Renegade Immortal: Asking the Bones by a Fading Lamp

In his twenty-one years, he had never seen a sky so blue.

He suddenly remembered something his mother had once said.

She told him the sky was blue, as blue as a piece of cloth fresh from the wash. He hadn't believed her then. He thought the sky was gray. It had been gray since the day he was born, and it would stay gray forever. His mother had smiled and said that when he grew up, he could go see for himself.

Now he saw it.

Too bad he couldn't remember his mother's face when she said those words. He remembered only her voice, soft and low, like the faint crackle of a wick burning halfway down.

He stood by the roadside, staring for a long time. Long enough for the bird to return and land on a rock not far from him. The bird tilted its head. He didn't move. The wind blew from the south, carrying a hint of salt. He couldn't smell it. He had lost his sense of smell long ago. But a faint saltiness rose in his throat, like the bowl of salted gruel from so many years ago.

He lowered his eyes to the lamp in his hand.

It was still lit.