I woke up, staring into the gloom. It didn’t get easier to force myself up and out of the crevice. At least I was young, no lingering aches from sleeping funny.

As I went through the motions, I still thought about my old life, wondering if they were doing okay. That felt so distant now. That life, that world. The purplish tinge to most of the plants didn’t surprise me. Biting into the “apples” and “pears” didn’t either.

This was my life now, and everyone at the orphanage had their life now.

After breakfast, I just sort of wandered, trying not to think. I’d distracted myself yesterday, but everything had kind of come to a stop. Didn’t know what to do about my new room.

If I couldn’t make a shelter, could I even begin to think about making anything else? Was this just my life? Only eating fruits and sprouts and roasted carrots, drinking spring water and hoping it was safe, washing myself with ash and mildly warm water, wearing the same clothes, sleeping in a crevice I couldn’t even lie down in.

Maybe I needed to just use my jumper like a bag and bring as many fruits with me as I could and follow the stream to a village. Time to give up.

Of course I couldn’t live by myself, stupid to think so. The world didn’t care if I’d read about sprouting beans or listened to a podcast about making a fire with nothing but sticks. Food would run out eventually, then what? What good would the crappy little room be then?

For the first time since I’d come here, for the first time since I could remember, I cried. Who did I cry for? No one was going to come. No matter how much I cried, how loud I wailed, how much I needed someone… no one came.

There was just me.

I wiped my tears, feeling exhausted. Really didn’t have the energy for emotions right now. Didn’t even remember sitting down, but I was, sat under a tree with my firewood for company.

That would eventually run out too.

I laughed. Had to. If I didn’t, I’d go crazy. So I laughed, weak and empty, but I laughed, scaring away the tears. Still sniffled, throat closed up, but I didn’t cry. It was a start.

Looking around, not thinking anything, I ended up staring at the reed from yesterday. Lighter today, mossy green fading. Probably needed a couple more days to dry out. But I didn’t have to wait to pick it up and swing it around like a sword. Laughing, I kept laughing, never dared stop. A child. Let me be a child, I thought. No responsibilities, no worrying about the future, just picking up a stick and waving it like a sword.

I jabbed and swung and held a pose like a fencer as I hopped back and forth. With no target around, I took to hitting the tree, more like slaps how the flexible stem bended as I struck.

My manic episode could only last so long, though. Coming down from the rush of silliness, I just felt empty, too empty to cry. That was enough. Crying didn’t help. If I wasn’t crying, I could do something. Anything.

But what?

The knot I’d been ignoring tightened around my heart, so I tried walking to force my heart to beat, loosening it. Only that I barely made it a step before stopping, a small plant coming out the soil.

Not just any plant.

I squatted down, heart thumping. The shape of those little leaves was familiar. How long ago had I planted those sprouts? A week, maybe? Look at it, already coming up to my shins, plenty of those pale leaves picking up the trickle of sunshine that made it under here. The stem even had a woody tinge to it. Another week or two, maybe it’d flower, start growing pods.

Laughing, it wasn’t empty this time. I laughed from the bottom of my lungs, smiling so wide it hurt, giddy.

Maybe I could stay here a bit longer.

Practically shaking from that burst of energy, I fretted over the plant, carrying over the rock basin to water it, checking for bugs, even singing to it. I heard somewhere that music helped plants, something to do with the vibrations. Maybe my brain was just making stuff up to keep me sane. I didn’t know, not like I could look it up, not like I cared.

“Twinkle twinkle, little star,” I sang, voice rough after so long not speaking, but the plant didn’t have ears. All I had to do was vibrate the air, so that was what I did. “How I wonder what you are,” I sang, as loud as I comfortably could.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Who knew how long—not me. The time since I ate breakfast was a blur, trapped in my head, now entirely focused on the little plant. I sang, time carried on.

Eventually, my voice grew too hoarse and stomach grumbled, pulling me back. I rubbed my face, letting out a long sigh. Another moment to collect myself, then I sort of stumbled to my feet, legs numb, leaning against the tree for support.

Staggering every few steps, I walked to the spring for a drink. Handful after handful, I drank, trying to soothe my throat, failing. If only I’d found a beehive somewhere. Well, that probably wouldn’t have ended well, so probably better I hadn’t.

Fruit and sprouts for lunch. The familiar routine helped me calm down, sitting there, chewing. Bite after bite after bite until the ache faded.

