"You are dying, Kip Pilgrim."

Everything inside of him resonated with those words. It was like the framework of a scaffolding was collapsing, and every time, sending little pulses down into the ground, again, again, again.

He looked at the girl sitting on the grass in front of him. When he stared straight at her, she looked like a shadow. An outline of a girl, filled with ink. When he looked away, he could see her; blurred, in red, blonde, thin; looked back, darkness. A shadow.

"What?"

He was still lying in the glass velvet grass. The sky had changed colors. The clouds were gone, four suns were shining, each a different shade of red.

"You are dying."

He giggled, laid his head back down into the grass. He could feel her words as she spoke them. They felt like the grass, but they were brushing his insides. His stomach, his throat, his brain. So many slivers of glass, of velvet glass, painting pictures on his organs, painting them green.

"Thanks."

He heard something moan. Looked up, heard it, felt it coming from the girl.

"What?"

"Don't you want to live?"

Kip dragged a hand across his face, felt his liver painted, let his pinky sit in the corner of his lip.

"I don't know."

In the corner of his eye, Kip saw the girl smile.

"Is this living?"

Smile fades. Tendrils grip tendons.

"This is nothing."

The girl rapidly rose, walked a few feet away, stared into the suns. She spread her arms wide, opened her mouth; a sound like scraping chalk retched out; blackness flew everywhere.

Kip covered his face, burrowed into the grass, cringed at the feeling of that scream. He could feel it clawing at his insides, an angry worm, livid, squirming, tearing, rasping.

It subsided in time. Kip was covered in sweat.

Lifts his head, stares at the girl. There is no more blackness.

"I have broken myself for you, Kip Pilgrim. I have broken who I was, so that you and I could be."

Katrina wore a ring Kip had given her; a ring that he had found the same day, hidden in the grass; a shimmer of sunlight down in the dirt.

When Kip had let go of his begierd and met the Hanthra, they had gifted him a ring made from the translucent grass. In their dimension, it appeared as it was; in Kip's, it didn't exist.

What Kip let go, the absence of which allowed Kip to fall into an alternate dimension, was what the Hanthra called the begierd; just as Kip called them Hanthra.

He had first met them during the summer of 1975.

He had recently graduated from High School, and, to celebrate, had proposed to his girlfriend of eleven months, Katrina. She had accepted, and he had screamed like a girl into his pillow when he got home.

He didn't tell his parents; he knew what they would say.

More Begins - Part VI. ^

It's not the end.
It's just one tongue.

But; that was a long time ago.

Kip had fallen through the wall. When he woke up, he knew that.

And yet, he was lying in a field.

The grass was knee high, almost translucent, tinted green. Shrubs erupted from odd points, sharing the transparency of the grass. The world looked like glass.

Kip reached a hand out, grabbed a piece of it. It felt like velvet.

The sky was a light purple, with blue clouds flitting back and forth.

And before he knew it, Kip was gently falling asleep, snuggling into the velvet grass, feeling the warmth of the purple sky bear down on his shoulders.

Something nagged at the back of his brain, but he let it go, let everything go, fell.

No one called Kip's father "Nigger" again after he broke a man's nose.

Then again, they'd never seen him, because he'd been fired.

He figured that was a fair trade.

It went on like that for a week; Kip murmuring, equipment beeping, Katrina stirring.

She only woke up once before she died. Her gray eyelids flitted open, and Kip uttered a soft moan when he saw what they were hiding. He knew she was dead the moment he saw how deep her eyes were.

She lazily looked around the room, then looked at Kip.

"Right in the face."

A smile snuck up her lips for a moment before fatigue stole it away.

"Take it easy," she said, and died looking at him.

"Her vitals are strong," the doctor was saying, "but she's given up. We can't force her to fight her way out."

Kip sat down beside the bed.

Beep, said the equipment.

He curled a lock of Katrina's hair around his finger. Nearly black, like a river rock, he'd said, once. That was a long time ago. His hair was gray, now. His eyes were deep, now.

She stirred, but didn't wake.

"Please save her."

The doctor's lips tightened.

"Please."

She walked out of the room.

Kip pulled Katrina's hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers, mouthed around her fingertips,

it's not the end, it's just one tongue, it's such a shame it didn't last so long, it's not the end, it's just one tongue, just one tongue, just one tongue,

beep,

he knelt by the bed, still kissing her hand, murmuring, whimpering.

He wished his hair wasn't so gray, her arms weren't so deep.

The bluebirds finished cleaning the bones.

"Take it easy."

Kip woke up again.

The hospital was dark. Someone coughed around the corner.

He stood up. His clothes were on the table beside the bed. A doctor had come by earlier, and said he was fine, the wound should heal up, press on it if it starts bleeding, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy.

"Take it easy," she'd said.

He pulled on his pants, shirt, shoes. Heard the someone cough again.

Started walking towards the exit, felt dizzy, leaned against the wall. Fell through the wall. Kept falling.

It felt like an eternity before he hit the ground. Kip often felt that he'd never stopped falling, that it was all a dream, nothing was real but the fall.

"Take it easy," she'd said.

His head hit the ground with an exceedingly dull thud.