STRAW CITY WAS STEEPED IN CURSES.

Swishy could tell upon his first steps within the city walls. Dark dwellers just knew the vibe, the distinct frequency of the whining shadows, the familiar I'm-a-void-I'm-an-abyss laments cricketing from every cobblestone crack, every slightly ajar trashcan lid, every shadowy alley. In the darkness, you couldn't see the complaining squawkers, but on Cearth their protests drew a frustrating amount of attention. Why can't you be like the flap-flaps? Swishy thought as he gazed at the blackbird flight overhead, refined and graceful. Swishy waved—without a reciprocation, of course—but the gesture was fun.

The city felt small but was covertly massive. The first plaza contained a building with bread slices wrapped in plastics, a place with clothes fitted upon odd-looking scarecrow things, a place with a red cross painted atop the door labeled CLINIC—and a place with a white cross painted atop the door labeled JESUS AND FRIENDS. Several produce kiosks were peppered between the larger establishments, selling straw-woven trinkets and produce—Swishy easily sensed the natural essence of the goods.

Beyond the stores were rows upon rows upon of homes—followed by an additional gathering of storefronts and kiosks. This same structure of plaza, then homes, plaza, then homes, was repeated several times over. The aged wood and dependable city planning provided a cozy feel to the sizable metropolis it truly was.

Everything was cohesive; everything was one unit, one home. Gold and black were the city’s dominant colors. Clusters of gold and yellow wheat filled the windowsill pots and storefront planters—while pockets of beautiful darkness accented the luminous straw in midnight hues. It was a feast for Swishy’s eyes, a rest for his displaced soul—until hearing an outcry of I'm so hollow(!) from the shadow-side of a house eave. That singular ill-timed dark-dweller grievance cracked his zen, rendering Swishy annoyed, bristled, feather-duster frayed.

I want to be a human! I want to traipse the Cearth and wiggle my toes! TOES, I SAY, TOES!

Trey stared into Swishy's pumpkin-rind face. "Is that...an eye roll? Damn bro, what got you wound up like that?"

Swishy collected himself, steadying the blue ghosts in his eyes. Swishy looked to the left; he looked to the right—pretending to be a little bit curious and a lot bit dumb.

"Now come on, Swish, you can't play me. But I'll forgive the act since we just met.”

A massive shadow cast over the pair in the form of a tremendous blimp. The globular tarp inflated from within—Swishy wondered what pushed the material outward. He hoped the answer was birds, many birds, black and strong and pushing the blimp from inside. Swishy marveled at the imagined avian feat. The aircraft’s enormous underbelly soon revealed itself, a wooden carriage affixed to the balloon. But the shadows, the lamentable curses, slithered around with obnoxious whining. It’s horrible, it’s horrible, why is life so horrible!

His awe? Ended. His annoyance? Powerfully reinforced. Swishy pointed a questioning finger toward the blimp.

Trey, like a proper liaison, gave him the day-one tutorial. “That’s a zeppelin. It transports people and cargo. Honestly, it’s super old school but this city likes to look far less modern than it is. For example—this outdated aircraft model that has a full LED sign! It’s ridiculous, if you ask me.”

Swishy’s gaze landed at the squared signage on the aircraft, bright bulbs forming a message: WELCOME TO STRAW CITY! GOOD AFTERNOON! HAPPY HARVESTING!

The words were mysterious, indecipherable, and a little overwhelming.

“Here!" Trey tossed a small black box toward Swishy, who awkwardly fumbled with it.

Swishy inspected the box between his thumb and forefinger, studying the embroidered gold border and the shimmering letters across the front: FLASHCARDS.

"Now let's go!" Trey proceeded briskly. "Walk and study, little boy, walk and study!"

Off they went into the bustle of Straw City.

Trey stomped with purpose as Swishy carefully unboxed the flashcards. When Swishy looked back up he found himself in a neighborhood of produce sellers. Droves of patrons picked at woven baskets of veggies and fruits, grain, flowers, assorted grasses, seeds, wheat. Swishy struggled to not bump into anyone. Thankfully he made it through the neighborhood without dropping the cards.

