He stretched his arms, content sitting upon the damp ground, silently appreciating the still morning. The dawn of a new day approached, heralded by the waking calls of the forest, as its occupants awoke. He admired the rays of sunlight beginning to filter through the forest canopy down to the undergrowth, welcoming their newfound warmth. It had been a cold night in his tent.
With the ease of practice, he quickly packed up his tent and cleared his half eaten meal of baked beans on toast. Setting his rucksack firmly upon his shoulders, he set off along the forest path, en route home.
His day job was a police officer in his hometown Hadenton, however there was rarely much trouble as its population didn’t exceed two hundred. It was a small close knit community, where everybody knew one another and one was susceptible to death by gossip if they stuck a toe out of line. Least to say, his job was dull and boring and besides the occasional ruffian or out of town hooligan, he was stuck saving cats from trees and helping old ladies cross the road.
It was these trips to Hailey’s Forest that kept him sane. Since a child, he had travelled these paths, his father instilling within him a wonder for the magnificence and beauty of nature. Fortnightly, he would pack his rucksack, drive to the edge of the forest and explore its hidden paths for three days, two nights. Upon his return, he always felt calmer and ready to return to his mundane life.
It was no different today, he thought as he walked using a thick tree branch to test the path, avoiding any raised roots and fallen trees. He continued on steadily, enjoying his stamina which his youth provided him. He noted the changing colours as the sun slowly inched higher on its journey, changing the forest from a dark blue chilly dawn to a warm morning, characterised by an array of different shades of green and brown, the undergrowth of the forest where he travelled.
Wiping the sweat off his brow, he paused in his hike as he distinguished a sound unusual to his surroundings. It was soft and distant and he had to stay silent for a few minutes before he heard it again. His brow furrowed as attempted to discern what sort of animal it was. He waited again, confused for it sounded a lot like a... whimper
.
.
Slowly, he walked off the route, heading towards the sound, his curiosity overtaking him. Pushing aside branches and leaves, he tried to soften his footfalls which crunched along the ground, so not to startle whatever it was. The closer he approached, the surer he got, the sound was definitely a whimper and sniffle. Was it another person?
He finally arrived at a small clearing, where he was sure the sound was coming from. He pushed aside a leaf to gain a clear view of the clearing. He scanned back and forth, almost missing the small hunched figure if not for the telltale whimper.
Squinting his eyes, he identified a young girl, about ten years of age. Her hair was a russet brown, sweeping down her shoulders like a mane and covering her eyes. She sat hunched in the shadow of a big tree, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth slightly, whimpering and sniffling. She wore only a wafer thin white dress, which was torn and ripped mirroring the cuts and bruises upon her own arms and legs. Her feet were bare and bleeding.
Confusion shrouded his mind, as questions arose unbidden and aplenty. But pushing these aside he knew she needed help. Slowly he took a step forward, exposing himself in the clearing. A crack sounded as his foot broke a twig, startling the girl and alerting her of his presence.
He felt a chill run down his spine, when she raised her head and grey blue eyes met his.
A/N: This just might turn out to be a long story.
Sheer terror filled her as she opened her eyes to darkness. All around her she could feel fingers brushing her clothing, ensnaring her, trying to hold her hostage within their depths. Rustling sounds assailed her senses as she turned this way and that, trying to make sense of her surroundings. But to no avail, her memory was a clean slate, tabula rossa.
Where was she? Who was she?
She closed her eyes, willing herself to take deep breaths. She was clearly, in a forest of some sort. She listened to the distant calls of various birds, immersing herself in the calm natural serenity of the night. Even her eyes began to adjust to the night, as the shadowy wisps of hands lurking in the darkness faded becoming mere branches and leaves.
Suddenly to her left, she heard a soft crack as a twig upon the ground snapped. How did she distinguish this single sound from the rest? She didn't know. But as the wildlife quietened and her senses tingled, alight with adrenaline, a voice within her screamed "run".
