deathâs head | lucky | trial 4.4
Dying is not an action mothmen are meant to put much thought into.
This is not true of death, of course. Death is a wombmate, a brother, a feather stuck in wrong; death is a promise to anyone who makes the mistake of staying too close for too long. All mothmen know thisâthe curse they bear, the curse they are.
No, Lucky knew death before this place, but they did not know dying. Dying is for everyone else; dying is for those who keep track of time.
If asked, if pressed, if demanded to give an answer, Lucky wouldnât be able to say how long mothmen are meant to live for.
They donât know. They canât know. Thatâs not the sort of thing mothmen are meant to concern themselves with. The closest they come to keeping time is when the year resets, when winter hits its deepest and coldest night and they build a fire and bad luck begins its cycle once moreâ
And thatâs death again, born anew.
And thatâs Death, now, breaching their memories of this classroom to stand behind a man who cannot die and swept in by the words of a man who refused to when the world prompted it to be so.
Thatâs Death, here, explaining the clinical terms that she represents; thatâs Death, asking Lucky to consider how long a life is meant to be lived.
And this is a conversation already had, pressed into their brain, when their heart was already quiet but Venettaâs was not. They feel the words in their mouth, teeth clicking instead of a beak, explaining that a year can feel like a lifetime when it is living a life you never thought would be yours.
That cold, that eternal cold. Like a tearing wind through their feathers; like an ice cube held in the cup of their hand; like a shiver down their spine, Fatherâs talons pressing in, glass pressing in, each pushing them forward into a new lifeâ
(Right. That is enough. They breath the same either way. The beads spin regardless. There are eyes everywhere.
They do not turn to each individual as they speak. They look from across the tabletop; they keep track of each twitch of a dying prey animal, the bodyâs betrayal that this is not an easy conversation.
They flinch away from the space Conan and Aki occupy, but still, they watch from the periphery.
The only person who keeps their red eyes in place is Fox. All of it, through all of it, he is the only one they have eyes for at all. They trail him as he gets up, walks away, speaks and kisses and maybe, maybe they do know this is a scene that they should not play voyeur to, but then againâ
(Survival versus kindness. They have said it many times before. They understand they do not need to be opponents, but they know, often, they are.
Here, nowâyes. They understand. They are not surprised by the lines being drawn in the sand of a beach meant to sooth. The words, their speakersâLucky is not surprised by Flick, by Tali, by Venetta, by Jules or Kyou or Jake or Rory orâ
These are their friends. It is hard to be surprised now.)
âIt is Foxâs life that is the question, yes?â
Their words come from nowhere. It is a place to start.
âThere are two options. The first option is everyone leaves but Fox does not leave. He is given a coin. We do not know what the coin will say.â
Lucky, gaze unwavering, does not deign to ask Aki for the options the coin flip would hold.
âThe second option is that everyone who did not see the bus stop leaves. Fox did not see the bus stop. He will leave. Someday everyone else can leave also. Both choices mean we will all live again. The question is for Fox to live. The question is for how long we live.â
Their fingers, long and thin, fold together as another conversation presses into their skull. Flick, alive, heart beating, hoping without saying so that the dead helping meant the dead could be saved too.
And Lucky, even then, had saidâ
âRory says it right. Everyone leaving is the same as living before the train. You cannot know when you will die. Maybe it is tomorrow. Maybe it is when the forest dies. You cannot know this. You did not know it before this place. But Fox will not be there.â
I do not think Ruri or Conan or I will gain anything from this.
âIf you know you will live a long life and Fox will live also, it is because we stayed. It is important you know what you are asking. You are saying we do not see our families. You are saying we do not get to live anymore. You are saying we will find new lives. It is important you are okay with that choice. It is important you understand this.â
That will not stop me from sharing what I know. I do not think it will stop her either.
âI have died many times now. I do not mind dying again. It is okay to ask me this. I will not say it is okay to ask everyone else to do this. I want to know if the dead are okay to stay or if they want to go. That is my vote.â
It is nature to hunt and survive. That is all.
A blinkâmaybe that is what their year of life would feel like to someone else.
But Lucky, with a soft laugh, for once finds their name apt.