This is a gift/impulse story pertaining my favourite character John and...something else. Please read and Enjoy.
There's a fine line between memories and dreams.
Your name is John but its-his name is unknown. A troll with horns and painted black, white and grey with stitches. A skeleton painted on the outside, signifying nothing on the inside.
You ask who it - he is. He doesn't reply. Just a stare that sends shivers through your body, yet you are far from scared. You look and him and frown. He tilts his head to the left and smiles a mocking smile, stretching the stitches yet it - he shows no pain.
He tugs at your blue clothing, not saying a word, and traces the waves with a finger, still no words. From all the interaction, you stay still, staring into the empty pits of white.
His gold horns reach your head - that's how close he is, yet you don't mind, but when his forehead presses against yours, it feels so cold as if the world has frozen up.
That's when you frown and take your leave, your hair almost tangling with it - his wild, black mane.
In a three years' gap, you still clearly remember. The ice cold touch, flaring horns and misleading smile.
It's the pupiless eyes that strucks you the most, though. It's a wonder how such a depthless thing can make you remember.
Ten years later, you meet him again. This time you say no words, and he follows the suit. You two are sitting there in nothingness, and he looks pleasantly surprised.
He reaches out and touches you - a hard palm resting on the left side of your face, just below your glasses. You look at his eyes, trying to question however find it to hard, so you look at his mouth.
A quirk of the lips showed his only amusement
You decidedly ignore it, and bath in his coldness, clashing against the warmth of your own.
Just as you have had about enough and your hand twitches to remove it...his, he stops and slowly recoils it.
He cocks his head to the side again, looking at you with wide, yet relaxed eyes.
It's a wonder how clashing opposites could fit so well. However don't worry, you forget about that, also.
Just as you and it...him are leaving, he clutches your face and gives you a kiss straight on the lips. It felt like nothing and everything at the same time, where rough bristles of the stitches push against your own, soft lips. Before you both disappear, he lets go and another mocking smile graces his lips before mouthing 'Kurloz.'
Ah...yes. So that was his name.
It's been around 15 years now. Since you, you know. Awoke from your coma.
You still don't know if you should feel slightly betrayed by those humanstrollsfriends you dubbed as the shadows. Your father says they're no good to you now - imaginary.
You are confused - a flicker of memory flares and fades just as fast, just like a blur of movement. You learn to stop trying to chase them after the years, but can't help but shake off the feeling that they were sharp memories before.
Deciding you had gone crazy, you attempt to forget about them as well
The shadowshumanstrollsfriends don't seem very happy for you - they seem mad, especially this person named k...kar...kat? ItSheHe seemed the loudest of them all. You briefly wonder what kind of moronic name is that, before forgetting the tid bit of information as well.
Just another memory into the jar.
Relief swallows you as the shadows stop swirling around you, yelling in nonsense. Maybe you have finally gained some sanity. Yes, that's definitely it.
Although...you wonder, looking at a dark silhouette right next to you - a hunched back and wild, black hair with two peculiar horn-like shadows sprouting from the darkness.
It was next to you the whole time, but it never says a thing. That's why you tolerate it more than the others, and that's why you let it. Although, sometimes, when looking at the dark, silent shadow you feel an insistent cold and want and ache in your chest and flashes of memories circle around your head - of blue, black, white and orange, but too fast for you to catch.
You decide to forget that also, but it still stays with you, unlike the rest. Sometimes it leaves and you feel lonely, but it always comes back and bows, as if to say sorry.
Thirty years later and you are laying on your deathbed alone, waiting for the darkness to consume you and lead you to the void.
Many shadows come and go but there's the one that always remained - the one you dubbed as your favourite.
Your black-grey matted hair sticks to your forehead, full of sweat as you exhale, inhale...
And when your bleary eyes decide to look at the roof and hopefully see heaven, you don't.
You see, with no glasses and even with old age bearing down upon you, you see crystal clear...ithimkurloz.
And suddenly you are bombarded with memories and suddenly, years of 'hallucinations' made sense as the pieces curl around the puzzle and completes it.
Seated next and leaning above you from the side, sat it - him...Kurloz, eyes just as white, stitches just as tight and hair just as dark as the night. He looks like he hadn't aged a day.
Pain, but not the physical kind blossoms in your chest, and yet you laugh in ...not happiness...but...relief? Unfortunately, you realise once again that you are DYING and therefore shouldn't be LAUGHING; your laughter turns into choked coughs.
After you have settled, you look up again and yet there he still is, crystal clear and as beautiful as ever.
His eyes are half-lidded and when your eyes travel down, you expect another mocking smile behind the stitched-lips and yet when you do look down his smile was different...
... sad, even.
You shake your head slightly, and feel the internal disease getting to you and your vitals.
You know you're breathing in your last breath and he seems to know too.
Just as your consciousness fades... pitter, patter. You feel drops of water on your face. You're looking up and there's the roof and a blurry Kurloz, so you can't see many details.
You assume the roof is leaking.
Or maybe there's a hole there.
Yep, definitely a hole.
But...since when did rain taste this salty?
Your final thought was of Kurloz.
Of white, black and orange-red.
Of beauty and skeleton stitches.
His name is Kurloz, and you'll never forget.