Riding down the road with the wind rushing through my hair and the houses whizzing past, I’ve always loved the feeling. Alone but for the music, pounding in my ears. Riding with no destination in mind, I ended up at a park I used to play in when I was a child. Despite a mere ten minute walk from my house, it had been a while since I had come. Dumping my bike, I eagerly climbed onto the equipment, ignoring the couples enjoying an evening walk. Across the monkey bars I went. Stepping across the rails, down the slide and swinging to and fro upon the swings. The cricket nets stood a bit away, reminding me of the time I had spent there with my brother when I had followed everything he did. While the olive tree, still strong and steady, reminded me of the battles we had fought, pelting each other sore. It had been great fun. But as the sun set, with the orange light fading into the distance, I picked up my bike again ready to head home. With the music still pounding in my ears, I sung along knowing that no one could hear my horrid singing, and not really caring either way.
A/N: I’ve realised how much easier it is to write based on experience rather than drawing from imagination. I really must get out there more, maybe then I’ll be able to write better stories.
Back from five days of a foreign town, endless ocean, and pure white sand. A blur of memories and fragmented vignettes define the indescribable experience.
Cooking meals from scratch for a troop of twelve, where we’re limited to goods from a single Bi-Lo store. An uncooked rice and burnt rice, take your pick but soothed over through talking and laughing. Jamming to music, and dancing the chorus to ring ding dong with my kpop twin. Walking a short five minute walk to the beach, and accidently stumbling upon others already there watching the gentle crash of the waves and endless horizon.
Over-competitiveness and ignorance of the importance of water, leading to a horrible morning after. But happy nonetheless at the discovery of high tolerance.
Kayaking in pairs, upon the ocean. Slow at first to get in time but eventually succeeding and beating the others home. Playing limbo under the boardwalks as we quietly sailed through the mangroves interrupted by screams and shouts of those who crashed into branches.
A girls night when the others left for boys formal, catching up on lost sleep, experimenting with honey soy chicken and falling asleep halfway through Enchanted. Stealing a friend’s car, exploring the town, and disappointed at the high price for a tattoo. Entertained by the fact that it was normal for girls to saunter around in just bikinis there.
Running from the house at four something in the morning to the beach in our pyjamas, anxious to not miss the first golden rays of the sun on our last day there. Graced with a school of dolphins instead as the sun was blocked by clouds. Playing with the pipis, enticing them to open their shells with sea water, and amused and disgusted at the same time as their long fleshy tongues licked our palms. Ignoring the stares of onlookers, and writing never to be seen words in the sand which would soon be washed away by the waves.
A sleepy car ride home, interrupted by the driver’s bursts of speed, swerves and breaks near the speed cameras. Pelting the boy’s car with squishy grapes, mid-driving, and regretfully missing the car window with the last one despite five years of basketball skills.
Not completely drama less either, but surviving through it and hopefully strengthening from it. It’s been a good five days, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
As she walked through those same old iron gates, she took in the sights of her school with eyes different to those of her past six years. The buildings stood indifferent to time, strong and steady, mocking her. What did she think would happen? A collapse in the system? A decay in the buildings? No not even that, she would have been content with any visible change at all. She questioned her idiocy at her expectation of change at the loss of a grade, her grade.
It was the lifeblood of the school, its single purpose. Six years of growth in its classrooms, halls and playground, and those unbreakable bonds made in year seven to the close friends left in year twelve. From the clapping in by the entire school, the five years above us, to the clapping out by the five years below us. The school would remain for years to come; unaware of the loss each year, but to each student leaving, the memories made and bonds formed would be an imparting gift, its influence never fading.
Graduation was a periodic, everlasting and unalterable process.
A/N: Just getting back into the process of writing so excuse the poor attempt and cliché subject matter.
edit: 05/02/12
A/N: A few lines from "The Last Queen" by C.W.Gortner which I found perfectly befitting what I was trying to portray.
