Walk in the Wilderness
This is a short that I started awhile ago. I'm not sure if it's done or not. At any rate, she's stopped talking to me for awhile. I think I may have to wait for fall to come before I go further. PS: SteelLilly, this is the story that I told you I was working on long ago that was similar to your River God series. But it's not nearly as good and I swear up and down that I'm not stealing your idea. :D Anyway, here it is: As the grey and silvery mist descends on the path, my heart begins to freeze. The woods that seemed so inviting in the summer sun quickly became forboding. What haunts these paths? What evil stalks me, concealed in this haze, this fallen cloud? I sit on the path, clutching my knees to my chin. I mimic the gently bowing birch branches, rocking back and forth with the breeze. I can no longer see the path before me. I dare not turn back--the path is interrupted back there. One could simply follow the little barren patch to where the path picks back up in the daylight. But in this fog, this darkness, ten feet might as well be the Grand Canyon. What am I to do? Wait for dawn's guiding light? But what if it never comes? Or, perhaps more accurately, what if I am no longer here when it arrives? Whatever possessed me to follow this trail? I was driving down this little abandoned road and happened to glance out my right window. This little dirt path, plant leaves covering parts of it, a miniture version of the canopy of trees high above. Trees for ants, maybe. I pulled over, stopped the car, and walked back. A small breeze gently guided fallen leaves down the path, as though unrolling the wild's version of the red carpet for me. I fell under the spell; in a daze I wandered forward, drinking in the beauty , the songs of birds and the hum of insects. Shafts of sunlight lazily filtered down between the leafy crowns of the trees. At the time, I felt safe, in the company of old friends, as though someone was calling me home. A dim memory orbited my mind but I could not see it. Like astronomers, I only knew of its presence by its effects on its neighbors. At the time, I was content to let it remain in orbit, assured that I would see it eventually. But now it torments me. Is it a warning? A plan of escape? If only I could capture it! The word "capture" unlocks a flood of unwanted thoughts and fears. What kind of psychos lurk in these woods, waiting for idiotic girls to wander into their trap? If I move forward, will I fall into a pit or be yanked off the trail and disappear forever? Eventually, they might find the car, abandoned on the side of the road, but I will be long gone by then. I jerk my head up, hearing a faint whimpering noise. I hold my breath-and the noise ceases. After sitting there for three hours of silence (when in reality it is about three seconds) I exhale. It had only been me. I look up in time to see the trees before me bow to a great wind that nearly pushes me backwards. The woods are silent no longer-the wind roars through the trees as branches snap and tumble to the ground. They blow left, right, up again and then flatten down. How can anything so graceful and tender survive such an onslaught? "Well, at least the mist is disappearing," I wildly think. But this fury terrifies me. A storm is approaching. I occasionally hear peals of thunder in the distance, behind this ferocious wind. I know I need to get out of here, but how? And where? "Follow me, child," a gentle voice whispers. I shouldn't be able to hear her over this wind and thunder. I see a vauge figure in front of me. A woman, but not like any woman I've seen before. She's tall, slender, but strong. As I draw nearer, she appears young, but there is an aura of great wisdom that comes only with great age. "Quickly child. The clouds cannot hold their burdens forever. In here." She has led me to a small cave. There isn't much room. Sitting against the back wall, I have to sit cross-legged to keep my feet in. No sooner had I gone in then the rain began to pour down. The woman remained outside. "Don't you want to come in?" I ask, though I have no idea how the two of us would fit in such a small space. But she merely laughes, a sound so familiar to me, but I cannot place it. "You have forgotten us, haven't you child," she says, not asks. "You forget that I love Rain, that she takes care of me. I love to stand out here with her." Suddenly, the orbiting idea is in clear focus. How could I have forgotten? I stare at her again-the twigs twined around her hair, leaves wrapped around her body. She is a dryad, a tree spirit, a birch. Her laughter is like the spring breeze blwoing through her tree's leaves. Long ago, as a child, I knew them so well. The trees, the sun, the clouds, even the mist were my friends. They spoke with me, helped me understand. Of course, everyone thought they were only imaginary friends and when I started junior high, I began to believe that too. My face grows red with shame. I had cut them out of my life, convinced myself it had never been like that, and soon forgotten them altogether. "You are not the first, child, nor the last. Many have heard us in their early days. But as they grow, they follow the examples set for them. That is the way of life. Do not be ashamed. We continued to watch you and sometimes we'd call to you, just to see if you could hear us. Sometimes you did. The winds and breezes were the best at calling you out. You would stand out there and gaze at us. I believe your memories still stirred within you. Of course, you couldn't stay. You have your own life, and you must follow your own path." "Then why did you call me out here? Because you did. I heard you, though I did not recognize it at the time." "We call you often. I told you that." "Yes, but why here? And why am I able to see you now?" "Because you need us," she simply replied.
