sunlight in a bottle: Fiction by Davina Jou

There was dirt on my knees and the floor of the car. There was a wine bottle in the front seat that burned to the touch. I’d wrapped it in a cobbled-together bundle of magazines, half-burnt newspapers from the incense sticks we’ve put out on them, long-lost sweaters, and food wrappers. My head thunked against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. 

See, the thing is, most people’s grandparents leave behind some sort of heirloom. A pearl necklace. Or a silk dress. Or, even a bottle of scotch. My grandmother left me the sun. 

*** 

“Not the sun,” my father corrected me. “A sun.” Inhale. “Once upon a time, there were two suns in the sky and no moon. The earth was extremely hot and scalded the earth-” 

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t really see how-” It clicked. “Oh. Oh no.” 

My father’s smile was wry. “On the contrary, I think it’s poetic,” he said. Easy for him to say. Something bitter and cold curled up inside me. “Our ancestors shot down the sun. Now you can put it back.” 

Silence. He coughed. “Look… you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” 

I fought the urge to scoff. Like there was a choice. 

“It’ll be dangerous,” he continued. “Incredibly so.” 

“I’ve heard your stories,” I replied dully. “Dragons and trials. To test your honour or whatever.” 

“Perhaps it’s not worth it.” 

I frowned. That something bitter and cold sours. A formless rage, directionless, waiting to be directed. “I could save everyone,” I pressed. “The entire world. And that’s not worth it? How could that not be worth it?” 

My father stayed silent. I wondered if he was upset. “Go to bed,” he said, his voice steady. “Sleep on it. You decide in the morning.” 

*** 

Once upon a time, there lived a young woman. She went out fishing every day by the river. However, one day wicked men came and poisoned the river and took all the fish. When the woman tried to fish, she only caught driftwood. She kept the driftwood and comforted herself with the fact that she wasn’t alone. She woke up the next day to find the piece of wood was gone, and that she was pregnant. 

The baby was… dif erent. When he raised his hand to wave at a bird, the bird died; when he went to pet the deer, the deer died. Despite this ability, he was no hunter or warrior. He could not cut of a boar’s head. He could not shoot an arrow. The people around him were confused, angry, and scared. His classmates laughed and mocked his skill, or lack thereof. The death-god-son had one friend. A friend who didn’t mock, flinch away, or scrutinise him. 

The death god was angry. He didn’t understand his abilities. He only understood that he killed everything he raised a hand against. Even things he didn’t want to kill. 

Back then, there were two suns in the sky. There was no day or night, and the earth was extremely hot. The death god realised there was one good thing he could do with his curse.

The death god and his friend went on an expedition. The god warned his friend against going — it was dangerous, he argued, and they had no idea what they would face. His friend was not to be swayed, however. He wanted a drop of the sun’s blood inside a bottle. 

There were various trials and tribulations — they had to cross a rushing river valley, hike up a nearly vertical mountain, escape from various demons with only their wits, and of course, the entire time, they heard was the huf ing and growling of the dragon

Eventually, the god and his friend reached the top of the mountain. The god climbed up a huge pillar to reach the highest point in the world. He raised his hand towards the sun, and the middle of it caved inwards, red-hot blood spurting everywhere. The death god yelled at his friend to jump into the river. The friend didn’t listen, however. They were trying to collect some of the blood with their bottle. When he finally jumped, it was too late. Some of the blood splashed onto the friend, burning him to a crisp. 

The other sun returned to find his sister pale and lifeless. He hid, grieving, until the village sacrificed and prayed for his return. He did, but still returns every night, keeping his dead sister company. And that’s how we get days and nights

(What happened to the death god? Well… nothing that important. Don’t worry about it, okay? Just go to bed. You have school tomorrow. Sweet dreams, kiddo.) 

*** 

We parked the car right next to the entrance. Two lion statues sat on either side of the entryway, almost completely covered with moss. I couldn’t appreciate them properly. My mind was too busy buzzing. 

