to check out Traveling between the lines-The boy’s side here
I used to have a happy life that words did not bother to describe, and then the happy life ended.
That was how most stories went, and so did mine.
A war that I did not cause swiped the flat world where I lived.
I was too small to change the big war, so I did something nobody would notice at all.
I sneaked into a boat and sailed to the sea, which they said floated towards the edge of the world.
Somehow I knew there must be a land beyond the triangular world in which we lived.
I sailed. The waves chewed on my boat, bit on it, and at last swallowed the it up.
The last sight I saw before drowning in the sea’s stomach was the border of the water, cut sharp along a straight line.
I thought I must be the only one who had actually been to the end of the world.
And then I thought no thoughts.
When I woke up, I found myself on a writing desk.
A gentleman deep in his chair by the desk held a fountain pen inside his palm, which gradually loosened as he was dosed off.
I leaned over the book he had been working on, and found he was writing about the war going on.
He startled when he opened his eyes with me in his sight, but just briefly.
He asked me if I was from the village on the end of the world, to which I replied yes.
“I haven’t given you a name yet.” He sounded like those songs that you found familiar but couldn't quite recall what songs they were. “I was just going to start writing about you. I didn’t expect your name to be troubling me so much that I would dream about you.”
I told him my name and that he was not dreaming and that a storm carried me here.
The gentleman widened his eyes.
“Are you saying that you came out of the novel that I write?”
There was some confusion, and finally I had to accept the fact that the god who had been always been manipulating our fate was the gentleman sitting in the leather chair in front of me.
I had prayed thousand times but he never heard me. But now I had a chance.
I asked why he squeezed the last drop of peace out of our land and let it withier away.
The god replied that we lived on the land of his heart, whose veins had dried for long.
He jumped, hearing a door somewhere in the house.
He said it must be his son coming home and urged me back to the book so he could hide it away.
Before falling inside the edge, I asked why he kept his writing from his son.
“Not this one.” He shut the cover over my head. “I want him to hear nothing other than the happy stories where the leaves never leave their summer tree.”
When I went back home mother cried. She had never expected to see me again.
I told her not to worry because I had a plan. A plan to save the world.
I sailed again. This time when I crossed the world’s edge, nobody was in the study bathing in dusk’s light.
I grabbed the book on the desk and sneaked out from the window and ran and ran and ran until I tripped.
“Are you alright?”
A boy helped me up and handed the book I had dropped. I recognized him to be the boy who heard nothing other than the happy stories where the leaves never leave their summer tree.
I ran again.
I kept the book where the god could never find and told him so.
He didn’t get mad. He just attempted at a smile.
The kings of our lands woke up and ended the war, and my happy life was back.
I visited the god at times, listening to him murmuring about his summer tree boy.
Years past and I visited the him less often.
The kings forbade people to believe in the old god and made themselves gods.
I sailed again but could not find the god in his house.
I saw people in black and the summer tree boy in tears.
All he had left was a study full of happy tales.
I dug out the hidden book and placed it on the shelf.
One day the boy would open the book.
And I would sail again.