Finisterre

10 Years Ago
Sylvie clutched her stomach and gazed at the small knife in Leon's hand, "what was that for?"

Leon chuckled, "well I've been practicing that technique for awhile. It's a combination of my dance training, and my skill with a knife."

"Honestly Leon," Sylvie rolled her eyes, "what's with the dramatics? And really, why did you attack me?"

"I wanted a contest of equals, so that I could test out my new technique! I called it the 'Dashing Wolf'!" Leon jumped up and down.

"You and your stupid macho ideals." Sylvie clicked her tongue.

"What do you mean? I didn't actually think I was going to hurt you. I was just messing around---"

"You were showing off! And look what happened," Sylvie pointed to the blood stain that was slowly growing on her white shirt.

"You'll be okay. I didn't cut you that deeply."

"That's not the point Leon! That's not the point at all!" Sylvie stomped, "you don't just attack your friends to show off. I don't care if it was just a joke or something!"

"Umm....alright. I'm sorry."

"No! That's not good enough Leon. You know what? I'm going to attack you in return for your stupidity. I'm not one of your stupid buddies that you can just punch in the face for a good time, okay?"

"Yeah, sure Sylvie," Leon backed up slightly, "so what? Do I have to let you punch me now or something?"

Sylvie stared at him for what felt, to Leon, like hours, although it couldn't have been.

"Oh no Leon," Sylvie smiled, "I'm not going to satisfy what is probably a stupid male fantasy by hitting you back. I've got something better in mind," she chuckled to herself, "give me your knife for a minute," she said, beckoning with two fingers for Leon's knife. He pressed the handle of the knife into her hand.

"What are you going to do? Cut my wrists or something dramatic like that?"

Sylvie chuckled, "something like that Leon. It's something I do once in awhile in situations like this."

"Oh yeah? Situations like what?"

"Oh," Sylvie quietly pulled up Leon's left pant leg, "when guys try to do something stupid like slash me in the chest. I react with this," she punctuated her sentenced with a quick stab into Leon's leg.

"Ow! So, that's it huh?"

"Not quite." Sylvie reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny green seed. She pressed it into the small hole in Leon's leg, so that all that remained of the stab mark was a small, flesh-coloured lump.

"What did you do anyway? Poke me with your fingernails or something?"

"Yes," Sylvie laughed, "that's what I did."

"Wow, that wasn't bad at all. What do you call it? I mean, every technique has to have a name!"

"Really? Some people think it's a bit too extreme," Sylvie rolled her eyes, "and, to satisfy your curiosity, I call it 'Finisterre'. It's a French word for 'land's end'. Simple enough?"

"Yes!" Leon laughed to himself, "I was really worried that this would be worse."

"Well," Sylvie bared her teeth, "I hope you learned your lesson." She quietly walked towards the hallway and into the bedroom, in order to change her shirt that was now entirely stained with blood.

7 Years Ago

Leon scratched his arm violently. His arms had been ridiculously itchy for a few weeks now and he was entirely unsure why. There were no red marks on his skin that might indicate a rash of any kind. In fact, he stared at his arms, his skin had gained a strange sheen lately. It seemed to glisten, but did not feel wet when he moved his hand across it.
It was strange, but Leon didn't pay much attention to it. He finally decided that it was probably a prolonged allergic reaction to something nearby and figured that it would eventually go away.
"Besides," he thought to himself, "I've lived with it this long haven't I? It's not that important." He sighed and reached his hand toward the receiver, "maybe I should call a doctor anyway. Then I'll know that it's nothing at least." He pulled his hand back as he noticed a tiny pink note taped to the phone that said, "Sylvie. Three O'clock. The Island Cafe." Leon slapped his forehead and decided he would rather see Sylvie than the doctor, because he hadn't spoken with her in quite awhile.
He walked out the door, again scratching his arm.