Look, I wasn’t particularly bad at hiking. I’d even hiked Yushan before, just never to the top. Especially since this time, I’ll have to face something super dangerous– 

“Mona? Are you even listening?” 

“Mmhmm,” I lied. 

“We should get going,” he said, because the world was conspiring against me. I sighed and pulled myself out of the car. Gravity feels very strong all of a sudden. Or perhaps that’s just the weight of my pack against my shoulders. 

Father looked like a forest ranger, with his rounded cone-shaped bamboo hat, tan shirt, and boots that went halfway up his shins. There was a strange look in his eyes as he examined the trail. Understandable, considering we were about to be hiking an absolute monster of a mountain. Where there was a dragon on top. A dragon we would have to kill. Oooh boy. 

I patted him on the shoulder. He blinked. The strange look in his eye was gone. “I’m fine,” he huffed. “Just go easy on me, alright? Remember the old man’s bones I have. I’m not going to be able to go as fast as you.” 

“Oh yeah, no problem. That’s absolutely fine.” 

*** 

My father is a liar. A dastardly schemer who would lie to his own daughter while looking her in the eye.

We’d been climbing for no more than half an hour and I was already heaving for breath. My father, on the other hand, was climbing along ahead of me, happy as can be. Was his generation just built with lighter bones or something? How was that even fair? 

We eventually reached a pavilion covered in a layer of leaves. I flopped right down onto the seat. 

“Two metres down, about four thousand more to go.” 

“Hooray.” 

“We can turn back now if you’re having second thoughts,” he reminded me. 

I stood up, trying to infuse my tired limbs with confidence. “No. We’ve already come so far. Might as well finish it.” The gravity hit me immediately, but I staggered onwards. Might as well try to get a head start, since Father’s probably going to overtake me immediately. 

*** 

At about four in the afternoon, the light started fading. I could barely see where my feet were stepping, much less where I was going. I stopped, fumbling around in my bag for a headlamp. Even with the light, I still stumbled on roots and stray rocks. I made it a game – how many hours could I make it without tripping? 

I never actually made it a full hour. 

“Wait.” A hand reached over and clicked off my headlamp. I barely held back a shriek, spinning around. My father stood behind me. 

“Don’t-” I smack him in the arm. “– sneak–” Smack “–up–” Smack “–on–” Smack “—me!” He raised his hands in the air. “Okay, okay! Just… wait, for a little bit.” 

We waited. It was pitch dark. I could see a few freckles of starlight in the distance. I blinked. No, it’s an aeroplane. I blinked again. No, a radio tower. I blinked again. Gone. 

There,” my father whispered. I looked towards where he was pointing. A few metres away from us, almost hidden behind a thicket of bushes and trees, were a few specks of light. Fellow hikers? No, the lights were too concentrated. Too small. Moving too quickly… 

“Fireflies?” I whispered. I felt my father nod. 

“When I was a kid, you could hike up a mountain and see a whole trail of fireflies. I had one crawl up my nose once.” He chuckled. “I panicked and cried. No fireflies are crawling up your nose anymore. Or getting anywhere close to you.” 

He looked lost in thought, which made me uncomfortable. The fireflies were greener than I remembered. Moved more drowsily too, like they were floating through molasses. 

They were beautiful. That didn’t change. Then they disappeared around a bend– a few flickers of neon-green-yellow, and they were going, going, gone. 

***

It was at 3000 metres when a headache started to pound behind my eyes. All that was going through my head was ow, ow, ow

We made it to the lodge, somehow. Father flicked the light switch, which hesitated before flickering on. I winced. The small lightbulb was painfully bright. At least now we could see the room was clean, with a bit of dust gathering around the corners. 

“Someone still works here,” my father commented. I nodded, but it took everything in me not to collapse on the spot. Whoever it was that worked here, I didn’t think they would appreciate scraping my exhausted corpse off the wooden planks. 

