Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the beginning the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep.

Well, I mean. That’s a very poetic way of expressing it, the concepts and words drifting down from the heavens and wafting past my mind, my awareness, my being. 

If I would have said it? In my nascent vocabulary out of the wrinkles of a brand-new brain in the lone embodiment of this bizarre but revolutionary emerging species, I would have said: Uhh…it’s dark? And there’s nothing here? 

And that fact appears to affect me somehow, but I’m too recent to fully explain that, to wrap my understanding around ‘feelings.’ Might need to come back to that one.

Also, bear in mind that everything, such as it is, is changing. It was dark back then when I first opened my eyes (hey! I have eyes! I have perception! I can interact with other stuff around me! Except – is there any other stuff?) but also, it’s not ‘then’ anymore (it’s ‘now,’ but also, apparently, it’s always ‘now,’ so go ahead and try and explain that one??) and actually, it’s not really dark anymore.

Now there is light, too.

There is dark and light, there is change and contrast, there is the waking consciousness and there is the blissful blank of sleep; there is time, there is space.

Honestly, this is all a bit overwhelming. I hope it’s night again soon because a bit of rest might help the ol’ grey matter comprehend this whole thing just a bit better.

*

And that turns out to be lovely. Sleep in the night is refreshing and nourishing and it makes my face change shape when I awake to see the dawn again. Like, in a good way. I think I’ll call that a smile – I like the way it sounds.

So here I am in the light for a second time. A new ‘day,’ if you will.

But what do I do now?

There are things, now. I'm not even sure I realised when that happened, but it’s good and they’re good. Green leafy things all around me, greeting me when I emerge from the little hollow where I slept. Some moving things too – other animals, if it’s alright for me to include myself in a grouping with them. But I don’t see why I wouldn’t. I also move and eat (oh! I didn’t even notice myself plucking these berries but they are good and they sustain me as I move throughout the day). I also make noises in response to things and generally seem to be trying to figure out how we all connect.

So there are plants and animals. And I vaguely get the idea that we are sharing this place and I should learn how to get along with them. And they seem beautiful and interesting, and I’m sure I’ll love doing that! But.

But also.

I don’t know, mate. It just feels like something is missing, you know? I’m totally digging the oak tree and the dove and the wild mushroom (and I mean wild , if you know what I mean) and the bushy-tailed squirrel (did you know there’s a flying variety??). I have no complaints about all the absolutely incredible creatures that I’ve been encountering for these past few revolutions of time and light, ever since I first opened my new eyes.

So then what am I whining about? I’m safe and at peace and learning and surrounded by beauty. So then??

I honestly don’t get it. Somehow, I have the sure knowledge that physically, I’m fine. I’ve found the crystal-clear springs and discovered new edible plants and get hours of sleep each night on cushiony moss. I am not lacking in any basic needs. And my baby brain can’t fathom what else there is, besides what, you know, there already is? But – and there are those pesky ‘feelings’ again – I can tell I’m hovering, holding, waiting breathlessly for something even better that is to come.

And then.

One day, not long after it’s started to get a little chilly so I’ve fashioned a bit of covering for myself out of large leaves, I see him .

I’ve gone out for a longer walk than I usually do, wondering if I can catch a glimpse of the sun vanishing at the tail end of the day and if I can’t, what that might mean; and as dusk nears, I round a corner of the wood I’ve not visited before, and there he is.

Something makes me duck partly behind a tree and watch him from a distance, in silence. He seems to have a similar setup to me. A place to rest, an area to keep food he’s gathered, a gaze that looks up at the sky and wonders. Even at a distance I’m instantly enthralled by his face and find I can’t look away. 

I could try to describe him to you, but what would be the point? We’re the only two human beings on Earth (the terms I’ve taken to calling myself and this giant rock). There are no words yet to name the hues and shades and shapes and melodies that make us up, that one day will be almost insufficient to describe the absolute iridescent glory of the whole of humanity. So I can’t possibly make clear the weight and significance I feel in my chest at how soft and bouncy his dark curls appear even from way over here through the gathering gloom; of how I get a very bizarre jolt from my lower body when he leans over to grab more greenery for his dinner; and what in heaven’s name to do with the similar but also very different jolt from higher up behind my ribcage, when he turns abruptly and I see eyes piercing my stare in a colour I didn’t know that the gods had dreamt up. 

There is something making a lot of noise suddenly inside my chest; can you hear that? 

