The open plane. The grass is bleached white, it sways as if it were under water. A herd of white deer graze in the open plane... they all scattered, when the deer god, standing at seven feet tall, came about. Its hundreds of glistening antlers rose into the air, branching into hundreds and hundreds more... small blossoms and leaves grew at their tips.
The wind. Even the sound of the wind slowly combing through the white forests couldn't break the silence. The silence was like a testament. It's a terrible night to be me.
There is a rabbit, they had said. He made rice cakes all day... but they lied. They always did disappoint me. There is a white fox who frolics all about, through the white grass and leaves. But, he has never been seen.
They say it sometimes rains in this place. Moonshowers. I don't know if I should believe them... but, there is a tree. A tree that stands tall, despite itself. It is barren of all its leaves, standing almost proudly, in the middle of the highest point of the hill. The forests, the planes, it can all be seen. The deer god. The deer herd. The white blossoms, falling like a blizzard. The Thespians... beings made up of gas and chemicals that assume the form of wolves, for some reason. They aren't even sentient, living beings... but they wear masks that are identical to the symbolic, traditional masks of places far away. Wolf masks. Like something you'd see in a parade somewhere... far, far away.
The tree's branches are bare. It wears only a few frail blossoms, that are quite often carried away on the silent breeze. Only the sound of my own breath can be heard... my eyes are wide. My heart is aching. My nose is runny. My eyes begin to close. Have I ever slept? I forget what it feels like. It's a terrible night to be me.
The deer don't even look at me. They poke their noses through the grass, nipping away at the soft, bleached blades. They eye the deer god, who doesn't even seem to notice them. The deer god is a quiet, emotionless entity. He would rather be left alone anyway.
The fox prowls around. Tiptoeing, perhaps. We may never know. My throat is thirsty. The light stains my shirt. And yet, it can't be seen. It doesn't hurt my eyes. It's there. I sit on a branch. What a lonely night...
Raccoons. None of them are white. Why would they be? The white raccoon is long gone. He is only a vague reference in the writings of a lonely soul. The Thespians and the white deer never did get along. Their eyes would dilate, and they would scatter in all different directions, as the Thespians approached. Only, they didn't realize that the Thespians were nothing more than clouds of unknown chemicals. The king Thespian, with the only black mask is heard of, only in mythology.
Moonshowers. It's just like I suspected. My nose twitches. I look up, past my hat. What a lonely sight... the blue planet. So far away, overhead. I gaze at it. It's a terrible night to be me.
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