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Someone’s Waiting For YouWith Sam faithfully by her side as always, Camille placed her hand as carefully as possible on the cool wooden banister that ran up the stairwell, away from her. For an instant that seemed like an eon, her wild seven year old imagination ran away from her. It told her that this was a steep, winding path lined with thorns and thistles. It wound its way through a shadow-laden wood that was devoid of any sound. To reach safety, she had to make it through.She knew it wasn’t true, but the chilling thought remained, regardless. With her free arm, Camille hugged Sam close to her. He was scared too. He might not know that the frightening exaggerations of one's imagination in the dead of night were not real.“Don’t be afraid, Sam,” she whispered to him. He didn’t respond, and she wasn’t sure that he’d heard her. Giving him one quick squeeze with her elbow, Camille began tiptoeing up the lightless staircase.Be brave, little oneMake a wish for each sad little tearHold your head up when no one is nearSomeone’s waiting for you“Shhh, Sam! We can’t wake anyone,” She reminded him in the same ghost-of-a-voice whisper. Sam said nothing.They reached the silent landing at the top of the stairwell. The long hallway was only inhabited by blue shadows chasing blue shadows by the slivers of moonlight peeking beneath doors. The shadows had never harmed her before, but still, she couldn’t help but be wary.Glued together as best friends should be, they crept past the boys’ rooms, and then the first girl’s room in turn. The last door was their room that they shared with three other girls. These were the nice girls who had given Camille the bed in the corner, the warmest spot in the room.Don’t cry, little oneThere’ll be a smile where a frown used to beYou’ll be part of the love that you seeSomeone’s waiting for youGuiding the painted wooden door shut behind her, Camille had to take extra care that it shut, clicking into place as silently as she could manage.“It’s okay, Sam. Nobody heard us,” she assured him. He was worried, but he said nothing. His reflective, sad eyes spoke all the words he did not.Sam did not like living in the children’s home, she knew. Sure, there were friends here, friends to laugh with and make believe with. Those were happy days, they were numerous, and he loved them. But still, some of the children, they liked to tease and make fun of him. She knew this, and it made her angry. It was only some of the other children who said these things. But they were enough to turn a happy day horrible. They liked to give nasty little reminders, like how they were not found in a dumpster. How they had been dropped off at the home in swaddling clothes with flowers and a lovingly sealed envelope. How they had not been abandoned, naked and still slimy from birth in the middle of the night. “Abandoned for dead,” they liked to say. “It’s not true, Sam,” she promised him. Don’t listen to them. I’m here to be your friend. I won’t let them get to you. Her thoughts reached out to him.It was impossible to say what brought those atrocities to mind. Camille had stolen out of bed and down the stairs to quench the scratching thirst that had woken her. It was against the rules to leave bed at night without a grown up to watch you. Perhaps these nightmares that flew in her thoughts while she was awake, the jeering faces and cutting words, was some ethereal punishment?Always keep a little prayer in your pocketAnd you’re sure to see the lightSoon there’ll be joy and happinessAnd your little world will be brightCamille climbed into bed, and tucked Sam in next to her. His floppy ears tickled her nose, and so she tucked him into the crook of her arm. Settling in, she began stroking his ear that used to be soft, but had worn think and ratty over the years. Her fingers found the tear in the seam where his cotton insides were poking out. The anxiety from the short sojourn down to the kitchen had taken its toll. Camille had begun to drift off to sleep before she even knew it.Someday, she wouldn’t have to carry Sam with her. The loyal dog full of cotton and heart was a true friend to her. He took all the trouble she couldn’t comprehend and made it his own. And then he let her take care of him and his foreign troubles. It was what she needed to survive and grow, and he was happy to take it as his burden.One day, maybe not so far in the future, Camille could look back and see the lesson of love that silent Sam had taught her without speaking a word. It is the same lesson that all childhood friends, the ones with cotton and heart on the inside, teach. A lesson of friendship and sacrifice and family, taught in a way that should not be teachable. And yet, it is. Just one of the quietly amazing things in life.Have faith, little one‘Til your hopes and your wishes come trueYou must try to be brave, little oneSomeone’s waiting to love you---If any of you have seen Disney's The Rescuers, that's where inspiration for this story and the lyrics came from. This is the first piece I've written in months, apologies if it seems a bit rusty. Nonetheless, written for you. And the flash fiction contest =P I hope you enjoyed.
