Into the Forest (Flash Fiction pt. 2/2)

    Eventually, I reach what I’ve been walking towards. The trees thin out and open up to a large, oval clearing. In the center is an oversized, mammoth of a tree. Somehow, I’ve always known that this tree is older and wiser than the other trees in the forest. It is the wise, old grandmother among the village that surrounds it. Although the tree is old, it stands tall and straight, a beacon of hope. A perfect statue for all other trees to measure themselves against.

    When I step into the clearing, the forest goes quiet. There is a silence about everything, a stillness in the air; but not an eerie one. As I walk toward the old tree, the calming silence wraps tightly around me like a warm blanket. My cheeks are long dried from my tears. I reach out and touch the wide trunk of the tree with my fingertips like I had so many times before.

    “Hello, you,” I whisper. I wrap my arms around the tree tightly, my fingertips not even reaching halfway around. As I close my eyes, I can almost feel the tree wanting to hug me back; I smile again. I turn around and slide down to the ground, leaning up against the tree. I open my notebook and start reading through my words. I can’t figure out where the story seemed so wrong in her eyes. As I flip through the pages, I notice that they are shimmering in the forest light. I flip through the pages faster; my thumb pulling on the edges of the sparkling paper. As the story streams by, I notice that some of the words are written in glittery ink instead of written in the black ink I used.

    I glance up from my notebook and look around the clearing. Everything is just as it was when I sat down and I am still surrounded in my blanket of silence. I turn back to the first page and flip through my notebook again. The glittery words are dancing and jumping about like they have a mind of their own. I am mesmerized by the magic of my own words. I stop flipping through my notebook and open it fully on my lap. How can this be?

    I watch as the page transforms before my eyes. At the top, the first letter grows in size and swirls around to form a large, beautiful, calligraphy-styled letter. Some of the words written in glitter change to different words entirely. A few of them just stay written in the beautiful glitter ink. I turn to the next page and most of the changes have already happened. I flip faster and faster, catching the words dance and change. My heart is pounding quickly as I’m filled with excitement.

    When I close my notebook in awe, the silence is broken. Somewhere in the clearing surrounding me, I hear the forest speak to me. She says, “You are only just beginning.” A chill runs up my spine but the tree makes me feel safe. The notebook on my lap starts to change even more drastically than the words inside of it. A suede binding wraps around the front and the back, transforming the entirety of the flimsy notebook into a beautifully bound book right in front of me. I rub my hands across the front cover in complete awe. The title appears across the front in bold, stamped letters. Then right in the bottom corner of the book my name appears, in beautiful script.

    I turn the book over and over in my hands, unable to believe what just happened. This book looks more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I have my own finished novel, something that I have always dreamed of. Inside the first page the name of someone that lives in The Common is listed as the printer. I close the book, my book, again and squeeze it tightly to my chest. Somehow I know with all that I am, that all I have to do is take this book to the printer and he will make more copies.

    “Thank you,” I say to the tree, and the forest. “Thank you so much.” A warm breeze swirls around me, ruffling my hair and making me smile. I don’t want to leave the safety of this place but I know that I have to. I have been given a gift from the forest herself, and I won’t waste it.  

Into the Forest (Flash Fiction pt. 1/2)

    I handed my notebook to her with my hands shaking and butterflies in my stomach. It was the very first work in progress that I had ever created and giving it over was nerve wracking. I had the nerve to do so then. I had the nerve to think that I had what it took to create a story and run with it; make something of it. Maybe even make something of myself. I wanted nothing more in life.

    Being an author was a huge dream of mine. It was a dream that took up all of my thoughts, every day. I have spent my life reading. For as long as I can remember, I have loved to curl up in the tiny bay window in the living room with a good book. It wasn’t long before I was reading books way above the ones suggested for my age range. I was reading books that some adults would have found hard to read; but I couldn’t get enough of them. I filled my time with fantasy worlds made up by other authors.

    I watched her face as she skimmed through my handwritten novella. Her face spoke volumes well before her mouth ever did. I had watched her face because I was nervous, and as her face scrunched, I knew she did not approve. She wasn’t going to have a single good thing to say about any of it. I could see in her face as she read though my words that she didn’t have a care in the world for all the time I had taken to write down every word by hand. I could see that she wasn’t going to acknowledge anything from my work because she didn’t approve of any of it.

    After reading several pages, she closed my notebook and thrust it back into my hands. The look on her face spoke volumes again as she said, “I don’t even know why you wrote this. Don’t quit your day job.” I didn’t have a job, teenagers in The Common weren’t allowed to work until after they finished high school. I tried to hide the tears that were welling up in my eyes. I blinked rapidly, trying to force them away but they betrayed me. As a tear slid down my cheek, I wiped at it furiously, but she saw. “Don’t be such a crybaby,” she said as she spun on her heel and walked out of the room.

