Entry Fifteen

This is Rewel. I see everything and I still understand nothing.

I wait until dark before I try to open my eyes again. It hurts still. The glare of not-white scathes my retinas as I attempt to glance around. Small, thin leaves shoot up from the earth carpeting the ground, the not-white blades dressed with dew as moonlight reflects.

Is it the saturation of light or the not-white that causes my eyes to burn still. I know not. The leaves are soft on my fingertips, bits of dirt and dead pieces cling to my gloves.

Further ahead are trees with leaves the same not-white as the leaves from the ground and bark that is the not-white of dirt. The thing against my hand feels different, more solid somehow. I see this tree and understand one thing: this is a real tree.

And these soft blades that carpet the ground are alive and real.

I look to the sky and the light bathes my eyes with tears it pulls from my wells. It is bright enough to read, so I pull the book from my pack and see the words in moonlight, shimmering on the page. Back in the sky are dots of light that perpetuate and thrum.

I pull out the letter that Matduke stuck into the book and look at his perfect letters. I ball it up and toss it to the ground, letting it lie there, comforted by living carpet. The lettering shines in the moonlight, indignant. I pick it up and flatten it back out, shoving it back into the book.

I hear a voice between here and the moon: “Do you know what stars are, Rewel?”

I nod this time. I know what stars are.