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The Wrong Path They called it the Pathfinder.Or at least, most people did. Like most things shrouded in myth, it had no single name. Some called it the Ghoul of the Forest. Or The Seeker's Last Lucky Break.Most called it the Pathfinder.Maybe it would be more appropriate to refer to it as her. According to every account from the few Seekers that had seen her and come out of the forest, it always took the shape of a young girl made of stone, but moving like a person. The people of Town do not want to think of her as living. So she was an it.She would appear from between the trees, if you were too (un)lucky, and lead you astray. She would do nothing but talk to you. Of anything that could make you lose yourself. Eventually she would begin to talk about things she shouldn't have known. Things no one knew but you.And you would follow her, in anger, hope, or desperation. And then you would be lost.Of course, almost everyone who wandered into the Forest of Infinite Paths would be lost from the beginning. The forest, made of rock and utterly uninhabited, was what lay between us and paradise.Or so the legends go.I live in the Town. It's a huge settlement, closed off from the rest of the world--if there even is such a thing. The Forest stands in the way of glory. There is nothing around us, nothing beyond the horizon, but the forest. Those brave enough to transverse the forest and attempt to reach glory are called Seekers.As its name would indicate, the forest floor is covered with twisting paths, thousands at a time. No two paths are the same, and they change perpetually: You could be observing the forest for hours, but as soon as you turn away for even a second, the paths will shift.Most paths lead you back to town, but some don't. According to the Seekers, there are some paths that lead directly to paradise.And it's these paths that the Pathfinder targets. They call her the Pathfinder because if you see her, it means you have found the right path to glory. All you have to do is continue walking. But she's also called the Pathfinder because she will always find every potentially successful path and lead its traveler astray.At least, that is what I heard from a Seeker one day while I was in the tavern. He and his brother had taken parallel paths in the forest (no two people can take the same path), and set out for the other side. "It was mostly just boring" he'd said.Then she came.His brother was in a "good"; path. She led him away. And he was lost.I heard that Seeker went back into the forest. I never saw him again. --- I'm writing this from just outside the forest. I am about to enter it myself.I know I can do it.If I don't, I have nothing.I look at the ground before me. The rock trunks of the trees loom all around my field of vision. Snaking around them are the well-tread paths. No two alike.No turning back. --- The Seeker was right. It really is mostly boring.There's nothing alive in this forest. I sometimes spot other Seekers in their paths, but it's very rarely. They don't pay any attention to me, though. I'm marked, and they can see that plainly.I keep walking for what seem to be hours. The forest always looks the same. Even at nighttime, the forest is bright and blank, eerie in its uneven uniformity.I'm not tired. Or hungry. Or thirsty.The forest seems to negate every basic human need. It's as if the ones who travel this phantom realm start becoming rock themselves: no needs, no desires, just pure undemanding existence. It's mind-numbing.And then it happens.And I see her, for the first time.She's not after me. A Seeker on a path several yards away from mine exclaims loudly when he sees her.He's on the right path.But he isn't, for long. She begins to talk. I can't understand what she says, even though I can register her words clearly. I am hearing her, but cannot listen.The Seeker turns and runs. He runs until he's out of my sight. Whatever she did, worked.And then she herself turns, and I am able to see her clearly for the first time. She's beautiful.She's beautiful, and graceful, and wonderful. I can't explain it, but when I saw her, every weight dropped from my shoulders. Her sole image was comforting and welcoming. I'm about to call out to her.But then she's gone, just like that. --- A path will supposedly disappear if you step off it, once you stop looking at it. It will shift and never come back.But I was still looking.And I knew it was the right path.I ran. I hit the path and kept running.I ran from the Ghoul of the Forest. I ran from the society that had rejected the poor and maimed orphan that I had been so many years ago. I ran from the nameless slave I had been. I ran from the scar that marked my face, denoting me as property only. I ran from the ghosts of all those I knew that were lost in this cursed forest. I ran along he only path that could somehow lead to my freedom.But then I saw her.I had taken the right path. And now she was there to take me way.She spoke only one word. A name.A name I'd never heard, but knew to be mine.It was all it took.I stepped off the path, knowing that I would never see it again. Knowing I would never see paradise.She turned away.I followed. Procrastinating writing this down was probably a bad choice?