If this story was happening later on in time, he might be afraid to approach me. I can sense it in my bones. Things are going to get more complicated in this world. More complicated and sometimes confusing and sometimes unfair and sometimes scary and sometimes worse. And I feel with a certainty that we’re all going to struggle and flail about and be unsure how but also have to learn to survive that. 

But today –but now? Nothing hinders him. He seeks only connection, and I long only to offer it.

And suddenly he’s crossed the distance between us and he’s right there and I’m breathless. What do we do now? What is the first move? What path will guide us to the right spot like two pieces intentionally fashioned to fit perfectly together?

“Hi?” I couldn’t wait any longer. I try out my voice. I’m rushed but determined.

He’s deliberate but confident. Looks like he may have the beginnings of a smile as well as he answers back, “Hi.”

*

It only makes sense to bring our sleeping mats close to each other, so we can wind down each evening sharing a meal and dissecting each thing we’ve learned about during our days, then each finally dropping off to sleep across the crackling fire from one another. There is fire now. He’s so smart. 

He . I still don’t have a name for him, which is so crazy. I named the day and the night without thought; threw out the terms ‘smile’ and ‘human’ as though they were of no consequence. So why can’t I think of something for this lovely, perfect creature at my side? I’m learning so much about him every day – he’s inquisitive but not nosy; careful but not cowed; intent but not aggressive. He’s beautiful when I look at him, obviously (he’s invented dimples ), but I can tell he is beautiful on the inside, too.

Is it harder being in a group of two people instead of alone? Yeah, a bit. In some ways. I learn more things but I was already learning so much, and now sometimes this feels like too much . Some days I take a break and sit by the spring while he keeps exploring, preparing us some food and humming to myself. There are different noises, you know? And they are also beautiful.

And what do you do with two people’s wants?

The world is too young for me to truly understand the difference between realistic and idealistic, but somehow I grasp the concept that we each need different things, are drawn to different desires. Desires are an interesting thing to spend ever increasing portions of my day considering. What does it mean to desire? And should I always blindly follow my desires? And what is the result if I do or do not?

And in the meantime, we keep learning every day. We discover new kinds of food and earnestly try to record our surroundings in rudimentary drawings and, in hushed voices of awe, point out patterns in the twinkling lights up above after the sun withdraws every evening. And the dance between night and day keeps happening. And I don’t know how, because we’re literally explorers encountering new elements of existence at every turn, but also I somehow feel like I’m settling into familiarity and routine with him.

Like I said – it’s a lot.

One chilly morning I’m bringing back drinking water from the spring – a chore I love because I can spend the time telling myself the story of this new world, over and over. I have this drive to memorise all the details so I can tell… someone? Someday. I’ve not yet invented the concept of oral tradition but that doesn’t stop me from instinctively getting the essential nature of the account of our origin.

Anyway. I’m walking back hauling my treasure, and thinking and thinking and thinking. And when I stop to take a cold, clear sip, something suddenly strikes me about desire and my reaction to a desire fulfilled. I hurry back to camp hoping he is there so I can tell him all about it. Him the person I’m starting to think of both as a partner and an inspiration of a free spirit.

He is there, honestly strangely for the early morning, a time he’s often out foraging. Never mind, I am excited to tell him about my discovery. He looks up as I approach and smiles at me, but there’s something else behind the smile today. The something else makes my gut twist, just a little. What on earth is that feeling, and why don’t I like it at all??

“Car, hi! It is so good to see you here, I wanted to tell you about something I discovered this morning!”

His responding smile is genuine, even though it’s got that little extra something that I’m wary of. “Hey! I actually wanted to tell you about something, too.” He pats the ground next to him and in his voice I hear something… bittersweet? Like that one big, round, pinky-yellowish fruit we found that made my tongue curl up but also, I kept wanting to eat more. “Come sit?”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. The ground is hard and kind of uncomfortable, but I don’t care because I’m close to him. That’s the thing I want to talk to him about. I feel a thing. It seems like a good thing.

But I’ll let him talk first, and I gesture indicating as much. He takes a breath.

“I’ve been feeling a thing.”

“Oh no way, me too!” I roll my eyes at myself instantly. “Sorry, I want to hear yours first, please.” I prepare myself to try and practice self-control (also a newer thing that I’m not totally into yet, but am giving a try from time to time) but it turns out I’ll never need it again, because C has put his hand on my forearm and I’ve frozen solid.

