
But nothing. His gift echoed no noise.
Murderer.
“Nothing?” Sol deflated. Eyes cracked open. “Wait.”
A something.
He robotically approached.
“What are you?”
The rope and leaves released, spilling the nameless. A young woman. Wrong color skin. He yearned for cloud white.
Wrong. All wrong.
Birdlike, he twitched fascination, curiosity. No emotion, never any.
She is unseen, alone, new.
He carried her inside. Placed her in his bed.
Effortless power. Strength of the gods. Speed stolen from wind.
Was this act compassion?
No. Never any.
This was wonder. Emotionless.