We didn’t see whoever was in charge of the lounge for the rest of the night. The water still worked, though it was freezing cold. I spent my time hopping in and out of the water, keeping an eye on the creepy moths with what resembled a human face on their torsos gathered around the tops of the shower, and trying my best not to shriek when one of them twitched. 

Only to watch all my efforts be for nought, as my father took one look at the moth-infested shower and washed them down the drain with the shower hose. I stared at him. He shrugged defensively. “That’s what the hose is for,” he argued. 

I woke up the next morning sore and somehow more tired than the day before. At least my headache was gone. My bones really wanted to be one with the bed though. I would have stayed there for the rest of eternity, probably, if not for the muffled noises coming from outside the door. They came from somewhere down a hall, an odd mumbling and rustling. 

I left my father snoring to investigate. Outside, I found an old woman hunched over the front desk, muttering frantically to herself as paper clips and yellowing receipts littered the floor. 

“Um…” I cleared my throat, sleep still heavy on my tongue. “Can I… help you?” 

The woman’s neck snapped up. “Ooh, a visitor!” She said, in the same tone one would have if talking to a puppy. “When did you get here?” 

“Last night? Sorry, we waited and you weren’t here, so we grabbed a bed. Hope that wasn’t too much trouble?” 

“Oh, no no no, it’s no trouble at all!” She said cheerfully. “If I knew you were here I would have started on breakfast!” She tilted her head. “Say, you don’t have any children with you, do you?” 

“No kids, no kids at all,” I reassured her. She nodded, though she looked a little disappointed. 

“Oh, well. I haven’t seen my grandchildren in so long. I really miss them. And children are so cute, don’t you think?” Her smile almost split her face in half. 

Ten minutes later, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming bowl of congee in front of me. My father, freshly awake and already cheerful, was digging in and making conversation. How he could talk so much and eat so fast was beyond me. 

“You know, it’s funny, she seems kind of familiar,” he commented. “Don’t remember where I know her from, though.” 

The old woman came out of the kitchen carrying a big pot. She opened her mouth to say something but cut herself off with a wince. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

She waved me off. “My back is killing me. Getting old,” she chuckled. “Today is especially worse. And I usually have my babies to make me feel better, but, well, I can’t find them anywhere–” 

She was interrupted by my dad’s hand slapping down on the table. Both me and the old woman jumped. He removed his hand sheepishly, revealing the smudged imprint of the dead fly on the plastic table cover. 

“Dad, seriously? You weren’t satisfied with the moth-genocide yesterday already, and the spider, and the gecko, and the mosquito—” 

“The spider was an accident, the mosquito was stinging me, and the gecko was keeping me up at night!” He hissed back. 

“The mosquito wouldn’t have been stinging you if you had kept the gecko and spider alive, you moron—” 

“The… genocide?” The old woman’s eye twitched. 

My father waved at her with his spoon. “We tried to shower last night but it was infested with moths. I washed them down the drain. It was no big deal.” 

“No big deal? You killed them—” 

You killed my babies?!” The old woman’s face twisted, like a wet towel or a decomposing grape. 

“What?” My father’s spoon clattered into the bowl. He looked at me with wide eyes. Abort abort abort, his eyes screamed. 

Abort what??? I yelled back. Could you be a little more specific, please? 

Abort abort abort, he repeated, completely unhelpfully. 

“Get out,” the old woman said. 

“I thought you were dead!” Father yelled. 

“What?” I contributed, eloquently. 

“Get out of my lodge.” The old woman snarled. “I house you, I give you my food, and this is how you repay me?” 

“Is this about the bed? We’ll totally repay you! With like, all our money, swear on my life-” “Get out.” 

“This isn’t about the beds!” My father yelled. 

“I said get out. Now.” Before my eyes, the woman’s already wrinkled face seemed to wrinkle further. Her arms stretched out, longer than any arm reasonably should, like melted plastic, the fingers stretching towards me, shiny and wet, frog-like. 

“Getting out, getting out!” I hurtled towards the front door, pushing my father ahead of me. “Go, go go go go-” 

The door slammed shut behind us.

