Only one page because there are only 800+ words.
We returned with Saine carrying the pseudo-silver grass on his shoulder. He ordered me who was trying to open the lock on the door and unlocked it himself.
He told me to raise my arms so it will stop bleeding, but I still end up lowering them in the long run. I mean, l get tired when I raise my arms, and the bleeding has stopped, too. The blood was dripping along the way as we arrived in the house.
I’m told not to touch anything and just stand still. Saine lit the fireplace and the candle as well.
I was taken to the garden and got my hands washed with water. A sharp pain runs through my hands which have been throbbing since some time ago. But I will not change my calm expression. Besides, I’m glad that it hurts. It’s as if I’m being permitted. To live, that is.
As Saine cleans my hands, he raises the lantern over his head. Something this convenient also exists, huh. The lantern is from Saine’s room. The content of the lantern is a candle.
Wind always blows in this town. It’s not strong, but it’s the kind of wind that holding a candle while going out is a bad idea.
Protected by the glass of the lantern, the candle’s flame stretches upright.
[…..It’s only on the surface.]
The skin on both of my hands was loosely peeled off. The wounds weren’t that deep but blood was still oozing.
After Saine carefully looked at my wounds, he dipped his fingers into a small jar and took out its content. This is also a commodity from Saine’s room. He applies the green muddy fluid stuck on his fingers on my hands.
Having said that, he returned to the house.
Bringing the lantern with him.
It’s a dark night today, too. Won’t I be able to see some stars? As Saine told me, I rub my hands together amidst the darkness.
he slippery liquid or cream is spread throughout my hands. I wonder if the blood is, too? I blankly stare at the dark night sky.
The bad smell from the sweating rock rises up from below. It’s not as bad as during the day but it still stinks even at night. However, I’ve also gotten used to its smell.
Once Saine leaves the house for work, let’s cling to this rock’s smell. Once I smell its stink, I can delude myself that I’m not alone. Just as its name suggests, it smelled of a man, or rather, a man’s sweat.
Saine was gone when I entered the house. When did he leave?
Upon looking at my wounds under the light, the bleeding has stopped. The mixture or the green liquid and blood turned into an indescribable color. I was told to spread it but, can I wash my hands? I can’t touch anything and I can’t cook either. I don’t know if Saine will come back, but I’d like to make some preparations at least. Just as I thought like so, it suddenly hit me.
Oh no. I haven’t bought any ingredients today.
[Wha, what do I do…]
There are two eggs in the house. Just these aren’t enough. Should I family whisk it and turn it into an omelette? But there’s nothing else aside from eggs.
I panicked and was about to open the door nose-first to go to the market when the door opened first. My nose gets hit with momentum. Before the open door, towards Saine’s chest.
Unlike the sweating rock, Saine’s body odor spreads to my nostrils. Unintentionally, I closed my eyes and savored it.
[Where do you plan on going?]
A knuckle was dropped on my head. He might have planned on doing that lightly, but it hurts. Saine catches my hand that I was going to stroke on my head.
[The wounds have closed. Alright, wash it over.]
When I looked at my hands in disbelief, the wounds were really closed. Even though the skin was peeling off until just a while ago.
When I muttered in shock, Saine chuckled.
[It’s dour grass. It works on anything.]
I don’t really get it but it’s probably this place’s panacea. If it’s a medicine that works for anything, that would be convenient. Dour grass, is it. I’ll remember it. I get hurt quite often.
I get out to the garden and wash my hands with water. I’m so glad I left some of the water earlier. The water in the well is also drinking water, and whether it is the water bucket or the rope, I am hesitant to touch them with these hands.
There is a simple bucket in front of the well. One that is made of wood. This is where Saine stored the water and washed my hands. I wash my hands again using that water. I intuitively remove the filth, pour the water from the bucket, and draw in new water. Doing so, I washed my hands one more time.
It’s very dark as usual and I can’t see a thing, most probably, they should be clean now. I hold my hands up the dark night sky and flutter my unseeable hands around.