Sunday, February 24, 2008


Everywhere I went today...he was there. Like an incessant itch that won't go away. Woke up with the intention of collecting rumors about mersayochan but ended up spending the whole day trying to shake the feeling that he was breathing down my neck. My black angel constantly invades my thoughts with his silent stare.

I remember when he first came. He was silver then. I can't forget it; I've probably written about it a hundred times. He just stood there, threatening only by way of his strangeness, a sense of unknown. I remember the first time his silent thoughts filtered through my head; silencing me. I wish I had spoken of him to my father. I was afraid then, and now my chance is gone.

Oh NINYLOCHAN, why did this calamity come upon my village? Was not my father exemplary, a great seer? Did he not speak your name in tongue and paper before the villagers? Yet you allowed this great chaos to overcome him; and all the people. Where is this fabled mersayochan? Who is he to save that which has perished?

nidylochan has surely visited me.

I did learn one thing today. I spoke with a grandmother who explained to me the wild stories of her youth. She claimed to have seen the change before. The change! She said it was like a gray mist, enveloping the object. Something, she proudly informed me, you could only see with a darting sideways glance at precisely the right moment.

She also recalled for me a hero's tale from her youth. The tale described the wanderings of the man who found the very birthplace of chaos, a mountain enveloped in the change. The hero of the tale apparently describes the mountain as being covered in perpetual fog, like a clinging gray mist. She used it as proof for her first story. Ha!

I must write all these things down; I realize more and more how much my mind forgets. Already yesterday is forgotten and tomorrow is on the tip of my tongue. Sometimes it is easy to forget, when remembering means reliving pain.


Saturday, February 16, 2008


Keep feeling like it's a dream; wandered around the market all day. Beautiful objects in bright, foreign colors appeared dull as each step amplified my groggy headache. As if time passed slow, tumbling against boulders in a stream, yet when I finally looked up; half the day was gone.

Left a coin for the lady who housed me last night. Grandfather said that a long time ago this would have been an insult as everyone strictly bartered and money was useless. Nowadays, even though village south is one of the last barter markets, money is appreciated and used for most buying and selling; even within the dark market. Didn't want to disturb their peaceful home (or am I merely consigning to the fact that I don't fit in?) so I'm sitting on the high roof of a storage house as I write this. I can't sleep anyway.

I wish this headache would go away. I can't think.

Didn't find any useful information about mersayochan. Most everything I heard was folklore and old wives tales. I respect my Grandfather enough to search for mersayochan, but I learned enough from my father to discern fact from foolishness. Maybe mersayochan is only a wishful thought, certainly the gods are wise enough not to create an immortal man! Wishful thoughts are known to drive a man into the grave.

Maybe tomorrow will lead me somewhere...anywhere.


Sunday, February 10, 2008

Village South

Woke up cold this morning, it's been a while since I've slept outside. Tried not to think about what happened last night, just trying to focus on what I need to do; find mersayochan.

I sat in the field a while; deciding whether to head west to village south or just take the north road through the woods. The real decision was whether to go anywhere at all, or just break down and cry again. Forced myself to move, pushing every thought out of my head and into my limbs. Mobilizing my inner pain as physical strength. I think I made record time to village south. Blind, thoughtless running and streaming sweat has a way of purging the mind.

I must be in a serious mood, calling it village south like the adults. All the kids call it the dark market. Good memories of sneaking into the dark market and gawking at the strange wares...good memories of friends I'll never see again. Can't not think about it, the truth is staring down at me.

Actually my black angel is. Damn him to chaos. He just stands there, tormenting me with his presence. Even now he's reading this and I can hear his silent laugh echo through my head. It is because I am the seer's son that I must be cursed with a black angel? How many others are cursed as I? Or is it as he says, that I am alone in my anguish?

Hadn't been to village south for a while, it isn't as bad as childhood memories and Grandmother's stories made it out to be. Found a welcoming mother to take me in, there isn't much room to sleep among the dozens of children here, but I don't think I will be able to sleep for a while anyway. I wonder how many of these children are orphans like me, but I don't want to ask. Village south is a place to look, to barter, but never to inquire. Those tales I still believe.

Sun is going down and my eyes are growing weary. Besides the kids around me are passing curious eyes over my journal, and rightly so; not many orphans come into possesion of as fine a book as mine. Time to rest.