    I couldn’t get away from the little shack that I shared with her fast enough. My legs couldn’t carry me away from the pain that was burning through my heart. I ran as fast as I could, making it halfway across the small, scraggly bit of front yard before I heard the screen door slam shut. I didn’t wipe my tears anymore. My cheeks were streaked with them as I ran, the wind was cool on my face. I ran straight for the forest; straight for my haven.

    When I reached the edge of the forest, I didn’t bother to slow down. I knew the trail better than I knew any other bit of land around here. The forest has been my escape for as long as I can remember. As I weave through the trees, my feet remember where to go. They carry me further and deeper into the forest until the trees are growing so close together that I can’t run at full speed anymore. As I slow, my breathing gets ragged and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. I stop and lean up against the closest tree trunk, trying to catch my breath. As I inhale deeply, I can smell the warm and wet earth all around me. The smell calms me as it fills not only my lungs but my soul. I lift my head and stare at the canopy above. It seems to envelope me; protecting me from everything outside of this forest. My haven surrounds me like a cocoon and I feel safe. Nothing can hurt me here.

    I wander slowly further into the forest. Everything here is green, fresh and welcoming. The old leaves crinkle under my feet with each step. I weave in between trees, making my way further towards the big opening that I know is ahead of me. I can hear the tiny little creatures scurrying around along the forest floor. Being here makes me smile.

Beautiful Winter (Flash Fiction pt. 2/2)

    One day during lunch, Mark and I walked hand in hand around the outside of the greenhouse while we finished our sandwiches. I stopped, dead in my tracks, when I spotted a rogue dandelion popping up through the hard terrain.

    “Mark,” I whispered, my voice full of fear as I pointed at the bright yellow weed.

    “Shh,” he whispered back and turned us around as if we could run from spring itself. We quick-stepped back toward the doors of the greenhouse, only stopping when we were standing in the safety of a snow patch once again. “Addy,” he pleaded, still whispering while holding my face in his hands. “I know we only have days left together.” I tried to shake my head, not ready to accept that the next nine months would be without him. I couldn’t move against his hands though, Mark held me tightly, forcing me to listen to him.

    “I don’t want to be without you,” I said as a tear ran silently down my cheek. Mark kissed my lips fully.

    “I can’t be without you,” he said. “My family can’t afford for me to move out right now, but I’m going to find a way. I promise,” he said and kissed me again. “I will figure something out.”

    “Okay,” I whispered as another tear streamed down my cheek. “I love you.”

    “I love you more,” he said sincerely before we walked back into the greenhouse and went our separate ways.

    As the work day came to a close, I couldn’t let go of the hounding feeling that the dandelion had given me. I dreaded spring. I dreaded not seeing Mark for months. I couldn’t afford a wedding on the mere pennies I had been saving over the last year. Mark’s family would starve without his measly income to help feed them. How many years would we have to be without each other like this? Mark kissed me deeply and reminded me that he would find a way for us to be together, before we went home with our families that night.

    As I laid on the tiny couch that I spent most of my nights on, my parents emerged from their bedroom each carrying a wooden box. I took a break from praying for winter to last longer and sat up to give them room on the couch. They presented me with boxes full of different coins and faded notes.

    “What is this?” I asked.

    “We have been saving everything we could to help you and Mark start a life together,” my mom whispered, making my eyes fill with tears.

    “I know it’s not much, but it will help,” my father said. I hugged them both and thanked them repeatedly. How could they have known that this is exactly what I needed right now? I couldn’t wait to tell Mark the next morning that we wouldn’t have to wait much longer at all. This would pay for a small wedding and a tiny apartment. We could use my pay for things we needed and Mark’s pay to help his family. I hugged the boxes to my chest before hiding them under the couch and going to sleep. This was the more that we both wanted.

    As I walked to our meeting spot the next morning, Mark wasn’t waiting for me like normal. I waited until my fingers froze and my toes were numb; Mark didn’t come. After the feeling of dread sank deep into my belly, my mom came out of the greenhouse to tell me that no one in Mark’s family had come to work. It wasn’t possible, they were worse off than we were; they couldn’t afford to miss work. Throughout the day, rumors started to run throughout the greenhouse, none of them good. My thoughts were filled with worry and my stomach hurt non-stop. We didn’t have many winter days left together and soon we would have to return to our separate neighborhoods until the following winter.

    When Mark’s mom arrived at the greenhouse the next morning without her other children, I could see in her eyes that something was wrong.

    “Mark went out to sell extra food last night.”

    “They hurt him really bad.”

    “I’m so sorry.”

