Side-Write: Rooftop at Dusk

I felt like it's time to try another story set in the world of Project Wild One, a more direct narrative exploration of what's going on in there. The tough thing is, I've been in a bit of a mood lately, but I wanted to try and write something more positive. I struggled some, and this still came out not quite how I'd wanted, but I'm fairly happy with it. I didn't mean to turn it back to the same ideas, but that seems to be stirring around in my head a lot lately.

Still, I hope this provides a decent read for you. As always, this isn't directly canon so much as an exploration of what could be. Please enjoy!

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This climb was a lot easier a year ago. I guess I've been putting on some extra muscle, so I have to be careful now not to bend the gutters, or damage any of the roofing. Doesn't help that I'm pretty tired after work. I see why Dad always just wants to lie down, now. But I can't give this up.

Finally, I mount the highest roof, and plant my feet carefully making my way to the top. A sighing groan escapes me as I plant my butt on the sun-warmed clay and lean against the chimney, and I take a moment to undo my shirt and let the cool breeze in. My fingers fumble a little with the buttons, and I find myself staring at them.

Used to be, I had to blow on my fingers when I made it up here. Scrambling up all that stone and rough wood was tough on my paws. That's been the most obvious change, to me. My fingerpads are so thick now, all stiff and rough. At least that part got easier.

I ease my head back against the bricks and let myself take it all in as the wind peels the heat off me. I made it just in time.

The sun is just barely above the mountains still. The sky is a gentle red tonight, with a few orange clouds lingering to the right, over the forest. To the left, the walls hiding the inner city shine a merry yellow, still towering high above me even here. And in the middle, the new city stretches out below, rolling over the curves of the land to stretch farms across the foothills, now almost invisible in the shadow of the mountains. I can see that dark, jagged line creeping across the buildings below, gradually approaching me as the sun kisses the mountainside.

It was the single most beautiful thing I'd ever seen as a child, and it still is to this day. I've never gotten tired of this view, and I've come here just about every day I could to watch dusk fall, for years now.

After wading through crowded streets, it almost seems dreadfully silent up here, but at the same time, the wind whistles and buffets around me, and it brings me snatches of laughter and chatter from all around. It smells so clean up here, but I also get whiffs of people cooking dinner, of smoke and fresh sweat. Somehow I feel like I'm in a world of my own, but also like I can better feel this city and all the people in it, better understand them, better appreciate them, than I ever can on the ground. This is where I find my peace.

The mountain's shadow is swallowing the distant forest, now. To most of the people, that dark green mass far beyond the farmlands and the sentries represents the enemy: the monsters that destroyed the world and took away everything our ancestors had. The savage creatures that would eat us all this very day if we didn't send so many hunters to fend them off. Sometimes, it seems like that forest represents all the evil in the world. Men grumble that criminals and the immoral should be thrown "out there," nodding in the forest's direction. The most terrible fate imaginable. Mothers teach their children to never, ever go near the edge of town. It'd still be miles to the forest's edge, but they say that once in a while, one of those creatures might make it past the screens. The hunters have to be tough, but even farmers have to be brave and sturdy to live out there, and they leave their families in the city.

People say that if it weren't for the monsters, we'd all be living like kings today, or better. Everyone tells different stories about how amazing the world of our ancestors was, and most of them contradict each other, or don't even make any sense on their own. It's all the monsters' fault. If it weren't for the monsters, everything would be better. They don't belong here, only we do.

When I was little, I wanted to be a hunter. All the boys did. When you told a grown-up that, they'd say lots of nice things, and maybe even give you something to eat. Say you need to grow up big and strong so you can catch every last one of them.

That's when Dad took me up here, when he heard me talking about being a hunter. I was scared the first time, but I didn't want to show it. He laughed when I wouldn't let go of his coat so he could turn me around.

But when I saw all the city, and the walls, and the mountain and the forest, all spread out before me and all around and below, I forgot all that. He had to hold me steady, I kept craning my neck to see more. I still remember the way I tingled all through my body as my eyes ate it all up, the wind gusting a chill up under my clothes, his rough paws gripping under my arms to keep me from tumbling off.

Eventually he got me to actually sit down, and as the mountain slowly ate up the sun, he did his best to talk a little sense into his son.

He reminded me that his father came here from far away to settle in this city. He asked me if I thought that meant that we, as a family, didn't belong here. Of course I didn't think so. Dad had already worked so hard building so many of the homes and businesses in this city. We'd both grown up here. We belonged here. Then he asked me, if it turned out that his father had committed some terrible crime, should my Dad be punished for that? Should I be punished for it?