They arrived at a mostly empty square with a fountain, a couple of benches, and resting families. Near the fountain, a group of blackbirds pecked at crumbs. Swishy's eyes widened, swallowing them in his vision—

A sudden sprinkle of gold matter, several reeds of crushed straw thrown by Trey. The birds gathered around, feasting. They were pecking and pecking, unbothered, tunnel-visioned, close. Swishy's moment was now. His admiration compelled him to catch them. He bent his knees, poised his spring-loaded soul, readying his jump in 3...2...1–

Trey grabbed his shoulder and guided him away. "It's best to let the shadowclaws be. You're much bigger, you know."

Shadowclaws, ah...

The shadowclaws laughed as Swishy walked away.

(…)

"Pick a card, Swish."

Swishy drew a flashcard and presented it. The text read: CURSE.

"Now that's easy!" Trey beamed. "First definition: words like bitch-ass-motherfucker. You can say them but try not to say it angry." A pair of grown men gave Trey a judging look, muttering, "What is he teaching that kid?". But Trey just glowered at them. "Life, that's what I'm teaching him. Do ya'll got more shit to say?" The men just grunted and moved on. Swishy read the tension and easily understood Trey's definition.

"Second meaning: also words—but gestures, rituals, and anything that can cause harm..." Trey said this next part solemnly, "Anything that can hurt. You can't know the damage until it's too late. An example! A hundred years ago, The Curse happened. Everything we built, all the cities just like this, snapped back to default. Rocky crusts formed over mineral veins. Trees shrank into useless saplings. Plant roots sunk deep-deep-deep, so deep you couldn't grow a thing. Rivers dried up and closed. Earth hit us with a planetary rewind, cursing us. Get it? Earth—done. Cearth was the new world, the damage."

The CURSE card glowed between Swishy’s fingers. The glittery gold letters lifted from the flashcard and dissolved into shining grains that entered Swishy’s jack-O-lantern gourd as if they were wind-blown sand. His feelings became heavy. The chasm within his chest throbbed under the curse card's influence. The visceral lesson tore through the hollowness inside, suctioning the light out of him. He wished with all his might to release the card but couldn't. Curiosity of his wretched feelings compelled him to hold on, to hurt and to learn.

And the learning commenced through memories of himself in the flatlands, growing expanses of lustrous straw. Swishy imagined The Curse shrinking his organic creations into the solid ground. No sky-piercers or cloud-tappers or saplings, no sprouts, no nothing.

Inside, his soul thinned in hurt. He mourned the imaginary repossession of his trees, his straw.

But Swishy wondered how these people had anything at all. What made Cearth give things back? What made Cearth allow Swishy to create trees and wheat for free?

Swishy held a hand low to the ground, then raised it up-up-up.

Trey understood and answered accordingly: “What you did out there with the trees and fields…that’s incredible. I don’t know how that works. There’s magic in this world but not like that…That’s the opposite of The Curse. Bro, that’s God. People are more about their magic than God these days. But what else can you call that? God, man, nothing but God.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Curse? Magic? God? The un-dark and its words continued to perplex Swishy. But he was infected by Trey’s awe. He’d take his friend’s word for it, whatever they meant.

Swishy nodded his head, prompting Trey to continue.

“But what do I know? I’m just 20 years old. The Curse is 100. I’m just thankful that it didn’t harm a bunch of people. Once Earth turned to Cearth, folks had to get more careful with the resources. A lot of companies even had the leftover know-how and resources to survive the whole hundred years. Like Timberlands.” Trey stomped his Timbs—which Swishy mimicked, reveling in clomps.

They smiled; they laughed; they moved on.

(…)

The deeper they progressed into the city, the more shadowclaws Swishy found. The blackbirds perched upon every surface, accenting the world of light stretching before them. The birds perked up at the swishing sounds of straw and let out low-pitched okurrrr's as they glared at the scarecrow.

The boy opted for misdirection. He gazed at the golden wheat and autumn flowers that filled the windowsills and balconies and porches. He playfully swatted at the wheat stalks growing from between random cobblestones. He did all these things while tracking the birds in his peripherals.

Swishy's vision too obviously drifted toward a resting shadowclaw—who backpedaled warily.

The writhing building shadows chimed in, switching from its drone of anguish to mockery of Swishy. Nice try, swish-boy! We’re unfulfilled—and you are too!

Curses, Swishy thought, those blankety-blank curses—Swishy decided to keep his mind clean and conflict-free. He smiled, practicing the gesture of peace.

"Amazing, right?" Trey said, misunderstanding the smile.

Swishy nodded.