5 Years Ago

"I don't know what is going on with me lately, Sylvie." Leon held his shiny, hairless arms close to his chest. "I feel like I'm going nuts."
"What do you mean?" Sylvie calmly stared at Leon.
"I mean, like I think I'm going mad. Like I woke up this morning and I noticed a green hair on my pillow. It couldn't have been a green hair. I mean, I don't dye my hair and," he chuckled, "I would know if someone else magically appeared in my bed. But then, I thought it meant have been something stupid like grass, but it didn't feel plant-like - it was definitely hair."
Sylvie curled the left side of her face into a half-smile, "I don't think you're insane. It's probably just a thread from a blanket or something. Hey," Sylvie noticed Leon's arms, "did you start shaving your arms Leon?"
"Umm...no," Leon blushed and tried to cover his pale forearms, "no I didn't. I...umm...I don't really know what happened. I-I-I," Leon's face drooped, "I've been losing all the hair off my body, Sylvie. I have no idea why. But I don't think it's started on my head yet." He absent-mindedly scratched his head.
"So, other than that, how have you been Leon?"
"I don't know. I haven't been getting out much lately, I've been becoming really self-conscious about my appearance and stuff."
"What about your friends? What happened to all those stupid guys you used to hang around? You know, the ones that made you think it was somehow okay to wave a knife at me?" Sylvie asked calmly.
"I haven't seen any of them lately. In fact, you're really the first actual person I've talked to in the past three months."
"Ah, that's too bad."
"It's better than nothing right? I'm glad I have you as a friend at least, Sylvie."
"Yeah," Sylvie's eyes wandered, "well, I'm here."

3 Years Ago

"Oh my god," Leon grabbed a handful of hair as it fell from his scalp. Thick green clumps of hair lay all around him. "Why me?" he looked at his pale, smooth face in the mirror. He noticed his skin shone with a slightly greenish hue. But it couldn't be? Could it? He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He had not left his house in what felt like months. But he couldn't tell. He had completely lost track of the days lately. Was he imagining this? He clutched more hair in his hands and felt a lump in his throat as if he was about to cry.
He was supposed to meet with Sylvie today, but instead collapsed into his bed and fell asleep. He couldn't bring himself to go anywhere. Not like this.

1 Year Ago

Green. Everything. Leon found it difficult to see lately. Everytime he opened his eyes, he could see only a spinning, indistinct green haze. But it didn't really matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Was everything actually turning green? Leon couldn't be sure. Leon. That was what he called himself, right? He wasn't really sure anymore. It didn't matter. He hadn't left his bed in what felt like months. It couldn't have been months though, could it? Everything, green. Everything. He rubbed his arms, they felt less smooth than they had before. Was that hair? It felt coarse. It felt solid and wooden. What was it? It didn't matter. Solid, green, wooden. Vines? No. That wasn't right. Everything, green. What was it? It wasn't important. "Not important," Leon mumbled to himself. Leon? He didn't know himself. He didn't know anything. It was as if he could feel his mind slipping away. His mind, falling into a deep sea of green nothingness. Everything. Green. Everything and then nothing. Leon heard nothing. Leon felt nothing. Nothing, but a voice calling in his ear, a calming whisper, "Finisterre."

Now
"Finisterre." The body shuffled itself onward, guided by this single voice. Its form was draped almost entirely in bluish green vines, as if they had one day attached themselves to this poor creature. The body seemed driven in reaching its goal, ignoring everything. Its eyes were lifeless and dull, with blazing red flecks that seemed to hint at the soul trapped somewhere inside.
"Finisterre," the body continued, magnetized. It made no sound as it ambled across the land.
A garden. The body dragged itself inside and felt a warming sensation come over it. A deformed curl formed over its wooden lips, a horrid caricature of a smile. It lifted its arms toward the sky, imitating the small, vine-like trees around it. It felt something fall from its feet and push into the ground. Roots. And, with one last breath, the body let its arms fuse into its body, forming a thick stalk-like plant that looked entirely similar to the other bluish-green plants standing in rows around it.
"I hope you learned your lesson," a girl smiled. "I hope you realize what your dramatic violence gets you. It makes you like all the others."
Sylvie chuckled to herself as she closed the gate on the garden with the letters "Finisterre" carefully spelled out in steel letters and walked home, as the sunset slowly turned the sky purple.

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There you go. Finisterre. That's what it does.

I'm wondering what you think,
Kalinka Blue or Black.