God's Blessing is a Curse

The healer said he was fine.

"No broken bones. No wounds. No fever," she said, brushing dust from her sleeves. "His body's whole.

His mind..."

She paused.

Then offered us tea.

Tatsuya lay on a futon in the far corner of the room, his face pale, his eyes distant. He blinked, drank when we helped him. Answered when we spoke. But his words were slow, like someone remembering how to form them.

"Where did you go?" I asked him quietly, once we were alone.

But he never answered.

***