Cristafori's past - written by kanjii
Cristafori dreamed. He dreamed a lot, actually. Far more often than other people dreamed. He dreamed about every night, and sometimes, during the day. It was always a dream, never a nightmare, or so it seemed to him.
It started when he had been two. He had fallen from a tree while climbing it, despite the warnings of the adults. Cristafori had never been one to listen to his elders... respect, maybe, but listen? Never. As it had gone, he had fallen from the tree and broke his arm when he crashed into the ground, so he was put to sleep as the people started to heal the broken bone.
At first, in his dreams, there was nothing, except for a far-off sound of water. He had walked towards the water, in his dream, although why, he did not know, but he was awoken before he reached the source of the sound. He went to sleep early that day, and went back to the place of falling water. He traveled towards it again, but the direction kept on changing, changing. It was maddening. Why couldn't he find the source? Why did it seem to run away? It was so close to him, yet every time he turned, it was behind him, and when he turned again, it was to his left, then to his right...It kept on changing.
His disposition changed. No longer was he the happy, exuberant, silly child he had once been. The dreams, the fact that he never could get close to the water, irked him, but he refused to tell anyone about it. Cristafori became sullen, anti-social, and became obsessed with his dreams, and the sound of water.
One night, several months later, he fell asleep, to face the water once more. But this time, it was different. The water source was finally found ... a fountain.
The fountain was made of some pure white stone, slightly dusty. There was a floor too, that shimmered in different hues of blue and purple and magenta, but Cristafori took no notice of the floor. The fountain took the center of his attention. It was quite simple, with no elaborate designs or carvings, but it still seemed to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The sound of the water seemed to have quieted, but he did not care.
The next morning, his nature reverted itself back to how it had once been, mystifying all around him. However, he gave no clue as to what had caused his character to change so strangely, and soon curiosity died out about it, replaced once more by worry as Cristafori went about getting himself into life-threatening situations, as he did before.
And every night, he would eagerly return to that fountain. He would sit on its ledge, letting the water rush over him, and talk. Talk to what, he wasn't quite sure. To the fountain? To the water? To the floor, the air? Who knew? Certainly not him. But he talked anyway, about his worries. Whatever he was talking to, he soon started to feel that it was alive, that it listened to him, and sympathized, and agreed. It was his friend, his best friend in the whole world, and no matter where he went, as long as he was asleep, it'd be there for him.
His personality did not change, but a more worrying thing started to happen. Cristafori was asleep much more, spending less time awake and playing with those around him. This went on, until finally, he spent more time asleep than awake, and it was all the adults could do to keep him from dozing off.
On the outside, he acted as if he did not resent this, but inwardly, he hated them. Why did they pull him away from his best friend? Weren't they always saying that they wanted the best for him? Being with his best friend...that was good for him, wasn't it? Who were they to take over his life? Who were they to decide whom he should talk with, or play with?
Then the floods had come. The floods always came, but this year, it was unnaturally worse. Even when they had fled to the highest point of their land, the water still rose, and people drowned. The water was dark, murky, filled with dead things and sludge, and there was no way out of it. The vicious waters soon destroyed the boats they had. Impossibly quickly, their land was completely immersed under seemingly hundreds of feet of water, and people only managed to survive by clinging to floating pieces of junk, vainly hoping that some type of food or drinkable water would float their way.
No longer did the adults to keep awake bother Cristafori. Climbing up onto a piece of wood, he curled up into a ball and fell asleep, not caring whether he fell into the water and drowned. He arrived at the fountain once more, yet immediately he noticed something different. The floor was covered in a film of oil and tar, staining the base of the fountain. The water in the fountain was just as murky as the water in the waking world.
The water of the fountain spilled out onto the floor, and started to flood the place. Water lapped up at his feet, and suddenly rose up in the air and engulfed him. For a split second, as Cristafori watched the water around him, the brown disappeared, replaced by the usual crystal-clear waters of the past, but no sooner had he blinked, the water was gone, and although he did not know until later, he was no longer in Sepia.