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Julia's Diner Arnie had never been much of a charmer. He hadn’t been with many women. He didn’t know of all the different places where one could meet them easily. He had married fairly late in life, and he had never been good at grand gestures of affection.But even after all of that, he still understood what love was. Maybe Arnie had married later than most fellows, but he had married well. He loved his wife with all of his heart, and she loved him equally.Arnie owned a small diner on the corner of a small street, in the middle of a small neighbourhood. It may have been out-of-the-way, but it was a second home to the aging man, and it did provide enough of an income for him and his wife.Not many people came to his diner (named “Julia’s, in honour of his beloved), but there were two customers he could always count on to come by. They arrived at his restaurant like clockwork, to the point where he could literally set his watch by their movements.One was a young, pale, raven-haired man named Ted, a banker who worked the Hong Kong shift, which had rendered him nearly nocturnal in his habits. Each morning, right after Arnie opened for the day, Ted would walk in, usually wearing a crisp, black suit and tie, order a cup of decaf, and lament his lonely existence.For, while other young fellows might be out on the town, flirting with every girl they met, Ted usually stayed cooped up inside his home, reading novels about people who always managed to find love so easily, it was as if there something inherently wrong with anyone who had the slightest bit of trouble.And every morning, the young banker would sit, and talk about his life, and tell bad jokes, which Arnie never understood but always smiled at, in order not to hurt Ted’s feelings. And then he would leave, to read, and sleep, and lament his lucklessness in love.For the rest of the day, things would be fairly peaceful. People would come and go, ordering coffee and pie, and occasionally telling a life story or two to the nearest sympathetic ear.Then, late in the evening, when most businesses would be ready to close up shop, his second regular customer would show herself. A sweet, gentle, quick-witted girl, whose black eyes and ever-changing, but always vibrant, hair colours could both inspire and mystify those around her.Her name was Stephanie, and she was a graphic designer who would always arrive at “Julia’s” for a decaf, and a slice of apple pie. Eating and drinking, with a nigh-constant smile on her face, she would regale Arnie with (apparently) humorous tales about her day, all the while pining for some young fellow to come and sweep her off of her feet.And so, for many months, Arnie listened blankly to each of his two regulars as they lamented their unfortunate love-lives, but who never did anything to rectify their situations. And while the proprietor suggested numerous solutions (“Go out, meet a girl, see what happens!” “Waiting around’s no good! If you want to find someone, you’ve got to take the initiative!”), they would always respond with some excuse (“It’s too risky!” “What if something goes wrong?”).And then, on February 14th, at nine in the evening, something new happened. Stephanie was there as usual, drinking her standard cup of decaf, as the snow built up on the streets outside. But then, Ted walked in, already dusting the ice crystals off of his jacket, not even noticing that someone else was sitting next to his spot at the counter.Suddenly, as if choreographed by some unknown deity, the two regulars turned to face each other, in a moment of shared surprise. Ted stared at Stephanie, Stephanie stared at Ted. Then, slowly, they both turned to look at Arnie, was standing behind the counter, a dawning smile on his wrinkled face, as if to ask, “Who is this other person?”Arnie, although just as mystified about the situation as the youngsters, was happy that the two had finally met. After enough time listening to each of their stories, the old proprietor had realized how alike these strangers were.Slowly, Ted walked over to claim his usual spot, meekly ordering a coffee (black, two sugars), and doing his best not to stare at the beautiful girl seated next to him. Stephanie too, was careful to keep her focus on her meal, and definitely not on the handsome fellow beside her.With hidden hope and satisfaction, Arnie handed Ted his coffee, casually asking about his unusual hour of arrival.Ted explained how he had been forced to attend a wedding during the day, and since he was too tired to face heading back to the office, he choose to take a sick day, and hang out in one of the few places he could call home; “Julia’s”.Stephanie, still very interested in this new stranger, replied with her own story: escaping a seriously depressing Valentine’s Day party to come have a cup of coffee in a place without starry-eyed couples to remind her of how lonely she was.Arnie watched, hopeful, as the two engaged in the age-old game of flirting: knocking jokes and stories back and forth, discussing news, and generally finding each other genuinely interesting.And then, the clincher: Stephanie hesitantly asking Ted if he would like to accompany her back to the party. She used that word too; “accompany”, as if they were in a penny novelette. Of course, being a man of literature himself, Ted was instantly enamoured with the woman who used such a term in ordinary conversation, and was quick to accept her invitation with a shy smile.And Arnie smiled, watching the two loneliest people to grace his diner, walk out together. ~ ~ ~ So, yeah, I've finally entered one of these things (I'm so proud!) This is a pretty loose example of "pathfinding", I know, but hey, it's worth a shot, isn't it?I hope you guys enjoy reading it as I much as I enjoyed writing it! Have fun!-Void
