My friend pulls out a roman candle and sets it in the sand aiming to the sea. His little branch fingers extract a match from his pack and I worry momentarily that his hands will go up when the fire sparks. Instead he lights the thing perfectly and we both wait and watch for lift off. I have waited so long for this. So long for my enemy that another moment here on the beach with my friend watching his firework won’t be too much of an inconvenience. That’s what I tell myself. When the Roman goes off it’s beautiful. It’s all in a long arch of white, orange and pink. The tiny birdhead gets excited and screeches something at the display. The light seems slurred and crippled but it reaches the water at its longest leaps. I am grateful for the company, I haven’t had any for such a long time. I am happy for the entertainment, there has been none save for the kites which seems more and more like a taunt than a comfort. But I came here for a reason. I think it’s time we get to it. My friend seems to read my thoughts and starts moving again.
The ocean sounds are making me beautiful, I think this suddenly. I think this as I see the last ghost of the Roman’s trail stamped across the horizon. Tiny birdhead turns back, I think he wants to light another. Maybe it would be okay. To just sit and watch… The teeth, the roots of them, dig into my palm a little bit. No, time to go. Work to finish.
We go a little further along the sand. We stop and he points one of his crooked fingers at the sand below. Here we go. I get to my feet and start digging with my hands. The sand is cool and soothes the skin. Some of it sticks to the wet spots of blood along my arms and chest. My friend crouches down, his little birdhead close to mine. From here I can see down his collar a little more. I can see where his head peeks out. There’s a bed of twigs right around it. Tiny, I’ve decided to call him, Tiny takes one of his wooden skeleton hands and clasps on to his other arm’s jacket sleeve. He rolls up the sleeve revealing his arm. Wooden mechanical. Three branches held together by coils of thinner wood or vine. He pulls up the other sleeve and I notice a few tiny green leaves pushing out here and there along his elbow. He caws at me, almost as if I’m embarrassing him and I stop staring. Then we both get to digging. It doesn’t take long, we don’t have to bury them far. Once it’s suitably deep Tiny takes my hand briefly. Telling me no more. His fingers hard but living wood. The difference between running your fingertips along a tree branch and running them over a wooden table. I let the handful of sand drop and I get out my eyeteeth. My friend caws twice and pulls out another firecracker from his jacket pocket. I tell him not now. I tell him I need this. I need my enemy. He puts it away. I put my teeth into the ground root down and me and Tiny start covering them up. When we’re done and they’re buried the wind seems to turn a strong cold. I can’t see the kites anymore so it must be getting dark.
I’m supposed to wait now. Wait for my enemy. I can’t wait. It’s already been so long. My mouth is one big raw swollen hole. The wine has left me and the beach wind is making it horribly cold. I shiver and shake. Tiny cocks his head to the side trying to understand it. I tell him it’s cold. I worry that when my enemy arrives I will be a shaking paper doll. No match for him. Tiny stands up and walks over to me. I’m rocking back and forth trying to keep myself warm but I’ve lost so much blood. He puts one of his wooden hands to my shoulder to comfort me. I’m so happy for him. There has been no one else. No one else for as long as I can remember. Just me and the promise of my enemy. The ocean comes in and starts making the sand under me wet. I get up and start retreating with Tiny. This is how it’s supposed to work. The seawater needs to seep into the sand and find the teeth. We’re away from the water but I can feel that I’m soaked. It’s making me so cold. Tiny looks at me rattling like an old haunted drum. He holds up his hand to his face. He takes his smallest finger in his other hand and he snaps it off. I scream at him, ask him what he’s doing. He takes his ring finger and does the same thing. He pulls off every one of his fingers. Leaving a wooden nub for a wrist. Then he removes some coils of thin branch wrapped around the base of it and his forearm falls apart. Three long branches drop to the ground. I can’t believe how fragile my friend is. The fingers and forearm lay in a pile at my feet. Tiny produces a firework from his jacket and places it in the middle of what used to be his arm and hand. He gets out a match and strikes it against what’s left of his arm. It sparks and he throws it down into the pile. The firework blazes green, blue, yellow and finally red. The wood catches and burns easily. I crawl up to its flame and let the heat wash over. I tell Tiny thank you and he caws back you’re welcome. I stop shaking and resume waiting. There’s a shooting star overhead and I tell Tiny to make a wish. He does, I think. I don’t. Everything I’ve ever needed is… about to happen.
The fire almost dies a couple of times but without asking Tiny adds to it. He takes off his shiny, shiny shoes and snaps off some toes. He takes off the rest of the limb he already stripped the forearm off . I tell him to stop but he does it anyway. Not that I can stop him if I tried. I’m in no condition to stop anyone at this point. Which scares me. My enemy when he arrives will make short work of me. What I need is a weapon. I tell this to Tiny who at first shows me another firework. I tell him that’s not going to work. I tell him to stop kidding around, this is serious. He puts it back. He then takes off his sun fire bow tie with the dots. He lets it hang loose over his vest which he starts unbuttoning. He opens up the vest and shows me the rest of him. There is a sort of wooden ribcage with different vines and small twigs working as pulleys and levers. Tiny’s body is actually a wooden robot. A skeleton tree. Everything is grey or brown. Everything except for something pink and bright behind his breastplate. I look and see what looks like an apple. A large apple growing from one of the coiled branches behind the plate. It must be his heart. Tiny locks his fingers between his ribs. He jerks back and pulls on it violently. I get up and tell him to stop. He keeps on pulling on himself. I can hear the coils and pulleys snapping off and breaking. I grab his arm and try and get his fingers out of his ribcage. It doesn’t work and he yanks again and it tears the whole thing out. His appleheart seems to glow exposed with nothing in front of it. It looks so big and bright compared to the rest of this place. He holds the breastplate in his hand. I ask him what good is that going to do for me or for him? He puts the ribcage under one of his shiny, shiny shoes and he pushes down. After a moment it snaps in half. He picks up one of these. The ribs are now jagged and sharp. He grips it along the breastbone and it resembles a claw. He swipes through the air cawing at me to watch. Now he tosses it to me. I pick it up and touch my finger to one of the sharp points. It pricks my finger. I watch the red dot emerge on the tip and I know that this will work. This will cut my enemy down. Tiny starts buttoning his vest back. He’s finding it hard to so I put the weapon down and help him. I look down into his little black bird head. Why is he doing this? Who sent him? I was told I was to face my enemy on my own. At least that’s what I’ve always thought and always felt. Since I’ve been in this place that’s what expected. Maybe he’s like me, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing here either.
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