"Let's see the next card."

Swishy swiped at the top of the deck and presented the card in one fluid flourish: LANGUAGE.

"Communication is the name of the game, young Swish! Speech—such as the sounds coming out of my mouth. Gestures (he began tapping his forefinger against his temple). And the written word! (He pointed to the flashcard)."

Swishy gazed at the golden word, LANGUAGE. The illumination of understanding coursed through him, and his soul delightfully danced from the gift of knowledge. As they proceeded through town, Trey added a few non-flashcard compliments to the mix: SCHOLAR, GENIUS, STRAIGHT-A STUDENT. Swishy's cerulean eyes widened to the size of saucers. The boy was positively awed, amazed, enriched.

The LANGUAGE card transformed Swishy’s world. The awning signs revealed themselves beyond their neatly written letters—they were now readable words. He gawked at every storefront, swishing—shouting their names: THE SOUL & STRAW, THE GOLDEN SIP, RYE AND WISDOM, SWEET STRAW CAFÉ, GRAIN BARREL GROCER, WONDERWEAVE—STRAWCRAFTS AND MORE.

He also studied the inhabitants, keying in on the frequency of human souls touching. In the darkness the souls were isolated, alone and fretful. But in the un-dark, he sensed the rubbing and dancing and maneuvering of souls. The spirits thrummed as they offered trades of trinkets for trinkets, trinkets for coins, trinkets for services. The LANGUAGE dust inside him rearranged into new particles, a longer and more complex word: COMMUNICATION.

Conversation, commerce, and unimaginable vibrancy—Swishy fell in love with it all.

He focused on the LANGUAGE and COMMUNICATION as he tuned into the communal soul of the plaza. The scarecrow was determined to be heard.

Nearby, a shadowclaw landed and grazed at Swishy’s cast-off straw. Swishy made eye contact, but the bird haughtily turned his head away. The boy swished his arm, audibly, dramatically. "Hey!" the straw sound said.

"CACAW?" The bird, without looking, nibbled the wheat.

"No CACAW!" Swishy swished back. "You can't play me!" He giggled at the satisfaction of channeling Trey.

"What do you want?" The bird clicked its beak in irritation, slowly chewing.

Swishy daydreamed about stroking the shadowclaw's wings. He’d pluck a couple of feathers for himself to wear. He coveted the bird's velvety, curse-free darkness. The boy opened his hands—then sharply closed his fists. "I want to catch you!" the swishing declared, "I'll make you all my friends!"

"Whatever scarecrow, eat my wind!" The shadowclaw took flight, its cast-off feathers gently drifting to the ground.

Scarecrow? He somehow knew its meaning; he knew that it was him. But the thought came and went like a breeze.

Swishy ran up and collected the falling feathers. He laughed at the treasure in his hands. One by one, he lodged the plumage into his shoulder.

"Hey!" Trey yelled.

Swishy looked up.

Trey shot a glance at Swishy and marinated in the moment. "Bro, did you speak?"

Swishy quickly flung his hand, his dark talents sending a telepathic subtitle to anyone within earshot: "Yeah, I did!"

"You're too talented. Swish-speak is the future!"

Swishy jumped and jumped and jumped and jumped, and while folks briefly glanced at the scarecrow's enthusiasm, they dismissed it as a costumed child doing costumed-child things like excitement, life-loving, mega joy. Everyone quickly resumed their business. Trey laughed himself, momentarily forgetting that he was traipsing about with a summoned being, an altar golem.

"Come on, I'm hungry, let's grab a bite to eat."

"Hungry? Is this another vocab word?"

"Actually, yeah. It means you need to eat and refuel." Trey demonstrated this by swallowing his straw. "This straw helped me a little but I need to eat a lot more. My insides are empty."

Empty. Swishy another word he knew—a favorite of the dark.

"What's wrong, Swish?"

"Hmm, I think I'm always…hungry."

"Don't be silly. That straw inside is woven tight."

(…)

They stopped at a food cart, GOLDEN DOG — HOME OF THE STRAW GLIZZY, and ordered several hot dogs.

The pair claimed an empty table at a nearby park and sat on twin hay bales. The flashcard deck was right between them and Swishy was eager to learn more—but Trey had a ton to say.

