Chapter 19 – Wanderer above the Sea of Fog

Before I even open my eyes in the next painting I know I'll be underdressed. If it was scorching hot in the last painting, in this one all I can feel is the wind hitting my exposed skin.

I wrap my arms around myself, take a deep breath—the air is fresh and cold and humid all at the same time, it's strange—and I open my eyes.

For a fraction of a second my heart stops beating because there's a silhouette in front of me, a man, standing at the edge of a mountain, looking over a landscape covered by fog. And my heart mistakenly hopes that it's Gustave standing there in front of me. The built might be similar but it's not him though. The man in front of me is blond.

I've seen this painting before. I know it. This one is important for some reason. Something about a movement I think. I remember seeing that painting and thinking they were making too much of a big deal out of it. It's just a guy standing at the top of a mountain.

But standing here right now, I don't feel like that anymore. The real thing, really standing here, it's breathtaking. For some reason, it feels so empty and full at the same time.

Suddenly, the man turns around. He looks very surprised.

"What are you doing here?" he asks me. He's frowning and appears to be confused, but he looks rather harmless. Then again, I really don't have the best track record in these paintings so far, so for all I know he's going to push me down the mountain so I can fall to my death.

That would be alright I guess. I've already fallen to my death before.

"I just stumbled here I think," I tell him. That's the best answer he'll get from me.

"How could you just stumble here? We're hours from civilisation," he explains. I could have guessed that much, this place is definitely remote.

"I'm not much for civilisation." Again, that's the best answer he'll get.

"Why would you come here?"

I kind of want to get over the silly questions, but I humour the guy. I even let myself imagine for a second that it's someone else in front of me that I'm talking to. If only...

"I'm looking for something..."

"What are you looking for?"

Seriously? It's like talking with a toddler who's just figured out how to ask questions. Next think I know, he'll ask why the sky is blue. "I'm not quite sure yet, to be honest." And I'm being completely honest. I still have no idea what I'm doing here, what I'm looking for, what's the purpose behind all of this.

"I'm also looking for answers in the great outdoor," he tells me and smiles faintly.

"Any luck so far?"

"A little." He smiles faintly at me.

"Care to share?"

"What do you feel when you look at everything around you?" Another question?

Suddenly, I feel really defensive. It's weird and it doesn't make sense but I do. "Who cares?"

"Because it's important," he explains.

I shake my head, back away from him a bit. "It's not."

"Yes it is. How do you feel?" he presses.

I take a deep breath. It's ridiculous. I'll be gone from here soon. I don't know this guy. I'll never see him again. I can answer him. It'll never come back to haunt me. So I do tell him, honestly, how I feel. "Small. I feel small. Small and insignificant. I feel like I don't matter here."

And it's true, It's so vast and grand and impressive and there's no human trace here, no clue that we even exist in that landscape. We don't matter. I don't matter.

"And that's a problem? Do you have to matter?"

I frown. I don't want to hear that. It pinches my heart. "Why can't I matter then?"

He shakes his head, like he's explained himself wrong and he needs to do it again. "I'm not saying you don't matter. I'm just saying that it shouldn't matter if you do or not. But that's not the point. Sure, you might feel insignificant, and small, but you should also feel like you're part of something else, something bigger when you look at those mountains, at this majestic landscape."

"Part of something?" Like some kind of malicious curse?

"Yes!" He looks exited telling me this. "Don't you feel it? Doesn't it feel like everything is possible, that the future is unknown and not set and we're just a small part of it?"

"I just feel like I don't matter," I tell him. He says beautiful things, things that just don't register with me. I don't know what year this is, but if I did I could probably tell him what his future is. His future is already set. And I think mine no longer exist beyond this curse.

"But you do matter, we all matter. We all have a reason to be here, we all have something that drives us, and we all have a purpose. Some people just take longer than others to find it. Some people never find it."

I'm honest again. "I don't think I'll ever find it."

"Is this what you were looking for here? Your purpose?"

Is this what I'm looking for? My purpose? I don't think that's what the curse is here for. It's not here to help me understand and love myself. It's here to punish me. It might give me life lessons, but they usually end up bloodily.

Still, I humour him. "Yes, I came here to find my purpose."

"Don't rush it. It's not something that's pressing."

It kind of is for me though, I guess. The faster I figure things out, the faster I get out of here. Or at least I hope so. Maybe I'm already doomed. Maybe I'll never get out of here.

I look away from the man and towards the vastness of the landscape.

It's beautiful. I have to admit it. I would lie if I said it wasn't. It's the kind of picture someone would share on Instagram and brag about finding this spot.

"Well, my big thinking is done for the day," the man says, bringing my attention back to him. He's beautiful, in a peculiar sort of way. His eyes aren't right though. Too blue. Not caring and brown and playful.

Don't cry about Gustave, you don't deserve it, it's your fault that you'll never see him again.

"Do you want to come back with me? I need to head back home, people will start to worry if I don't come back soon," he explains.

That must be nice, people worrying. "People won't worry if I don't come back," I tell him. Nobody is waiting for me. "I'll just stay here a little while longer."

"Are you sure? It can be difficult to find your way back home."

I lost my way back home a long time ago, I think to myself.

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me." I smile faintly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He doesn't look too sure if he should leave at first. He probably assumes that I'm not serious about staying here. Where else would I go though? I don't feel like walking for miles with a stranger. I don't feel like going back to where people are waiting for him.

I just want to be alone.

Alone and insignificant.

Finally, he decides that I must be serious because he says his goodbyes and leaves.

I watch after him until he's nothing but a little blip in the landscape.

I shiver. I'm freezing. I need to find a coat in the next painting I'll be in.

The next painting...

I could jump off the cliff to end this and move on, but instead I just sit down and wrap my arms around my legs, nesting my chin against my knees.

And I just look and look and look at the mountains and at the fog and the nothingness until my eyes close and darkness engulfs me.

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This is my post for February 2nd. See you tomorrow! :)