All That Matters

As a young kid, I used to love camping. I would go with my mom and dad, my three siblings, and the family dog by the worn down－but well loved－little camping house we always rented out. Growing up I always looked forward to our annual camping trip, and telling all my friends back home about the bonfires, the hunting lessons from my dad, the laborious setting up of the tent, and so on.

Oh, and the man with no bones. 

Of course, they always called bullsh*t when I told them about the man. He was a peculiar thing, tall and gangly with thick eyebrows and a crooked nose that somehow looked artificial. His strangely prominent adam’s apple that bobbed up and down with every piece of wisdom he imparted onto me. I think the thing that I remember the most vividly was the way he moved. It was as if he had no bones. Hence my nickname, ‘the man with no bones’. With every dainty step he took, he made no noise. I couldn’t even see his knee bend. There was no imprint on the grass that he stepped on. Whereas when I sat by the creek, I would crush all the grass and dandelions that fell victim to my butt, he would float gently down. It was as if he had a pocket of air around him, as if he was sustained by water－or maybe time. 

The man never told me his name, only asking me to refer to him as ‘Mister’ or ‘Sir’. I got away with calling him ‘buddy’ once. I met him when I was only 7 years old, and other than the unique aura he had, another thing about him set the man apart from everyone else. He didn’t have the strange red floating numbers above his head.

Ever since I remember, I’ve been able to see a date, specific time, or a timer floating on top of everyone’s head. It varied from person to person, and I’ve only ever met two people who had the exact same time. I know my parents took me to the town’s renowned psychologist after I had spent weeks complaining about the red numbers above everyone’s head that never seemed to go away. And even though this psychologist has graduated from the best of the best universities, he concluded that I was making things up for attention. 

I learned to keep it to myself after that. Besides, it’s not like it hurt anyone. The numbers just floated above their heads, swirling as if they were made out of fog. I have tried touching the numbers above my little brother’s head, but my hand just phased right through it. The numbers didn’t appear on mirrors or photographs either, so I supposed I would never be able to see the numbers above my head, if I even had any. To be honest, for the majority of my life I had already learned to tune the numbers out. 

My first meeting with the man was nothing short of a coincidence, or so I believed for many years. It was late in the evening and I had finished helping my dad carry the firewood to the fire pit in preparation for one of my beloved bonfires. The sky was a brilliant mixture of soft blues and fiery oranges. The few flowy clouds drifting across the sky were straight out of a painting. I was in the age where I had imaginary everything. Imaginary friends, pets, quests, jobs, and lives. In this particular life, I was a young warrior, fighting with my noble sword to protect my kingdom’s people from the evils of the neighboring empire. 

I remember using a stray piece of firewood as my sword, hacking and slashing at the air, ducking and rolling on the ground. My dad had told me to play somewhere else and to get out of his way, as I was being too rambunctious (and the fire wasn’t starting, adding to his already short temper). Rambunctious? A warrior? Of course I was offended. In a childish display of rebellion, I ran off to the clearing by the creek that my dad had showed me the last time we went camping. 

It was a good 5 minute run, straight through the forest and opposite the trail to get to the cabin. I only knew how to get there because of the scratches my dad had carved through the bark of the trees, as checkpoints, I assumed. When I burst into the clearing, close to tears and with a firm grip on my makeshift sword, I didn’t expect to find a man in MY favorite spot. 

I was a shy thing growing up, so talking to a man I had never met before was not something I wanted to do. Before he could lift his head from the lush grass, I tried to scuttle back into the forest and run back into the cabin, ready to forgive my dad for his blatant disrespect to the warrior ways. I only made it about 4 steps however.

“Ah, you’re here. Don’t run away, young one.” 

Ah sh*t. 

“Yes you, I’m talking to the little girl behind the tree acting like she’s frozen. Come on, I won’t scratch.” 

Wasn’t the phrase ‘I won’t bite’?

“Umm…” I tentatively stepped towards him, playing nervously with the bark from my sword. 

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Oh come on, we’ve seen each other before! Don’t you remember?” He said stood up from his spot on the grass. “Well I suppose you might have been a little too young.”