“I suddenly remember where I recognised her from,” my father said. 

“That woman just had frog arms.” I turned to him. “That woman had frog arms. I wasn’t imagining that, right?” 

My dad winced apologetically. “That was a mountain demon that kidnaps and eats children. I saw her the first time I came up.” 

“And you just… forgot about a mountain demon that ate children?” 

He shuffled nervously back and forth. “Well, in my defence, it’s been a long time.” I just stared at him. “Well, congratulations! You just passed the second trial!” 

“Yippee,” I said, not feeling very yippee at all. 

*** 

We were silent until the river. I didn’t mind too much, since the way down was so steep and muddy I practically slid all the way there. 

Fine. I minded a little. I felt a little bad, and a little angry, and a lot upset. It would have helped to have something to distract me with. 

Father didn’t seem mad, though. When we finally reached the edge of the water, he seemed almost cheerful again, rooting through a blue plastic box for two life jackets. 

I eyed the life jackets warily. “Hey, are you sure that’s safe?” 

“Oh, this? Hey look, this wasn’t even here last time I climbed this mountain, and I made it out alright. This is just for bonus safety and warmth.” 

I wanted to argue, but I also didn’t want to fight again, so I kept my mouth shut. He’d been right so far. 

The water was freezing cold. I shrieked, splashing my way through until he pulled me up on the other end. “We’re just going to bounce back and forth like this,” he said. “One end to another. We’re not even going to be in the water that much. Remember, I’ve done this before.” 

Now, I don’t know if my father was lying to my face, or if erosion has been at work since he last hiked, but the water was deep. Deep enough to go straight to my chest. And to make things worse, the currents were fast. Fast enough I felt like I was about to be swept away at every given moment. The dichotomy between the life jacket pulling me up and my backpack pulling me down didn’t help either. 

“If you tell me this isn’t a trial, I am actually going to throw you into the river,” I hissed. 

He frowned. “I’m not putting both of us through this just for fun. I hate this as much as you do.” 

That made me feel a little better. But not by much. 

“We’re right across from the campground,” he huffed, later. “Then we can make camp and get some rest.” 

I frowned. “The sky’s not even dark yet.”

He shook his head. “Trust me, you’re going to need all your strength to face the dragon. And you’re going to need a clear head to make a proper decision.” 

I frowned again, harder his time. “What decision? There’s no decision to be made.” He squinted. “Never mind. Let’s pass now, the water seemed to have slowed down a bit.” 

“No, wait.” I grabbed the back of his life jacket. “What do you mean, a decision? What decision?” 

“We can’t talk about this right now. It’s dangerous, and there’ll be no light soon.” *** 

The campsite was empty: just me, the tent, and my father. It was to be expected. Nobody else was stupid enough to go hiking while the world was ending. 

I wanted to go home. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time,” my father said, and yikes, I must have said that last part out loud, but he also sounds frustratingly smug. 

“Could you please stop trying to talk me out of saving the world!” I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t think I forgot about that ‘decision’ you mentioned either! God, it’s like you don’t even want to be here!” 

“Of course I want to be here. Why else do you think I’m here?” 

“Because I haven’t hiked this far up the mountain before, and without you I’ll probably fall off a cliff face and die.” 

“Hey, I did just fine—“ 

“And you’re all ‘let’s go home, Mona! Don’t you wanna go home, Mona?’ It’s just cruel.” 

He raised his hands. “Look, it’s obvious you hate it here. As you said, you want to go home. And here’s the thing: you don’t have to be here. It wasn’t fair of Grandma to ask you to come. You’re just a kid, it’s not your responsibility to do all this.” 

“That’s just the thing! You keep saying that, like it’s not my responsibility or whatever, but it totally is! If not me, who else is going to take the sun up the mountain, huh?” 

“Anyone else!” He argued. His voice was slowly getting louder and louder. “We can drive to another village. Hell, I bet any of those schmucks would love to bring the sun up the mountain. It’ll be like a dream come true.” 