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The air felt heavier in my lungs at night, like I was breathing in a bog. Even though it had been only two months since life had become like this, I still felt myself doubling over, unadjusted to the change in the environment. It had only been such a short time, two months, but forever it had felt like it had been this way. With conveniences so long accustomed to rendered useless, life had become a burden. Nights would find me open eyed in the kitchen, not needing the rest I almost ached for in the day. A shadow by sunlight and a ghost by the stars I was, gazing emptily out the window over the dish filled sink. The moon hung full over the calm ocean, its pale light rippling the sand from here to there with shadow. As the waves broke on the flooded sands, I felt the water underneath my feet, seeping up through the tile. The tides were the highest they had been since the hurricane, the groundwater rising into the house. I could feel it just under my feet, a miserable reminder of what this place had been through. I just wanted it to pull away, all in one receding wave; I could not rebuild with a wet foundation, and wanted nothing more than to be dry.When one stares long enough, their tired eyes play tricks on them. I had been tired for a long time, and my eyes were beginning to see shapes in the sand. In the black ocean against the dark sky, something was out there on the horizon. Leaning over the dishes to get a glimpse, I was certain that there was someone out there. Walking along the shoreline, there was a silhouetted figure, bending over with every occasional step. Letting myself down, my interest had awaken me from the daze I had been, as I stared out there, wondering who could it be.***My run along the beach led to a Toa of Earth, picking masks from the sand. He had come from the ocean, his skiff nearly invisible on a sandbar in the mild surf. Picking up the masks like seashells, insouciantly adding them to a pile, while I looked on, revolted. Hundreds of masks had laid right in front of my house, the sea spewing back what it had taken from the island, and I had been completely oblivious to it. “What are you doing?” I asked the Toa. “Leave them alone!”“I’m collecting them,” he replied simply; either he did not know these were the masks of my brothers and sisters, or was apathetic to my cries.“The sea takes the extraordinary and leaves the rest to be,” I quoted. “Let them rest in peace!” I grew angry when he kept collecting, ignorant of my demand. “These masks came to me,” he informed, “So what should I not take what is given? As tragic as it may have been for what happened to these Matoran, the island does not need these masks anymore. You would collect them yourself eventually, but what would you do with them? Maybe someone somewhere else needs them.” I cocked my head towards the moon, thinking on that. Letting them back to sea would be honoring their memory, but there was no arguing this with him. He was going to win this argument, no matter what I did or said. “Your island needs healing,” the Toa said, pushing a toe through the sand. I cast my eyes back to the shack I had come from, seeing ruins where a fine house had once been. The dunes were swept away to reveal a porch in shambles, the wood warped by the tides that had rushed forward in the floods. I winced at the sight of it, hurt by my own apathy. I had done nothing but let whatever dignity I had left deteriorate, and now my apathy was breaking me to pieces. “Maybe you need it too,” he added, placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. Looking me in the eyes, he could see the echoes of the pain as I remembered the storm. “Leave here,” he advised. “Go where your mind will be at peace. Let me take care of the land, so one day it will be fit to live on again” “How do you know what is right for here?” I demanded. “Stabbing a wound will not make it heal,” he countered. “Staying here will only make it worse for you. Leave. I will bring to this island what you won’t expect, and that’ll make it all the more interesting if you ever return.”“Where would I go?”“There is a meadow, far inland,” he explained, pointing beyond my house. “The woods will lead you there. The path may wind and fork, but trust me, it all goes to the same place.” “And you swear to…?”“I will help this island as best to my ability,” he nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Now go. Take what you have left and go. There’s people in the meadow, and trust me, it’ll do better to have company there than to spend the winter here alone.” I nodded, bidding him farewell. As I regarded the dark sky beyond my home, I felt the breeze tickling my neck, the quiet calling of winter. The woods beyond the island were dark, and I would spend many days in there before I waded through the grasses. I didn’t want to leave, to sever the connection between myself and the island. You can only appreciate this place once you leave, I thought grimly, as I followed the darkness to where I solid ground lay. ****A work that took a few weeks, based off of a dream and the "Pathfinding" Theme of the Fortnightly Flash Contest. I'm a bit out of practice, so feel free to tear apart.