He took another step towards me and I raised my stick between us. I wasn’t dumb, I knew all about stranger danger of course. 

“Hey hey, no need to be so cautious. We go way back Corrin!” He cleared his throat. “As in your family and I go way back. Your dad and I were college buddies.”

Oh, he wasn’t a stranger! 

What did you expect from a 7 year old’s line of reasoning? 

“My dad never told me about you. He didn’t tell me you were coming with us camping. Why aren’t you with everyone else?” 

“Oh that. Well… it’s a surprise! I haven’t seen him in a while, so I wanted to drop in and say hi to an old pal. But that can wait.” He gestured to the grass. “Sit down, sit down! Did your dad ever tell you about the time him and I stole a car?” 

And that easily, I was entranced. He would tell me stories about the troublemaking that my dad and him got into, and those stories eventually evolved into stories about his friends that lived far away, and those into fantasy stories about warriors just like I believed myself to be. Before I knew it, we had been there for hours.

“...and with that, the young warrior princess knew she had a kingdom to save,” the way he twisted and twirled his words with a flourish that even a little 7 year old could appreciate kept me glued to the ground, hanging onto every one of his words.

“She knew that her existence was the cause of demise for her people, even though she loved them so dearly,” the man picked up a small rock by the creek. 

“And then?” 

“Well, she was a lovely princess. Brave. Brave enough to… end it all,” he crushed the rock into dust between his jointless long fingers. He brushed off the dust from his hands. 

“Oh… was she okay?” I didn’t quite understand what he had meant by ending it all back then.

“No. But her people were. And that’s all that matters right?”

“Y-yeah!”

I was young. Fascinated by heroes and their deeds withstanding the tests of time, and the man’s stories about valiant warriors sacrificing everything inspired me. I was about to ask for another story, before my stomach rumbled loudly.

“Hey Mister, I’m getting kinda hungry,” I stood up from my seat by the creek. “Can we go back to the cabin now? Dad’s making grilled fish.”

I stretched my sore back and looked up to the sky. Night was rapidly approaching and I knew it would be no time before my dad started to yell, telling me to come back. 

“Ah, my apologies Corrin…” I turned around to see the man already making his way deeper into the forest.

“Where are you going Mister? I thought you wanted to surprise dad!” I was confused on why he wanted to leave so abruptly.

“Next time Corrin! I have important warrior business I need to attend to. Surely you understand? I fear I need to go now,” he turned and began to make his way deeper into the forest. “Stay safe Corrin, until next time!” he wasn’t even visible now, through all the thick trees but I could hear his voice as if he was whispering right next to my ear. 

I shivered. It was starting to get chilly, I told myself. And so I picked up my makeshift sword and ran back to the campfire.

As any sane parent would, my parents were beyond worried sick when I told him I had met a tall man and talked with him for what seemed like hours. My dad went off into the clearing with a flashlight and my brother’s baseball bat, while my mom was checking all over me even though I insisted I was okay. 

When my dad asked who this man was, I couldn’t tell him the man’s name. After all, his stories were too interesting! I would remember to ask him for his name the next time we met. 

Two years later, we went back to the same cabin. I guess my parents were still a little shaken up by my story of the man, which is why they elected to go somewhere else instead. But that year I turned 10 and I begged for days to come to the cabin again. I missed the clearing and the creek and I longed for more of the man’s enthralling stories.

My dad came with me to the creek this time. It dawned on me that maybe this man was something I should keep a secret. Maybe he really was a figment of my imagination, or my parents just did not understand. I played along with my parents, saying that I was imagining things last time. Still, my dad sat with me for a while in the clearing, talking about everything and nothing at once. 

I guess I did a good job at acting that I had no ulterior motives to be here, because soon enough my dad felt reassured to go back to the cabin to prepare for another bonfire. He told me to yell if anything happened, and to be back by nightfall. I flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs up, and made my way to the same exact spot by the creek. 

And I waited. Patiently. 

Soon enough, I felt a powerful presence to my right. 

My heart almost dropped to my feet before I recognized the man. 

“It’s you! How did you get here? How did you sneak up on me?” 

