Inverted Optimism

Arvin woke to find a cloud of smoke hovering almost lazily over him. Nearly touching his nose, it floated in midair not moving. The small breeze passing through did nothing to disrupt it, and neither did Arvin’s breath, which was slowly getting quicker. Arvin slowly looked left to right glancing over his small home checking for any signs of fire. When he saw none, he quickly fixed his gaze back to the cloud. Peering closely into it, he thought he could see a small face staring intently back at him. He raised a hand slowly to his eyes, manoeuvring it around the puff of smoke, and rubbed furiously, trying to erase all signs of sleep. Perhaps he was hallucinating? In the strange world of Corcrest, there was not much of a norm, but clouds of smoke with human faces did not fit with anything Arvin had encountered. In the seventeen years Arvin had been alive, Corcrest had been the way it was; dark, dangerous, and full of despair. Creatures roaming, constantly watching for any sign of weakness, which then lead them to their next meal. None of these creatures included a puff of seemingly harmless smoke with a small face encased in it. Looking harder at the face, Arvin saw more clearly what the tiny thing looked like: a pointed nose, lips that were at the moment pursed and deep, dark eyes framed by a wave of eyelashes. The only real difference between that and the face of a human was the sheer size – the entire face was roughly the same size as Arvin’s smallest fingernail; the whole cloud the size of his fist. As Arvin looked into the miniscule eyes of the mysterious thing he felt a wave of crushing depression. A thought, not one of his own, burst unbidden through his mind.
‘Today is going to be a bad day.’
He shook the thought off. Normally Arvin was a realist. He cared nothing about luck and chance, only skill and ability, for this was how people survived. He took what life threw at him and dealt with it. Bad things, terrible things, happened. You had to rise above them, or the consequences would be bad.
Ignoring the dark thoughts that plagued his mind Arvin pushed back the sheets and sat up, moving his head around the smoke. He got up and changed quickly into the long brown pants and long sleeved shirt that was his typical day wear. The material was smooth and soft against his skin; tight but he could still move without restriction. Arvin cared nothing for fashion or looking good. His views were shared by most of the human population in Corcrest. The ones who didn’t often weren’t around to argue their side of the debate.
Arvin wore strong supple shoes that were made of leather, which rose over the leg of his trousers and hugged his feet comfortably. He straightened his clothes until he was sure the only flesh showing was that of his hands and face. Only then did he shoulder his pack that was waiting at the end of his bed and march out into the woods. He shifted the pack to one shoulder and the contents rolled around inside. His back pack was crammed with pieces of thick pieces of parchment; all of them had notations and things to remember written on them. The odd piece of fruit could be found rolling around the bottom, ready to be eaten as either breakfast or lunch. Resting the backpack along with the fruit and parchment was a small pouch containing a sharp knife. As Arvin tramped through the dense undergrowth, he pulled it out and expertly clipped it on to the waistband of his trousers. It was a small precaution he took – on everyone took – for they all lived dangerous lives. Not having an adequate weapon could mean life or death, and with the strange start to his day, Arvin wasn’t taking any chances.