    My head was spinning and my knees gave out as the words his mom was saying to me sunk in; I dropped to the cold ground. The beauty of winter forever ruined.

Beautiful Winter (Flash Fiction pt. 1/2)

    We knew the way of life. It was hard, but this is how we grew up. We didn’t have anything, but it didn’t stop us from wanting everything.

    In Marysville, everyone had a designated job for the betterment of the community as a whole. A job that was assigned to you based on your abilities and your family’s status. My family had consisted of gardeners for as far back as I knew. Both of my parents were gardeners, my sister and I were both gardeners. I knew that my children would most likely also be gardeners.

    Each neighborhood in Marysville had their own public garden to attend to and we all had to hold up our end of the deal. We barely made enough money to live on, so we didn’t have the luxury of not going to work. Every day was a work day that started at dawn and didn’t end until well after dusk. It was hard work, but it had to be done. I wished for more but that was life and there were no other options.

    By the time I was done with my teenage years, I already knew how to grow everything the government would require of my family. I spent every day during the spring prepping and planting. Long summer days were for caring for the plants, harvesting those that were ready, and weeding the garden. Every day during the fall, I harvested the rest of the plants and then prepped the garden for winter. I loved spending the days with my family and with the other gardeners that we worked alongside, but what I really looked forward to was winter.

    Winter did not bring about much change in duties; just location. There was only one massive greenhouse for all of Marysville to work during the winter so all the neighborhoods worked together for those short three months. We got to expand our relationships outside of just those within our enclosed neighborhoods. My parents rekindled old friendships and my young sister met new friends. Working together in the greenhouse is how I met Mark. Mark was my age, the oldest of four children and a gardener from two neighborhoods over. We could only be together during the winter, but those short three months were what I looked forward to for the remaining nine months of the year.

    Mark and I meet near the west entrance every morning, no matter the cold or the snow; the sun barely risen. Every morning, I would arrive to find him already waiting for me, his back turned to the brisk wind and his hands cupping his mouth in an attempt to stay warm. As soon as I would step into his field of vision, Mark would envelope me in his arms. I never knew how long he waited for me. No matter how cold the morning, I instantly felt warm and safe in his arms. “Good morning,” he would whisper against my mouth before kissing me deeply. I had been meeting Mark this way for the last two months. My body learned quickly to respond to his touch; craving more. We only had precious moments before we were forced into the greenhouse for the day’s work.

    Several days out of the week Mark would find excuses to work as close to me as he possibly could. When we were separated, it was heartbreaking. I would find myself looking over my shoulder during the day to look for him. Sometimes, I would catch him staring at me, a smile spreading across his face when our eyes would meet. During our lunch break, we would share our tiny meals, splitting whatever we had between the two of us. Our arms touching, my head leaning over on his shoulder. I lived for these tiny moments. Mark was the other half of my soul, that I could only have in tiny spurts of time.

    As the days carried on, I wished for winter to last forever. Last winter (our first together) went by so much quicker than time had ever gone before. Those three months, where we learned all about each other, felt like three weeks. As the days started to get longer, spring threatened to take hold of Marysville within days. I spent my nights hoping and praying for a blizzard, just to give me more time with Mark. Whenever the snow would fall though, the warmer temperatures would allow most of it to melt away with the rising sun the following morning. Spring was inevitable, no matter how much I prayed.

Work of the Mind -Flash Fiction pt. 2/2

    About halfway through my cup, I set it on the counter and grab my fish-shaped watering can. I have several large plants throughout my house that need tending to. As I walk from plant to plant, watering each in turn, Harper joins me walking between my legs and purring. When she was a kitten, not all of my plants survived her vicious curiosity. Now, she only has curiosity for the birds that fly around outside of her window.

    Returning to the kitchen to replace my watering can, I finish off my first cup of coffee and refill my mug. I bring my mug with me back into my bedroom, Harper doesn’t follow me as I make my bed and then lay out the clothes that I’m going to wear for gardening today. I pull on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of old tennis shoes, and a ball cap. I head for the back door and stop in the little mudroom area to slather on some sunscreen before heading outside. I call for Harper and give her a treat. This has become a routine for the both of us. Whenever I leave the house, she gets a little treat and then I give her two when I return. Harper crunches it happily and sits, watching me as I step outside and close the door.

    The sun is warm, the birds are singing, I can smell all the beautiful flowers and my neighbor’s freshly cut grass. I make my way over to the shed on the side of my house. When I pull open both doors, the sweet smell of fresh dirt fills my nostrils. I stand just inside the shed as I allow my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The ferns that I bought yesterday come into focus just where I left them, on the left side of the shed. I grab one in each hand and take them out to the yard, before I grab two more; there are ten in total. I return to the shed for my hand shovel and gloves. I wipe my the already accumulating sweat from my brow and then wipe my hand on my jeans.