“Hello to you too Corrin. I trust you’ve been well,” the man turned to me and smiled softly, except his cracked lips were pursed tight and the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Good! I made a new kingdom! There’s a ton of pegasi in this one!” I may have grown in the last two years, but not quite enough to leave behind my precious kingdoms and knights.

“Really? Tell me all about them. What do they eat?”

And so we sat, and talked as we did 2 years ago. And just like last time, he somehow began telling his captivating stories again.

“You see, the warrior had a special power. He was the chosen one.”

No way, the chosen one!

“But of course, with great power comes great responsibility, right?” he said.

“Yeah, duh. Did he have to end it all too?”

“Yes he did. But he did it with a smile on his face, because he knew he was doing the right thing.

“Wow. So brave. So knightly.” 

And this carried on for 5 more years. Even though I grew from a 6 year old little girl to a moody 13 year old, I never once questioned the man nor his never-ending stories of valiant and selfless heroes. I also never questioned how he remained the exact same in those 7 years, the same pristine black robes adorned with gold trimming and the same long shaggy hair.  

Unfortunately, when I was on the brink of turning 14, my family moved across the country unexpectedly. I missed the man and his stories, sure, but I was also busy trying to fit in in high school. My high school experience was not the best one. 

I’ll forever remember the chilly autumn day my friend passed away in front of my eyes.

My friend Elise and I bonded over our shared love for medieval history, and we became fast friends. By sophomore year, we did everything together. We knew everything about each other. I even told her about the man, but of course, she concluded that it was a product of my childhood’s overactive imagination. She knew about my insecurities, like the way my clothes didn’t fit right, how my glasses sat crooked on my face, or how I had two left feet when it came to sports. She knew about my aspirations too, how I wanted to become a writer, and visit my childhood home and camping site, and how I wanted to own 3 dogs when I had my own house.

I also knew everything about her. She wanted to become a veterinarian, because she had the biggest and purest love for all things furry. She wanted to try sushi at least once in her life, and she wanted to visit Iceland and see the northern lights. She hated the way her hair held no volume, the way she stuttered when she didn’t rehearse what she was going to say beforehand, and the way she had to carry her epipen and a spare at all times for her deadly peanut allergy.

I guess the lunch lady didn’t know her as well as I did, because when Elise came running late to school with only a folder and a pencil, and she bit down on the cookie the cafeteria was handing out, and she fell out of her seat, her lips turning blue and her hands grasping at her throat as she looked around for her epipen the only day she forgot it, no one did anything. Not even I, her best friend, could do anything because I was too entranced by the numbers that glowed more brilliantly than ever before above her thrashing head.

October 11th, 2004

I had become so accustomed to zoning out the numbers on everyone’s head, that when the date above Elise’s date had arrived, I did nothing but put two and two together while she passed away right in front of me.

After that incident, my life quickly spiraled out of control. I couldn’t ignore the numbers anymore, and with every person I saw on the street, I checked frantically to make sure it wasn’t today or tomorrow or next Tuesday or so on. I obsessively checked calendars and made a list of my family’s numbers. I was terrified of the numbers changing. I couldn’t focus on school, I couldn’t take care of my hygiene, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering to everyone’s time, I couldn’t look people in the eyes.

It happened again a couple of years later. I was still half the person I should be, I was in my early 20’s and already had tons of worry wrinkles on my face. I distanced myself from my loved ones, but still kept a tab on their dates. 

On this particular spring day, I was making my way from my ratty apartment in my suburban town to the equally ratty gas station store to stock up on food for the rest of the week. I wore a tatted gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants that haven’t been washed in a long time. I was turning the corner across the street from the gas station with my head down when I accidentally bumped into a woman. 

“O-Oh! Sorry, didn’t see you there.” 

She was gorgeous. Long silky black hair with perfect ringlets, flawless skin and delicately arched eyebrows, a radiant shade of yellow in the form of a flowy spring dress. She held hands with who I assumed to be her boyfriend or perhaps husband. I’m not sure, it all happened so fast that I didn’t check to see if they wore wedding bands. 

