 | Thousand Silences Name: Darius Ammon |
Age: 24 |
Height: 5'11" |
Weight: 158 lbs. | Eyes: Brown |
Hair: Black |
Nationality: European |
Marital Status: Single |
I don't have any idea how old this house is. It's antiquated-- run-down and gaunt like most survivors from what I guess to be its time period, but far too corporeal to ever pass for "haunted." It's three storeys tall, four counting the oversized attic; the entire lowest floor opens out onto a covered porch that doubles as a balcony for the second storey. I can see twenty-one windows and five doors from where I'm standing, looking up at the house's backside looming above the thin, feeble trees. A copper fire escape-- probably added a few years ago because of some kind of safety regulation-- twists down from the attic window, defying the idea of anachronism, like the broken spine of some creature more ancient and longer forgotten than the building it coils predatorily around. The same isn't true of the building's owner, though. Her name is Marle and her face is one of the only two here I recognise.
I think I came here once, a long time ago. And "everyone" is here, whatever that actually means. There are enough cousins and aunts and nieces and parents to fill up every room of Marle's monstrosity of an abode, all of whom I've visited, hosted, had breakfast with or served dinner to at some time or another. As said, two I recognise, and the rest are like strangers. Marle once told me that as a girl, she had to shovel snow away from the front door during the Ice Age. I don't find it hard to believe; I don't know how old she is, even within a few decades, but I know she's old, very old. It's not the kind of oldness I normally assume, with strange smells and frailty and high, trembling voices. Marle is old the way a mountain or a redwood tree is old-- not dilapidated but simply ancient, a majestic denizen of some past so distant that centuries become little more than an afterthought. Marle is something more than human to me.
The other that I recognise is Joab. I used to know what his actual relationship to the family was, but I've long forgotten. He's somewhere in his sixties, I suppose, and I think he once told me that Marle raised him-although when I think back on it, it seems more like a dream I had than something he ever said. His humanity permeates him, like a little-lower-than-angels variation on glory itself. I haven't spoken with him in a long time, but he's always seemed like the type who understands all things.
My failure to recognise the teeming masses of humankind visiting Marle seems to be mutual. Nobody's attempting polite conversation in my direction, not that I mind all that much. It's not that I'm insecure about meeting new people, it's just that I'm a little uncomfortable talking to people I should obviously know already but have completely forgotten-- call it a social disorder.
*insert 14-78 pages of plot and go on to the next bit*
"Darius," the voice says and I face it. "Darius. How are you."
"I don't understand."
"Darius," it repeats. "How are you-- Darius? How? How? Who are you, Darius? Darius. Who are you?"
"Leave me alone. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Darius!" the voice screams, desperately. "Who are you? Darius!"
"Leave me alone," I shout again, and try to get away.
"No," the voice says, in a low, panicked tone. "Darius, no, no, Darius. How are-- who are you. Darius. No."
"Stop it," I hiss. "Stop!"
"No!" the voice shrieks. "Darius!"
I have to run. I just have to get away. The second I turn around, someone is there, and it's Marle and she's too tall, far too tall, and she looks weary and restless like a cliff facing the sea. Her dry, almost transparent hand comes to rest on my forehead. "So, then," she says, sounding sad and tired. "We were wrong about you."
"What are you talking about? Don't touch me!" I shriek hysterically, violently pulling her hand away. "Leave me alone!"
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."
"Oh, God," I sob. "Oh, God." And it's like a prayer.
"We were all wrong," she says matter-of-factly, and sighs. But then she smiles, that same tiny, secret smile I can remember from that time I came here before.
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