[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
The water ran deep and dark at the bottom of the valley, it’s warped obsidian surface reflecting only the pale, sorrowful face of the moon. Etho sat on it’s shore, legs crossed and fishing rod in hand. He had yet to cast it.
He knew he shouldn't be here, alone. The reds were still on the prowl, and death was grabbing at the remaining players with hungry hands, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
Or, Etho did care- but he cared about this more. His lives ached inside his chest, begging to be let free. He couldn't tell if it was from the greedy call of the world knowing its prey was reaching its end, or if it was the guilt. If his lives knew where they should be, instead of where they were.
A breeze skittered past, ruffling his hair and causing the line of his fishing rod to sway gently. It fractured the moon in the water, drowning wisps of its light before passing on and letting the moon bob back to the surface.
Etho watched the moon struggle to regain its shape. It's going to drown, a voice in his head whispered. Can you save it?
Etho's eyes flickered to the fishing rod held loosely in his hand. It's grip felt worn and familiar, its silvery line strong and durable. But it wasn't quite long enough. He could try, but what was the point of fishing with a faulty line, a faulty hand?
Another breeze skipped through, rippling the water and tearing the moon apart once more. A chill ran down Etho's spine, his grip tightening on the fishing rod. Look, the voice said, it cannot float when it is in pieces. Put it back together or let it die.
Etho felt his breath hitch unevenly as the moon slowly fought to reassemble and rise to the surface of the river once more. He wanted to save it. He wanted to walk into the water, he wanted to pull the moon from the grasping dark, he wanted to hold it together and let it be whole. But the river was shadow, the space behind thoughts, and if he entered it, it would rip him apart and drag him down too.
A third breeze. It was stronger than the last two, and it sent the moon spinning into pinpricks of light, all but disappearing. It's okay, the voice whispered as Etho squeezed his eyes shut, you don't have to watch. It'll be back.
A sob escaped his throat. His hearts pounded painfully against his chest, urging him to do something, anything. But he couldn't. He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe.
All Etho could do was feel, feel the splintering wood, the hot tears, the cold wind. Look, said an impossible voice.
No one said it would hurt this much, like the heat of a sun, setting ablaze to his veins, his chest. Look up, a voice couldn't have said.
Etho never even gave him a life, a heart, so how did he somehow end up holding both, holding them so tightly that even now, even after they are still clutched in his open hands, burning like stars in the empty sky-
LOOK UP, YOU IDIOT! said a voice that didn't exist.
Something smacked Etho across the face. His eyes snapped open with a gasp, the cool night air filling his lungs. A sharp pain stabbed through his hand, and Etho scrambled to his feet, wildly looking for his assailant. After a moment of panic he heard a low creaking sound, and Etho looked hesitantly down at the fishing rod. His grip on it was so tight that it had splintered, cutting into his hand. Slowly Etho loosened his grip, and gently placed the fishing rod on the ground.
That was when he saw it. A hat. It must've been caught in the wind, and so it hit him as it flew past. He picked it up to examine. The hat was purple and pointy like a witch's, with a floppy wide brim, and it had an orange sash wrapped around it. He flipped it over to check the inside for any identifying markers. In the dim light of the moon he read:
Etho couldn't read whatever followed the "From". It looked like a name had been written, unraveled from the current universe, then scribbled out. It made his head hurt just looking at it, but he couldn't help the watery grin that spread underneath his mask.
He put the hat on his head and looked up. The full moon lay heavily in the night sky, firm and unmoving. It's safe now, no one whispered, and it thanks you.
"But I didn't save it," Etho whispered back.
But you loved it, nothing said fondly. That was enough.
Then empty space was replaced with something, and Etho was alone. His hearts beat solidly in his chest, full.
Etho chuckled, and wiped at his eyes. He made sure the hat was secure on his head, and picked up his fishing rod. It's handle was broken, but the line was still intact, so maybe he'd be able to salvage it.
He glanced at the moon one last time, and the moon glanced back.
Then Etho turned and started the long trek back, leaving the river behind.