Authors Corner

Woo loo loo, part one of two.

Chapter 14 – Woo is me.

Wilson.

Still in the grotto.

The Sealers cuffed on my own arm leave me with a firm grounding in reality. It's awful.

I'm trying not to think about the death that surrounds us. About the dying cries of those pudgy trees. About how my fists met bark and then met the soft bulging fleshy wood underneath. About how I popped their lives like they were bubbles. Ugh, bubbles.

Bleghhh.

I didn't actually get to voice my desire to go home. I just stayed on my hands and knees until my stomach laid it's contents bare. Anilea was waiting for me, although she was standing a little further away than before. Anilea had swept up her expression of surprise in the span of a second. She went right back to her professional mode.

Too late, Anilea. That moment is already engraved in my memory. I'm going to cherish it every time you're cold to me, for my own private chuckle. Hehe... he. My hearts not in it though.

While I'm lost in my own world, Anilea brings out a document and is studying it.

“W-what is that?” I mutter. My words make her stop and turn to look at me.

“I'm looking up the grades of all the logs so that the collection crew doesn't forge the requests and swap it out with lower grade Fleetingwood.” she says. Instead of sounding disgusted, I think she's impressed with me now that I've proven useful. She's given me appropriate explanation for once.

I'm not sure who I find more disgusting at this point, myself or her and her puppet master, the Merchant. They are ruthless about profit. The poor creatures in front of me are dead, and she's looking at their corpses and only seeing gold coins. It sickens me.

Bleghhh.

“If you don't mind me asking, what was that?” she asks, without waiting to see if I minded.

I did. It's a conversation I was hoping to avoid.

“W-what do you mean?” I deflect.

“It's just that I've never seen a Mage attack at close range. Everyone tends to avoid getting too close to the Fleetingwood before they are dead.”

“W-what?”

“It will flee unless you're close enough to attack. Then it's you who should flee. That's why they are called Fleeing trees. You're meant to flee before they grab you and drain your life away.” she takes her time and makes me feel very stupid. Ted never told me any of this.

“I never heard about that...” I defend myself.

“No one thought to mention it to a Mage, I'm sure. It's common sense for a warrior that you wouldn't approach a massive monster like these trees when your weapons will have almost no effect.” she further explains. Who is this helpful woman? Where did Anilea go?

“How did those warriors kill it then?”

“You just shoot fire arrows at them until they get worn out and die. It's why they needed mana resistance for this grotto, it takes a long time to wear the monsters down.” That sounds like torture. Are these people fine with the haunting cries of these trees?

“I see.”

I'm pretty angry right now. It would have helped to know any of this before. Actually, it makes sense. It's my own fault I'm masquerading as a Mage.

“Why didn't you just use your fire magic from afar?”

Uh-oh.

“I w-was having a hard time focusing my fire m-magic, since they kept saying things.” I lie

“Saying things? What are you talking about?” she asks, perplexed.

“The trees! Why didn't you tell me that they sound so adorable?” I spit out, vehement in my attempts to pass blame.

“Are you talking about how they creak in the wind?” she offers, even more confused than before.

“No! The Wooloo things they kept saying! Woo. Loo.” I'm almost shouting. Is she being dense on purpose? She's staring at me without responding.

“WOO! LOO! LOO!” I'm shouting now. Now I sound like the trees.

“Wu..lu.. things? What are you talking about?” she says.

…

“The kept talking, saying woo and loo.” My voice is a whisper.

...

“Monsters don't talk.” she says, sounding exasperated and eying me with suspicion.

…

Monsters don't talk?

…

What?

---

Wilson.

Lying on his bed in his room.

The next day.

I didn't find sleep reassuring as my head met pillow last night.

I had the plump trees dancing in my dreams. The dream trees were trying to reassure me with soft Woos and tender Loos, telling me that everything would be okay. It made me feel atrocious. More than that, it was terrifying. They would caress me with their branches, willing me back to sleep. They would dance around, bouncing on their roots and show me that their souls were happy, wherever they went. I kept hearing the last phrase of the first dying tree every time sleep was upon me.

“Woo... loo ... loo” I want to go home, it was saying.

I kept being jolted awake by my own screaming. The screams might have turned into Woos and Loos at some point, I can't know.

Anilea seems to want to stay away from me now that she thinks I'm losing it. We came back in silence yesterday after the massacre. I think after my odd questions she began to distance herself from me. So much for Helpful Anilea.

“Please rest up.”

Those were the last words I heard out of her. She looked far less indifferent than before. When we arrived at the inn, she gave me my payment then scampered off.

The only good news in all of this is that I'm now pretty wealthy. I could rent this room for a few months with my profits.

Yay...no, my heart's not in it.

I feel like the cost was too great. I paid a chunk of my soul and sanity and got a pittance in return. What kind of person will I become if I keep making this trade? Not one I'd care to meet. The worst part is how unhinged I had felt and still feel.

One second I was deliberating killing it, and the next I had a maniacal urge to end that poor tree's life. I couldn't control the urge, and in the end I stood over the corpse and laughed myself silly. I have to wonder if that's who I am. It was these kinds of thoughts that came along like villainous sidekicks to all my attempts at slumber. That and whispers of monsters that aren't meant to whisper.

I want to talk to someone. I don't know who I can trust though. I'm paranoid, so it's hard.

…

Maybe the paranoia is part of it all? Part of the person the bastard god stitched together.

That person that I know nothing about, me.

…

Who... am I?

---

Wilson?

Hiding in his room.

The day after that.

I don't want to leave my room.

My boohoos are turning into wooloos. Woo-loo.

I can't remove the Mana Sealers, because in my haste I forgot to find out how. So they have become permanent jewelry for my left arm. I think it's for the best, but it's unbearable. The certainty that comes with taking them off is addicting. I just want to be Wilson again.

Is that the real Wilson?

Am I the real Wilson?

Did the real Wilson need to eat? To drink?

Why don't I need to breathe?

Am I … human?

---

?

Hiding.

The day after that.

I'm more human now that I've removed that magical robe. I don't deserve magic. Magic isn't human is it? Is it normal here? Are humans normal here? I still don't feel like a normal human. What is normal?

I'm in real trouble here.

…

Why am I here, anyway?

Why am I here right now?

Was...

…

Was there even a bastard god?

Bastard.

Bastard!

BASTARD!

WHERE ARE YOU?

WHY AREN'T YOU HERE!?

YOU BASTARD!

TELL ME WHY I'M HERE!

---

?

?

?

Knocking.

Knock. Knock.

Who's there?

I don't know the rest of that joke.

I don't know anything.

...

I'm sorry for yelling. If only I hadn't yelled. Maybe then I wouldn't be living like this.

…

Talking.

Who is talking?

Please talk to me. Tell me anything. Be my friend. Tell me nice things.

…

I'm lonely, but I can't go out. I can't talk. I don't know what to do.

What do I say? What will they say? Will they ask me about myself? Who I am? Where I'm from? What I know about myself?

What I am?

…

…

What am I?

…

…

Someone.

Anyone.

Is there anyone...

…

…

…

Help.

---