itch.io

thank you for leaving such an in-depth comment! I'm glad the story resonated with you so much. There are a lot of throughlines i tried to include throughout the entire timeline of events so it was still enoyable on a second playthrough, so it's cool to see you picking up on some of those already. 

I did have an idea for a reconnection years down the line, maybe when the characters are in their 30s or 40s, but I don't know if I'll ever actually do anything with it. I think Addie is a little too prideful and obsessive to just let the whole thing go, though. She definitely tries to find out more for herself once she realizes Clara can't be the one to tell her. I don't know for sure how much she would actually discover (or be willing to accept), but it would at least come up if the two ever talked again.

I feel that if I say more, I won't be able to stop from just dumping out my entire writing process and everything about the characters rattling around in my head, so I'll leave it at that :'). I'm really glad you liked it.

It’s an excellent commentary. Clara embodies the idea that love often means offering something to someone who may not see value or interest in what you bring.

Addie, despite her free spirit, measures love and affection with a scale — balancing interest and time. Clara, on the other hand, doesn’t even have a scale; she simply moves forward, even if it means stepping back. This changes in the end when she discards the stuffed animal. At that moment, a transformation takes place. There’s a restart, and we transition from following the story of Clara, the girl, to Clara, the adult — conscious, now carrying a new story with values and perceptions waiting to be discovered and analyzed. It’s unexplored territory for both her and those who grew up alongside her.

I admire Brittle's writing, not just here but also in False Fruit. Her narrative here delves into the fundamental tension of human desire for meaning in the face of the universe’s indifference. Whether we like it or not, we constantly confront the conflict of absurdity — the need to assign significance to our human experiences. This includes our relationships: when I say 'mother,' 'friend,' or 'love,' you interpret these terms by the who, not the what. It’s different, for instance, from saying I support Real Madrid instead of Barcelona, where the focus shifts to the why. Similarly, preferring sweet over salty or blue over red invites reflection on our choices and motivations.

Clara’s fear is actually a manifestation of the fear of connection. It parallels Wesley’s fascination with breaking the ice or the northern lights: fear is an absolute certainty of the present. Everything we fear is immediate, concrete. And when we are forced to take risks, even seemingly simple matters — like facing a cockroach or rebuilding life after a trauma that destroyed our dignity and imprisoned us in victimhood — become monumental challenges. These certainties, such as the fear of suffering, of repeating mistakes, of being close to people, or of making similar decisions, resurface. Living is painful. Relationships are inherently flawed. Humanity is unstable, and even the best experiences have bitter, painful roots.

The certainty of fear is not overcome through avoidance or isolation but through conscious engagement. Embracing fragility is essential because connections are unstable and temporary, but they can be continuously reshaped. This might emerge from something as simple as an apology or a commitment-free friendship. Whether it’s for a night, a day, or a season, human involvement, with all its fluidity and vulnerability, demands courage. The fear of deep involvement, often born of repeated emotional abandonment, teaches us to expect the worst and to avoid intense bonds as a shield against rejection, failure, or loss. Yet stability is an illusion. We must test the meaning of these bonds and seek something beyond a superficial reality that prioritizes emotional disposability. Eventually, what was once temporary may become permanent. What once threatened individual freedom may paradoxically become part of us — a child, a job, a mission. These experiences test the certainties imposed by fear and dismantle them with acts of love and hope, born from care and faith in a future unseen but believed in.

Philosophically, we return to the image of Sisyphus pushing his boulder uphill. Fear brings all certainties with it, but living under its shadow means being trapped in the present, devoid of future perspective. The revolt against imperfection lies in seeking the boulder, in embracing the risk of suffering. In this quest, we find happiness — the joy of doing something. Fear alone leads nowhere. Its certainties must be abandoned for something new to emerge, for us to live fully, with all the pain and pleasure that entails. Accepting the volatility of the unknown is the path to freedom. To remain a prisoner of fear is to make the past greater than the future, turning every relationship into a reflection of pain instead of an opportunity to begin anew. Facing fear is to challenge oneself and find meaning and stability alongside someone else carrying their own boulder. And when exhaustion sets in, it is in that companionship — whether through loyalty, love, or friendship — that one rests, sharing the burden to climb the mountain together.