Trey spoke about his morning shopping for child-sized clothing, traveling to the city entrance, and text-spamming Ruby for details about what to expect and if he should fear getting hexed or eaten by the altar baby. He showed Ruby's text response: Do you think I've summoned a scarecrow before? Magic is unpredictable. That's why it's magic. Expect anything and try not to die!

Swishy's soul itched to ask more about Ruby, but Trey was busy scarfing down his food. He instead picked up the hotdog and turned it every which way. Satisfied with his inspection, he dropped it all into his pumpkin head. He displayed his mouth to Trey, the abyss having done away with the food.

"Good, right?"

He wasn't sure how to judge it, but he was already Swish-speaking a kindness, "Really good! Thanks for the...(he peered up at the sign) Straw Glizzy."

"Anytime, Swish!"

Meanwhile Swish wondered where the hotdog went. But something happened inside. Thump! He felt it. Just once. Only once. And the feeling left him dumbfounded. As he was about to reach inside his chest—

Swip!

Trey hmm'd at his card draw and slid it across the table: HEART. There was even a drawing of it, anatomical, bleeding, valves and vessels aplenty. Swishy held it over his chest, pressing softly. Upon the card’s contact with his chest, Swishy detected a minor energy infiltrating the spaces within his straw. His blue eyes shifted into dual, trembling hearts. He found Trey’s face, seeking answers.

"That's what keeps me alive. It beats inside. I'm dead without it. You're fine, though! Straw and soul? Seems like a good deal to me!"

"What about me?" His signing was nervous, downtrodden. "Am I...dead?"

"Dunno, Swish. You're a lot of straw and a lot of soul. I can't think of anything more special than that."

"Thank you.” Swishy’s inner chest whorled and whorled as a whirlwind, a turbulent abyss. For a brief moment, he felt like the other dark dwellers, wretched in a thousand indescribable ways. The hearts in his eyes trembled and soon began to fissure apart.

Midday came to a close: the sun descended, and a purple curtain lowered over the whole of Straw City. A faint murkiness obscured the once shimmering dew. The sparkles disappeared, and the daylight golds of the city muted into shades of bronze. Swishy followed Trey around, holding the HEART card in his hand. He focused hard on the card, searching himself for that odd thumping. But it wouldn't come back. Swishy was simply dead again.

He slipped the card inside his chest and tried to forget his longing.

Meanwhile, Trey kept checking his phone. His expression said it all: No Ruby.

"God, I hate doing this...shuffle the cards, Swish."

Swishy learned well from watching Trey throughout the day: he cut and bridged the cards with a casino dealer finesse.

"Alright Swish, now pick one."

The scarecrow drew a card and held it up, the glittering gold spelling out WITCH.

The blues in Swishy's eyes formed into a composed curiosity, forcing himself to calm down since Trey's soul vibrated from stress and pressure. But Trey took a deep breath and gathered himself.

“Is witch the same as a friend?” Swishy angled his head with sincerity.

“It can be—though I’m not always sure that’s a good thing.”

“Are we talking about Ruby?”

“Yeah…she’s a witch alright. An amazing witch. She’s built this place from the ground up.”

“So she is a friend!”

Trey stiffly smiled. “You know, me and her get along. And you two will too! She’s amazing—and you’re amazing too. Your growth miracles will help a lot of people. The people will do less planting and more harvesting. People say tobacco is a cash crop, but wait 'til they see your straw! ”

Swishy daydreamed of making trees and wheat inside the city. He pictured children climbing branches. Shadowclaws that foraged his straw and flew up toward their bird nests. He heard the echo of Trey calling him amazing, calling him the opposite of cursed, calling him magic from God—or maybe just God. He knew not meanings—not yet—only the delectable cadence of praise.

Swishy was lost, euphoric. His blue eyes turned to heart-shaped bubbles.

“Swishy? Swishy? Cearth to Swishy?” Trey banged on the table.

The boy awakened and laughed in embarrassment.

Trey laughed too. “Aye bro, you can release that card now.”

Swishy released the WITCH card—it levitated.

A shadowclaw swooped in and snatched it diving into the city's shroud of night.

"That’s…different," Swishy said. "WITCH is a tricky word to understand."

"It's a curse, Swishy—but a whole ass person."

"Witches are people…okay."

"In this case, it's Ruby. She's my boss—and your summoner."

Swishy's chest was under attack. The hurricane feeling returned, the black whorl inside.

"Alright straw-homie, let's follow the card..."