This is a story about a girl.
Hmm. True, but… no, that’s not quite accurate. Not entirely, at least.
This is a story about a boy.
Again, true in part. But it doesn’t cover everything, does it? It’s an important part, yes, but isn’t every section? And such a small portion of this tale, as well.
This is a story about love, about hate, about loss, about hope, about having everything snatched away from you when it was in your grasp, it’s about the ocean, it’s about the sky, it’s about snow and blood and dirt, it’s the endless tale of monsters and men, it’s a story about a world you could never know about, and about things that only you could ever know, it’s about the lies you tell and the secrets you never will, it’s about expecting a scrawny trans girl with a nicotine addiction to carry a 45-pound tank of diesel and petrol across a frozen wasteland, it’s about making allies with strangers and turning your back on friends, it’s a story about the town inside you, the city around you, a world where you are so goddamn insignificant and yet as perfect and beautiful as anything could ever be.
Yes, yes, yes, it’s all that. But you’re missing the forest for the trees - and don’t just claim it’s a story about all things arboreal, either. You can’t sum a story up by listing every single minute thing that occurs within as much as you can’t claim it’s based around one singular object or feeling or landscape; that’s for the story itself to tell. A shopping list isn’t a story. The story of a human life can’t be encapsulated by one single event, one single thing that happens to them. Not a single story of love has ever been as simple as that.
…
…
This is a story about home, and all the places you’ve ever loved, and about how you can never ever return there, because they’ll never be the same when you go back, they can’t ever be yours no matter what.
Well.
Hmm.
I suppose if you must describe this tale, and the fate of those within it, in one neat little phrase…
Then yes.
This will do.
So, now that’s all sorted, as much as it can be, there’s something else I think you should know. Something vital. Something you’ll hate but that you’ll have to accept.
This story, no matter where the finishing line may be, will not have a happy ending. Death may be bitter. Life may be sweet. But neither, in this story, can exist without the other lurking nearby.
And you won’t be the same person once it’s all said and done.
So.
Do you accept this?
Y/N
You don’t really have a choice in the matter.
Your name is Kay Poultier.
And soon, everything is going to end.
Hmm. True, but… no, that’s not quite accurate. Not entirely, at least.
This is a story about a boy.
Again, true in part. But it doesn’t cover everything, does it? It’s an important part, yes, but isn’t every section? And such a small portion of this tale, as well.
This is a story about love, about hate, about loss, about hope, about having everything snatched away from you when it was in your grasp, it’s about the ocean, it’s about the sky, it’s about snow and blood and dirt, it’s the endless tale of monsters and men, it’s a story about a world you could never know about, and about things that only you could ever know, it’s about the lies you tell and the secrets you never will, it’s about expecting a scrawny trans girl with a nicotine addiction to carry a 45-pound tank of diesel and petrol across a frozen wasteland, it’s about making allies with strangers and turning your back on friends, it’s a story about the town inside you, the city around you, a world where you are so goddamn insignificant and yet as perfect and beautiful as anything could ever be.
Yes, yes, yes, it’s all that. But you’re missing the forest for the trees - and don’t just claim it’s a story about all things arboreal, either. You can’t sum a story up by listing every single minute thing that occurs within as much as you can’t claim it’s based around one singular object or feeling or landscape; that’s for the story itself to tell. A shopping list isn’t a story. The story of a human life can’t be encapsulated by one single event, one single thing that happens to them. Not a single story of love has ever been as simple as that.
…
…
This is a story about home, and all the places you’ve ever loved, and about how you can never ever return there, because they’ll never be the same when you go back, they can’t ever be yours no matter what.
Well.
Hmm.
I suppose if you must describe this tale, and the fate of those within it, in one neat little phrase…
Then yes.
This will do.
So, now that’s all sorted, as much as it can be, there’s something else I think you should know. Something vital. Something you’ll hate but that you’ll have to accept.
This story, no matter where the finishing line may be, will not have a happy ending. Death may be bitter. Life may be sweet. But neither, in this story, can exist without the other lurking nearby.
And you won’t be the same person once it’s all said and done.
So.
Do you accept this?
Y/N
You don’t really have a choice in the matter.
Your name is Kay Poultier.
And soon, everything is going to end.