    The ferns are heavy, but not too large yet. I plant all ten of them in the flower beds before I return inside to take a break and get some water. Harper comes running as soon as she hears the back door open. I smile as I give her two treats for my return. My legs shakily carry me to the kitchen and I grab an apple as well as some water. I want to finish the work outside before the heat gets unbearable but I have to eat something. I sit at the bar with my apple and water and watch the bird house again. Harper jumps up to the stool next to me and watches their messy little dance with me.

    I give myself ten minutes to eat the apple and relax before heading back outside. Harper gets her treat before I head back to the shed. I pull out the monster-sized lawn mower from the back of shed and walk it down the ramp to the yard. It only takes me four tries to pull start it; I’m getting better at it. The lawn mower is self-propelled but still requires a lot of strength to control it around my yard. I put in my ear buds and start the hour-long task of cutting the grass. After it’s finished, I feel accomplished as I breathe in the sweet smell of my hard work.

    As my eyes flutter open, I feel confused. I can still feel the lingering warmth from the sun on my skin. The smell of a hard day’s work in the garden is still lingering in my mind. I’m not curled up in my own bed, I am stick straight in a hospital bed. The sheets are white, but not rumpled. The smile that I know I felt in my dream is completely gone. It is always raining in my head. I can’t move. I haven’t been able to move anything below my arms in the last two months. I can’t figure out if the dreams are fun escapes of the mind or if my mind is torturing me because of the life I lost. A life I will never have again.   

Work of the Mind -Flash Fiction pt. 1/2

    The sun is warming my face, as my eyes flutter open. My eyelashes lift off of my cheeks and lay back down on them slowly. The sun is bright and warm as it shines in through my bedroom window; telling me that Spring is quickly changing into Summer. Alone in my bed, I am curled up in the middle, on my right side. My eyes open fully and take in the scene of smooth, white, cotton sheets and a rumpled, down comforter surrounding my tired body. A smile stretches over my face when I remember today is the first day of my stay-cation. Today I get to spend all day in my garden; it’s not supposed to rain.

    I can smell my coffee maker brewing my life juice in the kitchen. I live for steaming cups of hot joe and the thought of it allows me to rise from my bed with a purpose. I place my feet gently on the cold floor and my toes jump back up in surprise. My comforter has kept me perfectly encased in warmth all night, making the cold floor seem even colder than normal. I smile to myself, thinking of when my mother insisted that I put rugs down in my bedroom. I had refused. I had just had these beautiful floors put in. Why cover them up? I’ll buy rugs and just not tell her.

    I place my feet fully on the floor this time. It’s still cold but not as shocking this time. I stand up from my bed and reach my arms high above my head, stretching my spine. I hear little adjustments and pops as my spine moves and straightens; it’s a refreshing feeling. I must be getting old now, my body didn’t use to make those noises when I was younger.

    I walk three steps from my bed to the overstuffed chair in the corner of my room. I never actually sit in this chair, but I always drape my robe over the arm of it before I crawl into bed at night. As I slide my arms into the sleeves of my robe, another shock of cold runs through me. The pink silk has retained absolutely no heat through the night; the sleeves slide over goosebumps on my arms. I pull the robe in tight to my body, shiver, and tie it at the waist in front.

    I slowly walk toward my bedroom door; my feet are not shocked by the cold anymore. I never shut my bedroom door because I hated it when my mom kept my door shut when I was growing up. None of the doors in my house are ever shut, it’s just me and Harper here; the entire house is my privacy. When I step out of my bedroom and into the hallway, I hear Harper’s paws hit the ground as she comes trotting after me. She knows it must be breakfast time, if I’m heading to the kitchen.

    The coffee maker spits and sputters the last few drops of my life juice into the pot as I’m getting my favorite mug down from the cabinet. I have several mugs, none of them match. My favorite one is matte black with a red outline of an elephant. Harper loses all of her pretend patience as I stir cream into my mug and leaps up onto the counter so she can look me in the eye. “I know,” I say as I rub her fuzzy little gray head and then gently nudge her off of the counter. She runs after me, tracing figure eights on the floor as I dump the wet cat food into her bowl and then place it on her favorite window seat.

    I pet the entire length of her body once, and she nuzzles into my hand as a thank you before devouring her breakfast. I return to my steaming cup of coffee and sip slowly as I watch the morning activity outside of the window that Harper is eating in front of. I have a large bird feeder on a pole several feet from the window, in the yard, and it is always fascinating to watch the birds hop and dance from perch to perch as they eat. The squirrels have not been able to figure out how to get up the pole, but they seem to enjoy the feast that gets dropped to the ground from the messy birds.