I shook my head. “How could we trust them? How could we trust any of them wouldn’t die on the way up there? If you couldn’t do it, how could they?” 

Silence. 

He huffed. “Alright then. You go on this big journey, you climb the mountain, you slay the dragon, you free the sun. And what’s it all for, huh? So what?” 

“So what?” I spluttered. “We save the world, that’s what! Humanity gets a chance to live again, that’s what!”

“Who do you think killed the earth in the first place?” He leaned closer. “Who do you think pumped the air with so much pollution it choked the sun’s lungs? Who do you think put a hole in the sky? Who do you think hurt the world first, who do you think struck the first blow?” 

“What’s your point?” 

“My point is humanity. Humanity did this to themselves, humanity is reaping the consequences. Who are we to try and save a world that’s already doomed?” 

That formless rage was rising up again, but now I had somewhere to point it. “Don’t you get it? I have to live in this world, Dad! I’m going to have to deal with the consequences of the choices made before I was even born! And now I have to save it, ’cause just because the world is sinking doesn’t mean I have to go down with it!” 

“Mona-” 

“No!” I stood up. “No, I don’t want to hear it! If you want all of humanity to die in darkness and despair, I don’t care, because the decision isn’t even up to you.” 

“You’re my daughter. I should get a say in this, shouldn’t I?” 

“Well, it’s not like you want the responsibility.” 

He blinked. “What?” 

“You don’t want to save the world. You’re giving up. So now it’s my problem, not yours.” My father didn’t say anything. He just frowned. 

*** 

We were silent while we packed up camp, and when we began hiking again. This time, I could definitely tell he was upset. 

The path became steeper. The ground steadily turned from brown and dark green leaves to brown and interlaced with white. It was like the mountain was carved out of some off-white rock, which jutted out between the patches of dirt. I kicked part of it, and the outer edges broke off, sending small white shards skittering down the sides of the mountain. The earth itself seemed to shudder. 

“Please don’t do that.” My father broke the silence. I didn’t respond. We kept walking in silence until we finally crested the peak. 

All the questions I had whooshed out of me. We were so high up that I could see absolutely nothing. It was all clouds and sky. I was at the top of the world. 

“I guess this is it, huh?” 

“Before you open the bottle.” My dad inhaled. “I’d like to say something first.” I opened my mouth. “Dad-” 

“I’m not trying to talk you out of this if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to answer some questions. Clear some things up, first, before this all ends.” Exhale. “See, the thing is I haven’t been exactly honest. I’ve actually been here twice. Once right after you were born. Another, a long long time ago.” Inhale. “What do you remember about that bedtime story I used to tell you? About the driftwood death god and the sun he shot down?”

*** 

Nothing that important happened to the death god after he shot down the sun. That’s what I said. And that was mostly true. He mourned the death of his best friend, and worst of all, he was still angry at his fellow villagers. Unable to stand returning, he took the bottle with the blood of the sun and travelled to a distant village. There, he built a life. A wife. A son. He learned to hunt, though he was still terrible, and they got by. He never told anyone about his powers, his friend, or the sun. He died, like any other man, surrounded by friends and family. 

Gods aren’t immortal. They’re not like mountains, or the ocean, or the sky. But they do come back. In shadows, in imprints, like stains on the soul that can’t be washed out. The death god’s son woke up one day and found he was the same, but not quite. He had dreams of the stories his father told him. Vivid dreams. 

He wasn’t stupid. He could put two and two together. But he hesitated to tell anyone. What could he say? My father could kill anyone at the point of the finger. My father shot down the sun. Easier to keep his mouth shut. Easier to worship him another way, through bedtime stories that spread and mutated and grew. 

And that’s how it went, for a while. The death god kept being passed down. It didn’t really do anything. We can’t point at things to kill them anymore, for example. You can even forget it’s a thing, after a while. But death sticks to our family like leeches to your skin. 

Then the sun started flickering. It seemed dimmer, somehow. The world looked darker. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the light? 