Looking up, a little after midday. Maybe an hour or two. Really, getting emotional used up too much energy, making me so hungry over a late lunch. I gave a little smile at the little joke, but it didn’t last.

Rubbing my face for what felt like the hundredth time today, I let out my hundredth sigh of the day, letting out all the tension I’d collected through the morning.

Focus on food.

Repeating that like a mantra, I pushed myself up and started walking along the stream. Onions were healthy. Chives. I looked out for those kinds of tube leaves sticking up, thinking they’d be easy to spot.

I tried to keep to the shade, so, whenever there was a willowy tree, I stopped underneath it to watch the stream, soothing. The sound of the running water, how it glistened in the sun, carrying seeds and leaves along like I was looking at a road from high up in the sky.

That was how I ended up finding something like watercress. A wild, tangled mess of a plant with small, round leaves, the overgrown plant taking over the muddy inside of a particularly large bend. I was on the wrong side of the stream to pick it, but I felt I had to, remembering that watercress was very nutritious.

Never mind that that didn’t mean this stuff was even edible. Something for me to worry about after I collected some.

So I scavenged around for a good stick, eventually finding one that was long and with a branch coming off that gave it a hook. Once I had a good, stable position, I reached over with it and pulled at the mess of a plant, tugging and tugging until a bundle came loose. At the least, holding it didn’t cause a rash.

Good enough for me, I hung it over my shoulder and carried on my search for onions. It took some searching, but I was rewarded. Around where the stream joined another, I found a clearing, noticing the grass wasn’t all grass, taller patches among it.

Pulling some up, they were more like spring onions, mostly leaves with a small bulb at the bottom. Fine by me.

That wasn’t all, though. Learning from the carrots, I checked around to see if these “onions” were like garlic where the bulb split up to reproduce, but the others I pulled up were all just a single bulb. So I checked around and luckily found a couple of the onions flowering. No seeds yet, though. Well, I could just plant them by the camp and wait, right?

If that didn’t work, I knew where to look now. Come back another time.

A slow walk back up to camp, planted the flowering onions, prepared a fire, roasted carrots. Falling into the routine.

The watercress was easy to cook, all on the twisty stem still. Pressed it against the cooking slab until it withered. A bit bitter, but with a kick. Not exactly like mustard, more peppery, maybe because it was a little burnt.

As for the onion, I felt it was probably safe to eat raw. The taste might be terrible, but safe… if it was like an onion. To be on the safe side, I held it by the leaves and let the bulb roast over the fire for a bit. The bulb was small, so not for long, just enough to brown the outside.

My senses not entirely shattered, I took a little bite. It certainly tasted onion-y, strong, not in a bitter way, but still made my face scrunch up. A longer roast for the next one, I thought. No nausea or swelling or anything, I roasted the rest of the onion some more before finishing it—that did help mellow the taste.

Left with the leaves, I tried those too.

They tasted like leaves.

It wasn’t all that late by now, but I felt so tired. Still, it was nice having a proper fire pit, sitting on something more like a chair. Some progress. When the fire burned low, colder, I sat on the floor, back to the rock-chair, keeping off some of the wind. That was nice too.

If only I could live in this moment forever. Stomach full, a chilly breeze and a warm fire, flames flickering, embers glowing, crackling, stream trickling, the smell of burning wood mixing with the earthy dusk scent, worn out, numb. No thoughts, just experiencing, drifting between senses, blending them.

And when I looked up, I finally saw the moon. No, two moons. One was an amber crescent, I guessed had been a “new moon” until now, maybe a bit smaller than the old moon, but I knew the size changed a lot depending on where it was in its orbit. Next to it in the sky was an even smaller moon, more like a big star, but it was definitely a moon, a paler and weaker colour and almost full. The two were fairly close together in the sky, no doubt actually very far apart.

Clouds drifted, stars twinkled, and I stared. There was so much about this world I still didn’t know. Maybe I’d never know, not if I stayed here all alone.

That was fine. I didn’t need to know to find it beautiful.

Flames withered, embers dulled, curling up tighter as the cold set in. When I couldn’t take it any more, I covered the remains of the fire with rocks, had a drink, and scurried off for a pee before rushing back to the rocky crevice I called home.

Closing my makeshift door, some of the leaves fell out, shrivelled, probably brown—couldn’t tell in the darkness. As much as I wanted time to pause, it kept going. The world kept going, changing, growing. There was no staying the same, no standing still.

All it took was me dying and having a bit of a breakdown to learn that.

Day catching up to me, my thoughts faded and nothing took their place.