This is a short that I started awhile ago. I'm not sure if it's done or not. At any rate, she's stopped talking to me for awhile. I think I may have to wait for fall to come before I go further. PS: SteelLilly, this is the story that I told you I was working on long ago that was similar to your River God series. But it's not nearly as good and I swear up and down that I'm not stealing your idea. :D Anyway, here it is: As the grey and silvery mist descends on the path, my heart begins to freeze. The woods that seemed so inviting in the summer sun quickly became forboding. What haunts these paths? What evil stalks me, concealed in this haze, this fallen cloud? I sit on the path, clutching my knees to my chin. I mimic the gently bowing birch branches, rocking back and forth with the breeze. I can no longer see the path before me. I dare not turn back--the path is interrupted back there. One could simply follow the little barren patch to where the path picks back up in the daylight. But in this fog, this darkness, ten feet might as well be the Grand Canyon. What am I to do? Wait for dawn's guiding light? But what if it never comes? Or, perhaps more accurately, what if I am no longer here when it arrives? Whatever possessed me to follow this trail? I was driving down this little abandoned road and happened to glance out my right window. This little dirt path, plant leaves covering parts of it, a miniture version of the canopy of trees high above. Trees for ants, maybe. I pulled over, stopped the car, and walked back. A small breeze gently guided fallen leaves down the path, as though unrolling the wild's version of the red carpet for me. I fell under the spell; in a daze I wandered forward, drinking in the beauty , the songs of birds and the hum of insects. Shafts of sunlight lazily filtered down between the leafy crowns of the trees. At the time, I felt safe, in the company of old friends, as though someone was calling me home. A dim memory orbited my mind but I could not see it. Like astronomers, I only knew of its presence by its effects on its neighbors. At the time, I was content to let it remain in orbit, assured that I would see it eventually. But now it torments me. Is it a warning? A plan of escape? If only I could capture it! The word "capture" unlocks a flood of unwanted thoughts and fears. What kind of psychos lurk in these woods, waiting for idiotic girls to wander into their trap? If I move forward, will I fall into a pit or be yanked off the trail and disappear forever? Eventually, they might find the car, abandoned on the side of the road, but I will be long gone by then. I jerk my head up, hearing a faint whimpering noise. I hold my breath-and the noise ceases. After sitting there for three hours of silence (when in reality it is about three seconds) I exhale. It had only been me. I look up in time to see the trees before me bow to a great wind that nearly pushes me backwards. The woods are silent no longer-the wind roars through the trees as branches snap and tumble to the ground. They blow left, right, up again and then flatten down. How can anything so graceful and tender survive such an onslaught? "Well, at least the mist is disappearing," I wildly think. But this fury terrifies me. A storm is approaching. I occasionally hear peals of thunder in the distance, behind this ferocious wind. I know I need to get out of here, but how? And where? "Follow me, child," a gentle voice whispers. I shouldn't be able to hear her over this wind and thunder. I see a vauge figure in front of me. A woman, but not like any woman I've seen before. She's tall, slender, but strong. As I draw nearer, she appears young, but there is an aura of great wisdom that comes only with great age. "Quickly child. The clouds cannot hold their burdens forever. In here." She has led me to a small cave. There isn't much room. Sitting against the back wall, I have to sit cross-legged to keep my feet in. No sooner had I gone in then the rain began to pour down. The woman remained outside. "Don't you want to come in?" I ask, though I have no idea how the two of us would fit in such a small space. But she merely laughes, a sound so familiar to me, but I cannot place it. "You have forgotten us, haven't you child," she says, not asks. "You forget that I love Rain, that she takes care of me. I love to stand out here with her." Suddenly, the orbiting idea is in clear focus. How could I have forgotten? I stare at her again-the twigs twined around her hair, leaves wrapped around her body. She is a dryad, a tree spirit, a birch. Her laughter is like the spring breeze blwoing through her tree's leaves. Long ago, as a child, I knew them so well. The trees, the sun, the clouds, even the mist were my friends. They spoke with me, helped me understand. Of course, everyone thought they were only imaginary friends and when I started junior high, I began to believe that too. My face grows red with shame. I had cut them out of my life, convinced myself it had never been like that, and soon forgotten them altogether. "You are not the first, child, nor the last. Many have heard us in their early days. But as they grow, they follow the examples set for them. That is the way of life. Do not be ashamed. We continued to watch you and sometimes we'd call to you, just to see if you could hear us. Sometimes you did. The winds and breezes were the best at calling you out. You would stand out there and gaze at us. I believe your memories still stirred within you. Of course, you couldn't stay. You have your own life, and you must follow your own path." "Then why did you call me out here? Because you did. I heard you, though I did not recognize it at the time." "We call you often. I told you that." "Yes, but why here? And why am I able to see you now?" "Because you need us," she simply replied.