I wasn't sure what to think about that at first. I said no, but when he asked why, I could only say it didn't feel right. He asked, what if someone from far away came that wanted to punish us for what grampa did? I thought about it some and suggested that we'd apologize. But it wouldn't be right to punish us for something we didn't do.

He was happy I was able to reason through that on my own. But he still had a lot for me to consider.

He asked me about the difference between the town and the forest. Others live there, but did I think they didn't want to live happier, safer lives? Did I think that they didn't have parents like him, trying to protect and feed children like me? Did I think that if nobody around me knew how to build a town, that I could figure it out on my own and build one from nothing?

I was uncomfortable, and I tried to bring up the idea that these others were monsters, that they didn't feel or think or love like we do, and he asked me what I based that on. Had I seen one? Ever? No, of course not. But that's what everyone says. They put up posters all around town with drawings of terrible monsters that want to kill us all, telling us to watch out and report any we might see. I'd seen those.

Dad told me he'd seen the creatures before. Many times. And how did they act?

Like frightened, homeless, hungry people.

He told me about how fear twists us, and how it unites us in hatred. He told me about the power it gives rulers over us, and about how it can drive the less fortunate to desperate, terrible things. A lot of it I didn't really understand at the time, and I had to ask him about it more later. It took a long time for me to fully get my head around it, but it was on this roof that he planted the seed of that idea. It was here that I first glimpsed the idea, that the only difference between us and the monsters in the forest... was just that. They were in the forest, and we were in the city. We could work for food, but they had to fight for it or steal it. We could sleep in warm beds and feel safe. They couldn't. We let our kind in, but we wouldn't let them in. So we never saw them, and they never had the chance to be anything more than the monsters to us.

The shadow's here. The last sliver of sun is disappearing, and with it, the warmth of day fades. The shadow isn't sharp enough to watch it pass over me, but for just a moment, I'm sitting in darkness while the chimney above me still gleams. Then it is dark as well, and only the walls and a handful of taller buildings behind me still cling to the light. This is how it looked when the conversation finally slowed down, back then.

I'd been shocked into silence, processing all of these strange new ideas, and when I finally found words again, I reflected that... I felt very sad, now. It was a strange thing, to look down on all the fear and hate I'd grown up in, that still swarmed through the city below, and see how much it hurt all of us. Us, and them. So many sharp feelings that would drive me to action, and now I felt so... weak. What was there to do in the face of all of that? What could possibly make things better? Should we... fight against it? The hate?

Dad squeezed me close as I shivered in the cold. His voice was soft when he answered.

All these people wrapped up in hate aren't our enemies, he said. They're good and decent people, too, but they're caught up in something large and terrible. They think they're doing the right thing, and as soon as we try to fight them, they'll just see another enemy to hate. It's just as important as refusing to hate the creatures in the forest... to refuse to hate them. Refuse to fight them. Refuse to be swept up by fear and become another person blinded to... compassion.

He doesn't know what will fix this mess, but he knows fighting isn't it. Dad told me that he believes the only way things will get better is if we show compassion for each other. The less we see each other as enemies, all of us, the closer we'll get to something resembling peace, free of fear. He hopes that if he can spread that idea without getting accused of being something he's not, we might inch closer to that idea as a people. And maybe someday, there will be a chance to make things better.

The light is disappearing even from the city walls now, and all the valley is sinking into night as the sky breathes shades of purple and blue across the remnants of sunset. And as my eyes adjust, new lights rise from below.

The town is full of firelight, windows glowing and lanterns twinkling in irregular, wandering, interweaving lines following the roads winding into the distance. It feels like in the absence of the sun, the town's light is leaking up into the sky to catch and form the first evening stars.

Sometimes I come up here to think about girls, or cool my head when I get frustrated with someone. Sometimes I come up just to put off doing my chores a little while. But most nights, I find myself thinking about... people, and the things Dad's told me. Thinking about how we can find something better. Be something better. Maybe I can make a difference. Maybe I'll have the chance to change something, someday. But I know Dad's words won't die with me. Others will know. Others will understand. I'll find a way. Someday, the suffering will stop.

I don't come up here to plot, or to wish for better days. I come up here to appreciate the people around me, and the life I have. To remember to be grateful for all my father's hard work, and that of his father before him. And to remind myself to be ready to make things better, however I can.