“N-no, it’s my bad, sorry…” I muttered, ready to continue my trip to the store. Before I could turn around, my eyes instinctively flew to the numbers above her head.

1:36

The smallest number I had ever seen.

1:34

And it kept getting smaller.

1:32

I didn’t know what to do. My mouth gaped open and I couldn’t move as vivid memories of Elise’s death flooded my thoughts. I must’ve looked like a real fool because her boyfriend pulled her away, muttering under his breath ‘she's on something, come on’. I wanted to scream to pull her away. Was he going to murder her in the next minute? Was she going to trip and fall and hit her head in the most unfortunate and tragic way possible? Was she going to suffocate just like Elise did? 

Another pair of numbers caught my eye, this time her boyfriend’s.

1:20

Oh. Oh. At least they would die together. I was gasping for breath, on the verge passing out, my legs underneath me threatening to give in. I looked around at all the other people on the street’s numbers, fearing the worst, fearing that everyone was destined to die some sort of twisted synchronized death but all of their numbers were different. 

I looked back at the couple, thinking how do I help them? Should I get away? Where are they going? 

0:30

Run. Run? To where? To them? Or away? Away from whoever, or whatever was going to cause this beautiful couple’s death in just mere seconds? Run away. Run away, I decided, and I covered my ears, shut my eyes, and ran. I don’t know if I started screaming before or after I heard the ugly sound of tires burning on asphalt, or the horrendous crash of a car onto the corner of the street where the little bakery was, or before the scent of burning oil and the sound of breaking glass and sickening screeches of horror filled the air. 

The next few days were a blur. It was as if I had no control over my body and I was just acting on instinct. I don’t know when I bought the plane ticket back to the state I grew up in. I don’t remember renting the car, nor do I remember how I knew the exact way to drive back to the cabin just like my dad would all those years ago. All I did know is that I was doing the right things. And that I had to see him. 

He was sitting there, by the creek as always. He wore the same peculiar black robes and had the same unkempt hair. He didn’t look up but I somehow knew he sensed my presence.

“Corrin. It’s been a while,” he was up. “I hope you’ve been well.”

My voice was scratchy and felt unfamiliar from days of barely using it. 

“Wh- what have you done to me? Please help me. Please. Please get rid of these numbers,” tears were dripping down my face as I knelt on the grass. 

“Please Mister. Tell me who you really are,” my head was on the ground now, kneeling at the man’s feet. “Please tell me you can help me.” 

“Get up Corrin. The harsh ground is not the place to rest your weary head, my young warrior.” 

I looked up and into his empty, tired eyes. 

“You ask who I am?” He looked up to the sky. 

“I don’t really know myself. I guess you could say I am no one at all. Or perhaps I am all. I am a part of everyone, of your father, your mother, your siblings, your teachers, coworkers, Elise,” he looked down at me. “But I am also beyond them. I am the culmination of everyone’s mistakes and proudest achievements. I am a savior to some, and a sworn enemy to the rest. 

“What do you mean? Enemy?” 

“I am not an enemy to you Corrin. In fact, without me? Humans would have nothing to live for. Yet my very existence is a blasphemy to some, a cage that holds them back from becoming gods of their own will,” the sun was beginning to set behind his head, shrouding his face in shadows. “Our meeting was predetermined. Whereas all the other humans can live their foolish meaningless lives, you have a reason and a destiny to fulfil.”

“Me? …what did I do?” 

“You did nothing wrong Corrin. You just had the fortune of being born into this beautiful yet unforgiving world. You are the young warrior that will save her people. You are above them, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“W-why are you sorry?”

“It’s lonely where we stand.”

“Are you Death?” 

“No. Death is a part of life, and I am not.”

“I…I see.” I knew what was coming now.

“Do you understand Corrin? Your time alive may have been meaningless, but your death won’t be.”

The tears hanging from my eyelashes blurred the man in front of me, and the painful ache in my throat made me struggle to get my words out. 

“I understand,” I stood up. “Are you sure I will help everyone?”

“I have no doubt. Close your eyes.”

“Thank you Mister. I don’t think I have any regrets.”

“And that is all that matters.”