Tale 53- The Life Counter

 As they walked through the hills and the fields surrounding them, the Traveler found herself dwelling on the concept of family. So many tales were told because of ancestry or familial ties. Sarafelle also found herself with the same pondering, but mainly that of her own family. Her mother would take her medication…and she couldn’t help but occasionally ponder the location of her father. He was out there, somewhere, and she often wondered why he would leave her…she was only a child. Absentmindedly, she touched the Traveler’s hand, who recoiled slightly. The dwellings on family, they reminded her of that nightmare, of the truth that she had to accept. As the evening rolled around, gales began to blow, the two deciding to take a rest for a while and finding a meadow to sit together in. The Traveler examined the flowers around them, forget-me-nots, asters, roses, and dahlias. All beautiful, sweet flowers. She watched as butterflies and bees frolicked from flower to flower, before catching Sarafelle’s eye. “I told you I used to fish with my father, right?” she asked, the Traveler nodding. A little nervous, Sarafelle shifted, before asking a difficult question. “What was your father like…?” she whispered, the Traveler looking down and sighing. “He was a kind man…he had a machete that he used to protect us…and he loved me.” she replied, Sarafelle looking confused. “Is…he gone? Like…did he die?” she whispered, the Traveler shaking her head. “He just…I don’t think he’d love me now.” she answered, her voice breaking slightly and Sara putting a hand on her shoulder. “Then…would you mind telling me about him before?” she requested, the Traveler contemplating. Before…her mind went back to a memory.

She was about eight or nine, and helping her father in the workshop. Or, her best attempt, considering her idea of helping was building with the few scraps of wood he had lying around. As the man worked hard on his latest creation, he smiled down at his daughter, watching her build a castle and play with it, pretending she was a beautiful princess. Well, in his eyes, there was no need to pretend. He finished his work and called her over to show her. It was a beautiful hourglass, with carvings of flowers and snowflakes, and it had begun to tick down. He pulled two others down off the shelf, showing them to her. One of them had different flowers and icicles, whilst the other was decorated with much more- apples, hands, eyes and feathers. “That one is for you.” he whispered, ruffling her hair before taking a moment to go upstairs and check on his wife and the new baby. Both were doing perfectly fine, thank goodness, and he watched his daughter look at all the details, being careful not to crack the glass. “There’s a story behind the hourglasses.” he whispered, the little girl looking up at him in curiosity. He lifted her onto his knee, ready to tell her the tale of ‘the Life Counter.’

‘Once upon a time, there was a magical wanderer who documented the lives of others. He captured their essence in hourglasses, their heartbeats in watches- he could predict the timing at which their lives would end, at which a child would be born, and the sand falling to the bottom of the hourglass marked the end of a life. The wanderer walked around the world three times, having hourglasses for every single person, and yet, he was so asynchronous that not a single person knew of his existence. Despite this, the wanderer marked everyone’s lives thrice over, and when his own life ended he entrusted the ability to mark lives to a select few, who passed this watchmaking and hourglass-crafting ability down for generations.’

The man smiled, turning back to the hourglass and gently kissing his daughter’s head, before putting them back on the high shelf of his workshop. In the room above, a baby started to cry, Richard running in to get his sister so they could go up and meet the new member properly. Her father smiled, and watched the hourglasses steadily ticking, before walking up to join them.

The Traveler finished recounting the memory, writing the story down and Sarafelle gently leaning on her. “I wonder if my hourglass is still ticking…” the Traveler mused, finishing her transcription and turning to Sarafelle, who shrugged and gave a small smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she replied, the Traveler not having the energy to explain how stuck she felt sometimes. Night was falling, so she couldn’t illustrate with the lack of visibility. Leaning back, the Traveler turned her head toward the sky, the two gazing up at the billions of stars above, drawing patterns with their fingers until they accidentally collided. The Traveler tensed slightly, before sighing. “Sara…” she whispered, Sarafelle turning to face her and giving a nod. “Can you…” she hesitated, trying to make herself clear, “...can you teach me how…being touched is supposed to feel?” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. Sarafelle gave a soft smile. “Tell me when it gets too much, okay?” she replied, the Traveler already feeling her stomach turning but forcing herself to nod. As the two sat up, the Traveler put both of her hands on her knees, Sarafelle lifting her hand and gently running her fingers atop the Traveler’s hand. The Traveler tensed, feeling her heart starting to race. Keeping her eyes on the Traveler’s gaze, she moved toward her wrists, and then began using her other hand, following the same path, slow and reassuring. As she reached her arms, the Traveler trembled slightly, Sara immediately stopping, but the Traveler shook her head. “I need…to feel it again…I need to remember how real love is…” she forced out, Sara feeling her cheeks go slightly pink but ignoring it. Following the same path, she reached the Traveler’s elbows, who began staring at the ground, her eyes frustrated yet fearful. Up, toward the shoulders, where Sarafelle rested for a moment. There was no need to ask aloud, the Traveler wanted it to continue, even despite her shaking and her gaze no longer being able to meet Sara’s. Skipping the neck altogether, Sarafelle’s warm palms gently landed on the Traveler’s cheeks, who’s lips began to tremble as tears spilled out of her eyes. Brushing them away, Sarafelle ran her thumb over the scar on one of her cheeks, the Traveler meeting her gaze and managing the ghost of a smile. Then, she broke, sobbing as Sarafelle held her. “I remember…” she cried, before practically collapsing as her head fell down to her knees. Placing two hands on the Traveler’s back, Sarafelle held her, bringing her shaking, sobbing form close and holding her all night long as the stars watched from above.