Sigur Rós
Von

The child watched the shadows that the furniture cast on the walls and floor of his small bedroom and retreated further and further down, under the covers. Next to the bed, he could distinguish the black silhouette of his nightstand, an enormous skyscraper in the impenetrable darkness of the night. The outline of the toys stood still in the cool air of the room, making them resemble sinister figures that could move and come to life at any moment.

Anxiety descends with the dark, the child said to himself, but it's just anxiety. Monsters don't exist.

But suddenly a gust of wind flung open the French door of the small room. The child pulled the covers over his head, waiting in the darkness between the sheets for the monster to kill him. But nothing happened. The child felt the cool summer breeze caressing the sheets and, in the distance, the barking of dogs. Slowly he began to get out of bed and walked towards the wide-open window; the floor was cold under his small feet, and he seemed to see a new gaze in the eyes of his stuffed animals: a cold and wicked gaze…

When he reached the curtains of the French door, it seemed to him for a moment that they were floating shadows, beings of a thousand ever-changing shapes. It lasted a moment. Then they went back to being simple white curtains abandoned to the tides of the August wind, floating like waves of the sea. The child passed them and found himself on a beach, completely strewn with white marble tombstones. He walked towards the sea, from which sprays of salt water rose. As he walked along the beach, he read the names engraved on the tombstones. Dave Mellow, Brian Matt, Katherine Blackfield, Stephen Raywood… Wait a moment! Stephen Raywood, he knew that name, it was familiar to him. He walked until he reached the sea, where the waves crashed. He dipped his feet in the water. It was warm. He stayed like this for a few minutes, lying on the beach, with the wind gently caressing his feet and eyes closed. Until he remembered: that name… it was his!

He opened his eyes.

He was in his room and staring at the white curtains swaying in the silvery moonlight. Why was he standing there staring at the curtains? He extended a leg; his foot was wet with seawater; the smell of salt was very strong. He went past the curtains and remembered.

Now he was in an endless and deserted plain. The vast landscape was very reminiscent of the immense Icelandic plains, which then ended in a cliff overlooking the sea.

The air was crisp, and the sky was a blue so clear as he had never seen before. He walked towards the cliff, beyond which he caught a glimpse of that continuous moving blue carpet which was the sea. The tall green grass caressed the soles of his feet and ankles, the fresh wind tousled his hair, and made his eyes water. At the final stretch of the cliff, there was a small shady cave; the child saw it and proceeded slowly. Beyond the cave, there was a void, beyond the void the sea, beyond the sea the sky. The cave was damp and shrouded in semi-darkness, but the child managed to glimpse an old man. He had a long white beard and was lying on the ground, his back resting against one of the high walls of the cave. Inside you could hear the waves crashing against the rocks.

-I was expecting you…- murmured the old man in a feeble voice - You have my name!-

-But I can't give it to you- said the child, with measured calm - because that name belongs to me too.-

-NO!- shouted the old man, getting up from the floor and approaching the child - That name belongs to me, you will not steal it! I haven’t possessed it for years, it was taken from me, they took it away from me…- the old man fell to his knees sobbing, his head swaying.

-You lost it, you forgot it!- said the child to him - But I will reveal it to you, as long as it can belong to both of us.-

The old man looked at him, his eyes clouded with tears - Yes, we will share it…- he said

-Stephen Raywood- said the child solemnly- that is our name.-

The cliff and the cave sank into the sea, carrying with them the name, the secret, the old man, and the child.

The child was standing in front of the wide-open window. His feet were wet with seawater, and fragments of grass clung to them. An intense smell of salt was slowly filling the room. He decided against closing the window and went back to bed. He had seen enough for that night.