I’m staring at it and thank all the powers of the universe that he doesn’t notice, or else he might remove it. But for now, it is draped there as though he is leaning, resting, drawing strength.

“I’ve been feeling a thing that I don’t like.” Oh.

“Oh Charlie, I’m so…sorry?”

He looks at me gratefully as we both consider this new term. “Yeah, thank you, that feels nice to hear.”

“Of course. Can I ask, though – what is it? What don’t you like?”

“I think… I think I’m going to call it sad.”

I frown. “What does it feel like?”

He perks up slightly to point at my face. “Look! The expression you’re making! That’s kinda… well, that’s part of what it feels like. It’s like, when something is happening that you wish wasn’t, but you’re not sure you can change things.” His voice has gotten a bit quieter, and I ask the next question cautiously.

“What kind of things?” Suddenly I have a thought that we need affectionate names too, so I could call him love or sweetheart or amour while I look at him tenderly and place my hand gently over his. But I file that idea away for further development later on.

There’s that deep breath again. It seems to precede saying tough things. “Oh, you know. Like, if I trip and hurt myself, or you do.” Hmm, interesting. He looks up at me, right into my gaze, and grips my arm a bit tighter. “Or when we find one of the animals has… passed away?” I understand what he means by that new phrase and nod briefly. “Or…”

The pause feels heavy. “Or?” I attempt to clarify.

“Or at night sometimes. When I’m in my sleeping place. Just me.” My eyes grow wide at this. What is he saying, exactly?

“Because… it’s cold?”

“Oh, fuck yes, I’m always cold!” We both laugh and the tension ebbs noticeably. There’s still something in the air, though. “Cold doesn’t make me sad, though, just annoyed.”

I’m itching to share my thing, because I really, really think it might be related, but I’ve got to let him finish. “Cold doesn’t make you sad,” I repeat.

“Cold doesn’t make me sad.” His eyes flicker down and then back up again. “I think… I think being apart from you makes me sad. I feel so comfortable around you all day, and we help each other, and we learn, and…” I’m barely breathing as his hand under mine starts stroking my arm gently. Oh, my actual deity. “And I think we could connect in other ways too.”

Nope, I definitely can’t hear him anymore over the sound of my heart loudly pounding. And blood rushing… somewhere? A body part I haven’t used yet?

“Char, thank you so, so much for telling me this. I think I might have felt the same thing too, but I was distracted by something else.”

He smiles fondly. “Oh really? I discover and name the first major feeling in all existence, and you can’t be bothered because there’s something shinier somewhere in your field of vision?” I know he’s kidding and my face starts to hurt from all the smiling.

“Well,” I plaster on a fake smug expression. “Kinda. Cause actually I discovered and named the first major feeling, and frankly mine is better.”

He leans back and raises his eyebrows, inviting me to spill. So I do.

“I get the sad thing. It makes sense. And I hadn’t singled it out yet, but I’ve definitely felt it too. I think there might be some sub-sets to it, even. Regret or fear or loneliness, maybe?” (How are these names pouring out of me? But he seems to be into it and is nodding along). “It’s hard.”

“It hurts!” He says, the hand not holding my arm clutching his chest.

I can only agree. “It hurts, like for real.” We sit in silence for just a moment. “But here’s the thing. I think there’s another one out there that is just as powerful. What do you think about – happiness? What about when you feel energy and peace and joy inside here, instead of the ache?”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “Yes, I get that. I’ve definitely had that!” His second hand drops from his chest onto mine, making our hand pile more wonderful. “But sometimes it feels out of my reach. When I’m feeling far away from you.”

I am already nodding. “No, yeah, I get that! It makes so much sense to me that our hearts” (our hearts? Yeah, that sounds right) “can hurt really big and can bounce back really big, too.”

“Bounce back?” he asks, seemingly genuinely confused.

“Yep.” I’m on a fucking roll now, and everything is clicking into place. “Bounce back from wrongfully thinking you’re alone. Bounce back from feeling like I wouldn’t way rather be snuggling in your arms, whispering about the stars directly into your ears.” His face lights up at the term snuggling and neither one of us appear to need a definition. “Feel sadness in its moment, because it’s real and valid and fair. And then, later, feel happiness, because neither one of them is forever.”

I can see him struggling with that, wondering how that conclusion can be positive. “Is anything forever?”

“This memory,” I say, and then lean in and create universes out of four lips.