I punched the wall, the searing pain, a welcoming, comforting, distraction. Again, and again, till a hazy red mark remained, a permanent stain on the wall. I closed my eyes, wanting it all to end. I just felt so tired.
I leaned my head against the wall for a second; everything seemed to be a blur. Everything seemed too gruelling, impossible. Could I still continue?
I took off my black coat, it's carefully ironed side, soon lay crumpled on the ground. The flower in the top pocket, a delicate red rose. Eternity? I crushed it in the palm of my hand.
Next I loosened my tie. The exact one which I had done over and over just this morning, standing in front of the mirror, frantic to make it perfect. I slumped down into a chair, rubbing my bloodshot eyes.
I needed to forget, if not forever, just for now till things seemed more bearable. I grabbed my keys and left, the door slamming shut behind me.
Even as I drove, the morning's events haunted me. No note, no message, no text, no phone call. No appearance at all. Ninety eight guests left waiting and offering me their words and sympathies.
I arrived at the bar, vaguely aware of my surroundings but mainly focused on the drink I was going to get. I sat into a chair, and indicated to the boy serving me I wanted the strongest he had. Money shoved in his hands soon soothed his qualms.
Had I known that it would happen? No, I was clueless but thinking now, she did leave a few clues, didn't she? The times she didn't answer the phone. The times she disappeared for a while, coming back making an excuse she was with friends.
It hurt, it hurt a lot. I resolved to not thinking about it, just downing shot after shot of a nameless alcohol. I don't get drunk easily, and most times it's a blessing, but right now all I wanted was the fuzzy feeling, oblivious to the world that alcohol could provide.
Soon the boy stopped providing me with alcohol, and my head slumped to the table, the two rings tight in my fist.
A surreal feeling, real at the time, but not so now. The feeling of watching through someone else’s eyes, privy to their thoughts, but at the same time disconnected. And here I was.
A white room, darkening with the fading light, plain and empty except for a single hospital like bed. Upon it lay a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. To put it simply, she was beautiful. Her long tumbling black hair was sprawled down her shoulders, partially covering her white patient clothing. Her face serene, almost sleeping yet somehow, I knew she was not. And where was I? Standing, still, staring down at her with a lump in my throat, unable to speak. Unable to utter a single sound.
How long this continued, I don’t know. In these circumstances, time takes on a transient quality and disappears fleetingly, neither asking for permission nor caring. What I did know though, was a strong heavy tone weighing down upon me. A tenseness that betrayed I was waiting for something. And when I returned my gaze to her face, I noticed the second tone, simultaneous with the first. An overwhelming sense of sadness, indescribable and unidentifiable. Did I know of something which I had since forgotten?
Again a passing of time, blank and empty, but next thing I knew I was gently pulling her up into sitting position, looping over her head a necklace. Gently, as if dealing with a fragile object, cracked and fractured, just about to shatter. I carefully cleared away her hair, sweeping it out from under the necklace. I remember giving her one last tight hug, despite her unconscious state and wanting to cry yet unable to. And what of the sense of waiting? It had been replaced as if I knew a certain time was approaching, was that why I had wanted a last hug? To grab a hold of the chance before it faded before my eyes.
What was approaching next, I don’t think I’ll ever know. Awaken rudely back into reality, lying in bed, and staring confused at the ceiling was where I was. But where was she? Who was she? Did I know her? Have I forgotten her? Why did I feel like crying? A dozen questions flooded my head, as the scene was still fresh in my mind. But as the days pass since that night my memory fades, til even her face becomes a blur of features, unknown to me. And as the calendar ticks away, I will probably be only able to remember fleeting glimpses through reading this entry, a reconstruction in itself. But I know this, if the opportunity arises, I wish I had spent a moment longer with her, despite the sorrow and uneasy nature to gain some answers and a conclusion. Maybe, just maybe, another night will bring an end to this chapter.
