She had never expected it to look like this. She had been to many other psyches (that is what she preferred to call it) before of different persons, and none of them had this kind of feel, this look, and this very peculiar archaic-like atmosphere. Although she knew at once (at the first time their eyes had met) that he is different from most people, yet she still just couldn’t believe this utter unrest, and chaos, and this archaic-feel inside his soul (or psyche, as what she really preferred to call).
“W-what are you?” was the first question that came to her mind when she saw the endless piles of old books, the overthrown chairs and wooden tables, the ancient portraits hanging on the washed-out walls, the unlikely trees that sprouted at the middle, and the green leaves that scattered on the floors. The air around was very dry, and still. It smelled just as you might expect from smelling an old book.
He smiled to her at the mention of her question.
Up until now, they were sitting across each other, with the table in between them, and she was holding his hands, palm-to-palm, and her eyes were tightly shut. He, on the other hand, was having a good time observing this young beautiful lady before him. “What a weird talent she has. If only her talent had been the usual singing or dancing, she would probably make it to Hollywood.” But of course, he didn’t say that to her. Instead he replied:
“Would I seek for your assistance if I knew?”
She was surprised with the sudden response, so surprised (probably even more surprised than if he would say that Hollywood thing in his mind) that she quickly gotten out of her trance; then she took her hands away from his, and shot him a hard look.
What he didn’t notice (an honest but weird mistake) was that the question she asked was a question she threw on her mind, not on him, therefore he couldn’t possibly hear her, yet he did (which later would puzzle him too).
“What!?” he said, also surprised by the sudden snappiness of the girl.
“Is there something that I should know Mister, before I proceed?” she said.
She was clearly referring to the fact that he had answer a question that she didn’t verbalize. But he didn’t notice at it was really an honest but weird mistake.
So he said, “What — have you found already something?”
“Apparently, yes,” she said, “besides the fact that you such have a cluttered soul, it also seems that you can read minds.”
“Oh,” was his only response. He didn’t know that he could read minds nor he has a cluttered soul, but now that the girl said it, he suddenly felt that she was right.
By the way, before I tell you what happen next, let me first tell you the reason why he came to her.
She was a soul reader, or psyche reader (as she preferred to call), and she has been doing this ever since she learned what ABC is. It was a one of a kind talent, a gift, or maybe a curse, that she could read and see the depths of anyone’s soul by the mere act of touching them, especially their hands. Because of her talent, people avoided her at all cost, except only if they needed her expertise.
He, on the other hand, was a traveller or more of just a mere wanderer since he has really no specific destination in his mind. Worst of it, he never knew himself. He didn’t know who he was, what his name is, or his age, or whether he has parents and information like that. He couldn’t even remember his first memory. He first learned about her through rumours at the city (he had unconsciously read their thoughts), that there was this young lady who lives at the heart of the forest that could read souls. And since he wanted to know something about himself, he set on a journey through the forest (with many unexpected difficulties he had ever encounter in his years of wandering— yet, this is another story) to see who this girl was. To cut it short, before he almost gave up, he saw the girl, and the rest was what had happened above.
So now that you have an idea who they are, what happened next was this.
“So, Mister, would you mind telling me who you are?” she said.
“I have told you before, I really don’t know. And I’m here to know. And I thought you would be of help,” he said.
She looked hard on his eyes, and even though she wasn’t touching him, she felt and just knew that he was telling the truth.
“There’s something wrong – I mean – different in your soul. May I know how old are you, Mister?”
“I—I have no idea,” he said.
“Well, this would be difficult. There was just so much inside you – so much clutter and chaos – and all those books! Do you know how many books a usual person has in there?” she said, while pointing in his head.
“How many?” he said.
“Yes. Just one, and that one book contains all info about that person since birth till present. Usually, I learn about the person depending on where his or her Book is located, or how big or thick the Book is, the color, the quality of pages, the things that you will see inside, how many blank pages, its heaviness, the aura of the Book, and whether it is titled or not, and a lot more!” she said, “But you!”
“Why? What’s different with my Book?” he said, wondering how his ‘book’ could be different from others. Then he said, suddenly realizing, “Oh! Don’t tell me you didn’t find any book?”
“Silly. It would be much easier if I haven’t found a book, because it only means that the Book is hidden. But in your case, I have found a lot of books – more than a dozen or hundreds!”
This time an “Oh” was his only response again.
“What now, are you willing to go on?” she said.
“Can you…,” he said, and stopped. He did not know what he really wanted her to do.
“I can. I can find your Book. I can find you. But it will be difficult. And of course, as with all others, it would come with a great price. How much can you give me?” she said, this time she smiled for the first time, a beautiful cunning smile.
This time (and this was the third time) an “Oh” was his only response again.
:: This is my first time entry for Flash Fiction Friday — F3, Cycle 44: Unrest.
Actually, I was just really so bored and wanted to write anything, just anything! (I just realize that writing stories can be addicting.) And I wanted to practice too! So you might find that the whole story, although long, is pretty much chaotic with really no definitive plot.