Thursday Is a Good Day to Pay Back in Kind

Sometimes, parting is brief and unemotional. Sometimes, the heart seems to bear the weight of the whole world. It was one of those times. Thursday came with Painter feeling a heavy weight mounted on her chest. She opened her eyes ajar, as she put a hand on her chest, finding there something warm and fluffy.

“You are so small. How could you be so heavy?” Painter asked the fluffy ball after she removed it from her chest, blinking, as the little one was really heftier than its size indicated. The fluffy ball said nothing and only wobbled from side to side.

Painter opened her wardrobe. Inside, there was a pot containing chicken bouillon with noodles and eggs. Painter could smell a hearty amount of saffron. She ate a good portion of the bouillon, leaving the rest for dinner. For reasons unknown, food never went cold when inside the wardrobe. Not that she complained anyway.

Should she stay at home again? No, Painter felt that she didn’t want to give up and wait for death silently. Painter removed the bolt and opened the door. Summer breeze blew around her, ruffling her hair. Painter looked at Monk’s house. It felt gloomy and uninviting, devoid of life, even if outwardly it looked just like hers.

Mask was sitting on the porch, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He regarded Painter with a nod, but said nothing. She followed suit. When Painter was about to leave towards the grove, Mask finally spoke, “I’m sorry for what you have to go through.”

“What do you mean?” Painter blinked.

“It’s all my fault. Inadvertently, I have created a monster,” Mask said wistfully. “Initially, I wasn’t sure. This island was just that strange. But now that I think of it, my creation always liked to play with its prey.”

“Your creation?” Painter was unsure whether Mask had lost his mind or he really had something to do with the island.

“Me being here is the retribution for what I did. I was running away all this time. I’m not going to run anymore,” Mask finished his steaming coffee in a few gulps and got up. Painter watched as Mask wandered the meandering shoreline, thinking of what had just occurred. Eventually, as Mask’s figure disappeared in the distance, Painter shrugged and headed towards the grove.

Little fluffy balls surrounded her like they always did, swaying in a greeting. But Painter didn't want to wait there. The only two places she had yet to explore were the swamp, full of bizarre creatures, and the forest, surrounded by fog so dense, she doubted she would be able to return once she ventured inside. Should she visit the swamp then? The place was too dangerous, she was unsure whether she would be able to survive there. Was there something she wanted to do before putting her life on the line? Painter carefully thought about all the places she visited together with Monk. There was a place that took a special spot in her memory.

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Painter walked alone. It felt strange. A part of her half-expected Monk to appear, to say he’s sorry and smile with that carefree smile he seemed to produce so easily. But no one appeared and Painter continued on in silence.

Painter jumped onto one of the walking trees, got down using a vine and then went down the pathway, hidden in the old oak. Something was different from the last time when she was here. The distinctive smell of blood enveloped the tunnel. Droplets of scarlet liquid appeared here and there. It was relatively fresh; it only started to dry.

As Painter followed the bloody trail, she ascended towards the peak of the mountain. The trail ended here. Painter was prepared to see a body, but there was none. Did someone fall from the peak? Painter jumped onto one of the lower clouds, attentively looking down. Even if someone fell from such a height, surely, she wouldn’t be able to see the alleged victim’s body, but that didn’t hinder her actions. Suddenly, Painter gasped in surprise.

Down there, Painter noticed a small grove - one of the many groves this island possessed. It was the pattern in which the trees were planted that mattered. Down there it would look like an ordinary grove, not any different from others. From the high point, however, Painter could clearly see that the grove was shaped like a heart.

Painter marked the grove’s location in her mind and descended down the peak as quickly as she could. As she approached the grove, doubt rose. What was she supposed to find here? Trees here looked like trees in other groves on the island: a bit weird, but not particularly special. Same for bushes and flowers. A few colorful fluffy balls rolled around.

Painter wandered through the grove, looking to her sides carefully. And then, she noticed it. A small bleeding-heart plant. It looked very normal and inconspicuous. However, it was its ordinariness that made it so special, so different from the queer plants, which were galore on the island.

What was she supposed to do with it? Should she touch it? Painter approached the flower carefully. Would the ground and sky flip their places if she were to touch it? At last, Painter curbed her worries and touched the flower lightly. The ground and sky didn’t flip, the heaven didn’t shatter, no dreadful creatures appeared out of nowhere and no iridescent rainbows appeared. Everything remained as it was. Painter cocked her head, unsure what she was supposed to do next.

Painter grasped the flower’s green stem with more confidence. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she uprooted it, revealing something glistening in the ground. She picked up the object, removing dirt from it carefully. It was half of a metal medallion with strange engravings on it.

The riddle was supposed to contain two parts. Now that she found a part of a medallion, she was sure she needed to find the second one. Her dancing in the autumn… What significance did it hold?

The day was already past its prime. Tomorrow was Friday. One more day before Saturday. Before the endpoint. Painter made a decision to scour through the swamp and bridges over the white abyss tomorrow. As for today, Painter decided to return to her place. There was something she wanted to do.

Painter left the medallion at home, as well as her pants, sandals and T-shirt. She walked along the coastline for some time, getting used to the warm water. Then, she went deeper, scaring some of the fish, which tended to the shore. And then, she swam. At that moment all of her worries seemed to leave her. There was only her, the ocean and the sky with the sun shining brightly.

She could see the bottom of the ocean and the motley fish that scattered as she swam. The smooth surface of the ocean had no waves on it today. It felt calm. Eventually, sunset came down.

Painter left the water and went back to her house. And then, she felt it again. Someone was watching her. She turned and saw a creature, standing in the distance. This time it didn’t even bother to hide. It had white bony limbs, standing upright like a human. Its smoldering eyes burned with red scorching fire and it bared its teeth.

Painter darted towards her house and put the wooden bolt down. The fluffy ball seemed to be happy to see her back and almost jumped from joy. Painter took a shower, had a fulfilling dinner to fill her stomach after another exhausting day and threw herself on the bed, finally embracing sleep.