• Autumn. A word that rings inside my mind for some odd reason. Not because of the word “Autumn”, but just because of how she said it to me. “Autumn”, a time where leaves fall and the ground is littered with bits of “Autumn” color.

    Bleck. Who the hell would honestly like such a time as “Autumn”? Having to pick up those little bits of “Autumn” color sounds like a pain.

    And yet she likes it for some reason. She likes picking up those bits of “Autumn” color and placing them into large, orange bags of plastic.

    “Use this,” She says as she hands me a stick with metal things at the end. It looks like a giant fork. “It’s a rake. You use it on the leaves, like this.”

    She demonstrates. It looks like leaf-picking would be a lot easier with this tool. I’d rather be elsewhere on a day like today. It’s cold outside, my nose feels like there is an ice cube melting inside of it, and my ears are burning hot. I understand scolding heat like we had in Egypt. I understand how hot the sand could be on some days.

    But “Autumn”? Who could have fun with that?

    Her, of all people. I should have expected that.

    I don’t understand her, either, not at all.

    …Not at all.

    To find pleasure out of something as miserable and… ugly as “Autumn” after everything that has happened to her… it’s strange.

    Why can’t I find something beautiful about “Autumn”, like she can? Am I just too evil? Or… I’m just not… strong like she is. I’m physically stronger, mentally stronger, I’ve survived thousands of years alone, trapped inside a little cell of immortality and regrets. But she’s still stronger than me, somehow. I want to be strong, like she is. I want to find something beautiful in everything and everyone.

    “Now we tie the bag,” She says in her quiet voice. She’s happy and content doing this. Even a quiet voice like hers gives this away.

    The bag is tied now with the leaves inside, a prison for those “Autumn” colors. She turns the bag around where a face of black is seen. Two triangles for eyes and a crescent moon for a mouth, another triangle as a nose.

    “See?” She inquires, looking at me with a smile. “It’s a pumpkin.”

    “Why do you keep the leaves inside bags?” I ask her in my harsh voice. I don’t understand how she can smile as I speak to her coldly, mockingly of her customs. Is that what makes her stronger? She can smile at everything and everyone, regardless…?

    “The leaves have to be picked up,” She explains. Her pale, golden hair falls in front of her face, which she quickly brushes back with a gloved hand, tucking the locks behind her ear. “So we make pretty ornaments with them.”

    My eyes narrow as I glare at that bag. The happy face on it makes me sick. It mocks the leaves inside, reminding me of my own prison that I will have to return to one day. I can’t stay like this forever, hidden.

    I grab the bag and rip it open, spilling the “Autumn” colors on the ground again. She takes a step back in surprise, watching me as I go into my little fit and throw the bag aside. She’s not smiling anymore, just watching me in curious surprise.

    Now I finally realize how she is stronger than me. I see my prison and my grief and my sorrows, all my pain. That’s all I see. She sees something else, ignoring her past. She sees something good, something light, something that I’ve blocked out of my mind.

    “The “Autumn” colors,” I explain, huffing a little. Clouds form from my breath. “Why should they be hidden under a fake mask? They’re pretty colors, aren’t they?”

    “Y-yes….” She murmurs, never taking dark blue eyes off mine.

    “Then they should be left alone,” I finish, kicking the bag away one last time and shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. “Beautiful things being locked up. What a stupid idea.”

    After a moment, that same smile returns to her face.

    How can she smile at me? I sinned; I conspired against my own flesh and blood, my own brother. I attempted to murder him. Greed approached me and I let it take me over. I let it consume me. What gives me a second chance at life like I have now, what gives me a chance to be happy like I am now?

    What gives me a right to see her smile and make me happy?

    She suddenly bends down and picks up handfuls of “Autumn” colors, throwing them up and into the air. She looks at me curiously, as if waiting for my approval.

    I smile at her. “You’re right. Autumn is beautiful.”

    I remember a time when she was like me, always sad and looking at the world through an impenetrable window. She somehow broke out of that window in the past years.

    Thank god she helped me break mine.