A rewritten version of Narcissus' story!

Please comment! :D

For the nth time, Narcissus came to the forest by himself.

Sitting by a rippling river, he solemnly fixated his eyes upon his own reflection in the clear water. A silver blade was gripped tightly in one of his hands. The blues sheathed beneath his eyes, forcibly engulfing the air around him with the same dull atmosphere. What an irony—a painful longing and agonizing loneliness amidst the cheerful chirping of birds and wonderful bristling sun-rays. The forest was the only one witnessing all these. His deafening silence—his behaviour perplexed me. Why, though? What happened to him? And where was his dear brother? They had always been together before.

They got along especially well, in a sweet and endearing way, unlike any other siblings I had seen.

I heard him screaming his brother’s name in a wild lament, out of a sudden. And then another name in a great despise. Ameinias. The man’s name echoed throughout the forest, spread by the rustling wind, followed by a series of murmur that revealed a story. Ah, I finally knew the crux of his oddity. Ameinias had murdered his beloved brother, ing the sword into his heart while drowning in a fathomless pit namely jealousy. Right in the presence of him. Regret had been strangling him ever since. He should have never given the sword to Amenias as a sign of his rejection—he had spurned the love of Amenias and awoken said man’s rage.

So, the loss of his brother was what caused him to spend his days alone, pining away.

I wanted to give him a moment of solace, but I was merely an old oak tree. I was just another unnoticed figure to him, among many others, as his world appeared to consist only of him and his brother. I could see his desire to live falter before him each day, leaving only the faintest trail in him. He was, no doubt, devoured by tremendous sadness that was unlikely to perish at any moment, not until he decided to find another love. But, I knew, it was utterly impossible for he was rendered helplessly in love with his brother. His eyes always spoke the truth, unable to put on a facade. Therein laid the fondest emotions he was supposedly forbidden to harbour towards his very own brother—toward whom of the same blood. His brother was all that mattered to him.

The twists of fate seemed to have seeped through his life.

His brother left him scathed, dying of a broken heart. He was tangled in a misery but still beautiful, nonetheless. He was mesmerizing with gilded hair, of which the golden locks encircled the forehead in a curve and hung free down the neck to the back. His eyes were anything but conformed to his mourn, otherwise very captivating. Lush red lips adorned the already delicate face. When he flaunted his contagious smile, dimples would peek in the corners of his mouth. The incomparable fairness of his skin emanated a strong radiance of youthfulness. He was a tall and slender figure resembling a perfectly sculptured statue. He truly possessed a pure, enchanting beauty that shone even in the darkest place—a reminder of his late twin brother. Therefore, to quench his yearn for his brother, he would stare at his reflection.

I imagined the longer he grieved over his brother, the stronger his love became.

No whispers of love were ever exchanged between the twins, yet he kept on believing that they were meant for each other. The traces of his feeling were still there, on every inch of his soul, the core of him, and manifested themselves into supposedly cherished memories. Long and long he laid his eyes on his twin in the water, scrutinizing, admiring. I, myself, was taken aback by how real the reflection looked. And I was sure he was also fascinated by the realness, as if it was actually made of flesh—alive. Then he laughed, the kind of humourless laugh, dripping with paradox that was his own situation. The glint in his eyes now was different. It occurred to me that his dolefulness had unsurprisingly diminished his sanity to nothingness.

He was deeply bewitched, enamoured with the likeness that he began to adore the reflection—himself.

I cast my gaze to another side of this forest, urging myself to ward off Narcissus’ overwhelming forlornness and self-idolizing. Again, I did not catch the sight of him, the one that had been hiding behind my friend—another old oak tree. For quite a while, I had always found him visiting this forest. That young man would stand rigid there, solely locking his attention on Narcissus and his brother in discreet. His face was mirthless. For unknown reason, I guessed watching the ever so loving siblings stripped the joy off him. His existence, however, vanished without traces the day Narcissus turned into a solitary. The young man was an unravelled mystery to me—an unforgotten suspiciousness.

I wondered who he was...

I returned my attention to Narcissus. It was actually impossible for people to avert their eyes from someone as stunning as him. But I was no human being. He was now raking his eyes on the blade, gripping it even tighter with his slightly trembling hand. I thought I could predict his intention. And I hoped he would reconsider his decision, judging from the glazing uncertainty in his expression. Alas, he had completely been pulled into the depths of misfortunes! Time seemed to halt as more serenity surged into the scene, as though showing that the birds, the whole forest, would soon be in a deep condolence. Being filled with despair and remorse, he raised his hand and drove the blade into his wrist. I did not think anyone would be able to spare him the life anymore.

He voiced the name of his brother softly, barely audible.

The shining sharp edge scraped his skin and then his vein harshly, forming a slit that was enough for fresh blood to gush out. He grimaced, coming out of the confinement of beauty. The thick red substance trickled along his arm, slithering fast, only to drip down his elbow. The excruciating pain started to get the best of him as grunts and moans escaped his lips endlessly. Oh, I hated to watch this! His dark orbs looked soulless with crystalline tears threatening to fall. His knees gradually weakened, until he fell down, face first onto the ground. He spasmed—his lithe body trashed violently. His breath caught in his throat before he eventually stopped moving.

The end of his life had dawned on him.

Poor boy... I would have gathered him in my branches, giving him gentle caresses, if only these roots had not kept me nailed to the ground. Wait, I saw something. Narcissus’ body disappeared in a twinkle of eyes, as if vaporing altogether, yielding to the gentle wind! Replacing it was a bed of small white flowers that I had never seen before. They were undoubtedly beautiful. Maybe, my innermost naivety told me, the gods and goddesses pitied him for having to go through a cruel, lonesome death. Then they decided to ease his anguish so that he could fall into eternal slumber peacefully.

I just wished the flowers would never wither, just like his love.

The End