HPII but like a short story

ACT I

NOTE: This introduction/exposition part of the story is based on the first four songs of the album -- "Introduction to the Snow," "Isle Unto Thyself," "Black Rainbows," and "White Ball." Enjoy!

Simon used to believe that it was possible for one to breathe underwater. He would stay up all night, alone, room dimly lit by the streaks of candlelight that were allowed to shine through to his bedroom, attempting to teach himself how it worked, how the human respiratory system worked, yet his own attempts to persuade himself were often fruitless to no end, as he was fourteen and three-fourths still believing that it was possible to fill one’s lungs with air whilst the cold, cruel water cleared out the way. He couldn’t quite remember when he had started to drift away from the belief. Perhaps it was when his naval career had started taking over and he didn’t have time to worry about that sort of thing, or maybe at some point he had simply given it up, disregarded the concept. Either way, the thought had left his mind and stayed buried there until a few days before now.

It is hard to breathe above-water when the air is so cold. He notices that as he runs his hand over the chilling gray railing, noticing the vastness of the ocean from the perspective of his ship. He could breathe above-ground yet the suffocating water prevented him from taking in a breath underwater, and maybe it was better for him to breathe, alone, above-ground on the U.S.S. OCTANGULA. At some point he had accepted that he would die here. Maybe he wanted his story to be unknown, for his presence to be a statistic that they would record and keep in a safebox forever. He could not fathom how long he had been a-sail, maybe he did not want to know. Maybe time had been unnoticeably passing and the truth of how long he had been aboard was terrifying. Truly, terrifying. It is scary to be so isolated, especially somewhere so endless where he could not tell where he was going. Perhaps the machinery of his vessel would fail him and lead him to a place where he could not believe, where he would die a cosmic fragment.

He inhaled a long, cold breath as a small land came into view, dominating his line of sight. And his crew had no choice but to unload onto the land.

Upon his departure from the boat Simon had realized that this island was far too small to house such a bustling population. A sort of unfair ratio had asserted itself on this island, as Simon watched various children roam through the waters, townspeople pulling out weeds from a small garden and passing around golden yellow fruit. A deceiving light selfishly allowed itself to bathe the island as it emerged from the land’s center. A dark water lapped the edges of the island, yet it was hard to tell if this was true or if it was simply the lighting of the late night. This aforementioned dark water swayed, whether from the wind or some sort of aquatic entity was unclear.

He hauled a large package from the ship’s cargo hold, struggling to keep the bulky passage upright before dropping it on the ground and meeting the eyes of an island-goer.

It was first her beauty that struck him. Her eyes were striking, a dark gray that somehow managed to be vibrant, highlighted by the sparkling light of the evening. Her eyes, widened and focused, caught his attention until he blinked to see a full glimpse of this woman. She had a thick head of coily black hair, framing her eyes and nose and mouth, cascading down her back in a magnificent descending pattern. She was undoubtedly of an undescribed beauty, one that ignited something deep in Simon’s heart. Upon meeting his gaze the woman had grinned and waved at him to no response as Simon attempted to pick up the box again. Shaking off his feelings he had grabbed the box and retreated to a small wooded section of the island, following one of his sea crew members. It was not until the next day that he had seen the woman again.

Perhaps early morning would be a more fitting term–due to his late arrival it was approximately twelve-fourteen in the afternoon when he woke up, and his early morning was plagued, graced by a vision of this woman. He had had the most wonderful dream of a cascading goddess of a woman, characterized by a blinding, white light in the shape of something human. This light illuminated the backdrop of a starry sky, and Simon had perhaps leaned in to dance with her when he was bathed in her light and startled awake to a cold island, where he had seen the woman again.

This time it was deep in the woods when he had witnessed her hauntingly beautiful eyes passing by. Quickly, without thought, he stumbled out in pursuit of her to notice she was long gone. Attempting to regain his breath, he let out a silent startled sound upon realizing that this woman was behind him.

“Good afternoon,” the woman whispered. She had a declaring voice, one that did not match her volume yet managed to sound inviting. Her eyes glistened as the light of the sun (and, likely, the blazing pit in the island’s center) shone through her.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he had managed to respond before noticing the basket of familiar fruit she was carrying. “What sort of fruit is that?”
To which she had responded, “I’m not too sure.” She grasped one firmly and offered it out to Simon, allowing the rigid yellow fruit to fall into his palm.
“Do you have a name?” He had asked.
“Maybe. I hope so.” She exhaled. “My name is Stella. Do you have a name?”
“Simon.”
She smiled at this. “Would you like to meet here?” She eventually said, more as a statement than a question, to which he affirmed with an immediate, “Yes.”

Without a thought the woman–Stella–was gone and Simon felt a haze in his mind, one that struggled to tell him what had happened. She had gone without telling Simon a time yet at nine thirty-four he had felt a calling to descend deeper into the woods, allowing himself to be guided by the moon. He smiled as he recalled the memories of laying under this moon as a child, marveling at the fact that the moon would always be the same–it had witnessed his life and would witness his death and would simply always remain, without ceasing.

Deeper into his woody descent he noticed the familiar light of Stella and acted upon the instinct pulling him closer. She had met his eyes with the widened sparkle of hers, and smiled at him. Simon finally sat down next to Stella and they began to converse about life and death and happiness and sadness and philosophy and understanding and Simon had never felt so seen. As the pair mused aloud to each other a large raven passed overhead and Simon felt a sense of wonder about it. He wondered if this raven had time to care about love and devotion or if it was simply surviving, and upon this realization he felt so happy and grateful to be alive–a feeling replaced by a sense of confused cold when Stella had disappeared again, disintegrating into a fine starry powder that made itself part of the sky soon enough. Even in her strange form Stella had managed to gravitate towards the stars.

The pair continued to meet at this same place by the water for weeks or maybe months when Stella finally managed to speak deeply. It was not until this conversation that Simon realized their previous conversations had little substance. Despite the subject matter their statements were often vague and unimportant, offering little insight into either one of them. Yet, he always felt so understood, like every part of his mind and body and psyche and life had been explored and discovered and so utterly complete, like he was finally a complete man.

Stella began to talk as she ran her fingers along the sand.

“I believe it’s time you know about me,” She said, warranting Simon to look up from the seashell he was adamantly examining. Her manner of speech was rather hard to understand yet something about her monologue had managed to imprint itself into Simon’s brain and stay nestled there. “I… my name is not… Stella. It’s something of a name, more accurately a label. It does not represent me, but what does?” She exhaled. “I know that you are plagued by melancholy, Simon. Whereas you are a hollow human without a core I am simply a bright and blinding light of a core and I feel like I can make you complete. Yet… I’m sorry. I suppose I should tell you my story.”

Simon watched as Stella’s eyes remained in their wide, gray, state for the remainder of her speech as she mused about her personal life and death and identity. “I… I have no name or body–I am simply, not Stella. I believe I was at some point, maybe that was the name of the star that I was born from. On this island there is a strong light in the center branching off a strange underwater star, one noticeable from miles away, that is worshipped and praised. There is a godly presence in the light and I was born from it. I was born bathed in the light and it was painful and inviting and warm and cold and awful, and I grew along the light and watched as it became distorted and pulsing and vile and cruel, driving people to commit horrendous acts in the name of the light, and I had thought to myself, how could such a lovely light create such dreadful darkness?” She smiled at the end of her speech and ran her hand along Simon’s shoulder. “Simon, I must go. Would you like a final farewell?” She asked, to no response from Simon, and leaned in to kiss him. His body erupted in a flaming warmth, his eyes widening to finally meet hers, before once again she had disappeared into the stars.

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