But it wasn’t. Eventually, there wasn’t enough sunlight for things to grow healthily. Crops withered. All the while, our family held onto that original wine bottle. 

On your grandmother’s deathbed, she asked me to take the bottle up the mountain. To replace the fading sun. To save the world. And so I did. I hiked all the way up, evading the mountain demons, fighting and winning by sheer luck, until I reached the highest point. I tried to open the bottle– 

And it all stopped. The world creaked and clicked and stopped, for a moment. Like someone opened a door in my brain and it all came rushing back in. My dreams were always vivid but these weren’t dreams, these were memories. Anger and determination and grief and despair and anger again. In my hand was the sun that killed my friend. I was trying to save the people who abandoned me, rejected me, polluted the air and the sky and threw trash into space. They were killing the earth. What was I doing, delaying the inevitable? What was the point? 

So I headed back down. Resolved to make the best of our remaining time. Buried the bottle with your grandma and tried to, well, forget about it. 

“But then she sent me the letter.” 

“She sent you the letter,” my father agreed. “Mom was clever, heh. Or maybe she was just perceptive. Knew that I would chicken out or something worse. And she knew you wouldn’t.” He tilted his head to the side. “Or maybe she has decades’ worth of letters backed up for your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” 

I laughed, despite myself. “Wait… where’s the dragon?” 

“The dragon was old, okay? The first death god met it at its prime, like, centuries ago. It’s not like dragons live forever. They’re not like mountains-”

“-and oceans and skies.” I finished for him. “Yeah, I got that.” I digested that information for a moment longer. “Wait, so all that white stuff we saw on the way up is-?” 

“Dragon bone,” my father answered. I shrieked, shooting up. 

“No wonder the mountain shuddered,” I said, shuddering. “I would shudder. I’m currently shuddering. Shuddering is expected and encouraged.” 

“So. That’s why I didn’t open the bottle up the first time around.” 

“And I get that.” I exhaled. “I get what you’re saying. Maybe humans did screw up the earth a little. A lot. But, still…” 

“But?” He prompted. 

“But we can’t not try.” I flailed my arms around. “Look, I get that we practically asked for the sun to give out on us. And yeah, we might do it again! But it’s not fair to not give a fighting chance at all. Maybe we can do better this time. You can’t write us off as dead before we even get a chance to live. 

My dad huffed out a laugh. He looked to the skies, the grey, colourless sky, the sun bleached out. “You know I’m old. And you know I made… choices. To help you. To help your mom. And you know if I could go back… I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

“I know you wouldn’t. I won’t even ask you to.” I took a deep breath. “But just because you helped hurt the Earth doesn’t mean everyone else will. And it’s not fair, Dad, for you to decide everyone that comes after isn’t worth saving.” 

He flinched. My father looked pale and fragile. Like paper that could be blown away into pieces. “Maybe I’m old and too nihilistic for your own good,” he huffed. “You’re right. Who knows? Maybe everything will be better. Or maybe we’re just delaying the inevitable. But… who knows?” 

I smiled. Plopped my backpack down on the ground, searching. The bottle looked as plain and old as the day I found it. I rubbed my thumb over the cap. 

“We’re really doing this?” I asked, eyes flickering up to meet his. 

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?” 

“I mean, you’re apparently the reincarnation of the most depressing god ever, and we’re currently standing on a dragon corpse, so anything, I guess.” 

“Not the reincarnation. A reincarnation.” 

“That was terrible, Dad.” 

He grinned. “Worth giving it a try, though, right?” 

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Let’s pour one out, okay?” I raised the bottles. “To the most depressing god I’ve ever heard of!” 

“To more fun hiking trips!” 

“To lodges without murdery frog demons!” 

“To new beginnings!”

“To new beginnings.” My hand twisted around the cap. And I poured one out.

Davina Jou is a seventeen-year-old high school student at Taipei American School. You can find them hiking, playing DnD, or talking to their cactus. Their works are showcased on pen-and-palette.com and @toto.dreamer

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