I. Old Eyes {A Short Story}

A smiling park ranger told you there was a castle through this forest. Perhaps you will discover that she told the truth, or perhaps not. She's sent many people our way before, and you, like every one of them, are burdened. 

You pause a short walk into the forest. The straps of your backpack dig into your shoulders as you tilt your head up towards the canopy. Great trunks tower above, silently observing the newcomer in their midst. Their leaves glow in the soft sunlight, and between the leaves shimmer specks of blue. 

On the path ahead, you spot a fallen tree trunk. You kick the rotting bark before stepping over, displacing frantic ants and pill bugs into a spot of sun. Suddenly, you cringe as you sink ankle-deep into the puddle on the other side. 

The first things you shed are your shoes. 

You deposit the mud-soaked sneakers at the foot of a towering oak, and after a moment's hesitation, peel your socks off, too. You wring them out before stuffing them both inside the right shoe, as though it matters. Cool earth and bits of gravel make up the path. Rocks and roots stick up from the ground. Your bare soles wince, delicate and unused to such rough terrain. 

The morning is beautiful, or perhaps it is afternoon already. A glance at the sky reveals nothing, so you look to one bare wrist for a watch, then pat two empty pockets for your phone. You worry you won't reach the castle by sunset. 

As you come upon a fork in the trail, a weathered sign offers hope. Two carved arrows, one pointing left and the other pointing up, are the only directions visible beneath a layer of dirt. You brush a hand across the dirt, and when that doesn't reveal the names of the trails, you pour your water bottle over the sign and scrub at the dirt with the front of your jacket. The sign begrudgingly comes clean, but peels of gray paint flake away with the soil. Frustration asks what helpful words it could have held before you so carelessly scrubbed them away. 

Then you notice the rip in your jacket. You set your water bottle next to the sign and inspect the fraying nylon with both hands. You scowl, cursing yourself for another mistake. The jacket was expensive, and we aren't sorry. We don't appreciate expensive things. 

After a moment of mourning, you brush the dirt off the fabric and consider the two trails again. Neither seems any better than the other, but you decide on the right-hand one. 

Had you read the words that weren't there, you might've chosen the better trail to take. Of course, that assumes that there is a good trail to take, or that you didn't take it already. Perhaps, the undergrowth whispers, there was never a trail to begin with.

You continue on the narrow and poorly maintained trail, chest filled with questionable confidence. How long has it been since human feet touched this ground? You step over logs and dry creek beds, flinching when your foot brushes a low-creeping briar. 

A raindrop splashes cold on your cheek, making you gasp. The sky above is as bright as it has ever been. You take another cautious step, eyes searching the trees for a different explanation. Another drop lands on your skin, and the rain picks up until you cannot deny the shower you're walking through. A tree with low-hanging branches and wide leaves shelters a patch of dry ground underneath. In a split-second decision, you drop to your hands and knees and duck out of the rain. You lean your backpack against the tree trunk and spread your jacket on the ground to sit on.

Gentle wind carries the smell of earth and wet leaves into your nest while the rain pours. Birds chirp and squirrels chatter as they hop between the trees. One lands above in the branches above you, sending a shower of water down into your hair. 

When the rain starts to lighten, you dig through trail maps and granola bars, cursing yourself for forgetting to bring a jacket. The coat of dead leaves beneath you is quickly dampening. The castle can’t be far now, and then there will be shelter and someone who could lend you a towel. You swing your backpack over one shoulder and abandon the shelter.

A sudden chill stops the breath in your chest. Water soaks clothes to your skin and hair to your cheeks. You feel the mud between your toes sucking downward. You hike with eyes trained forward for bright blazes that will never appear, freezing, enduring. 

 to be continued... 

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Hello everyone! I just finished my first year of college and moved back home about a week ago. Last semester was so busy. I spent all my writing energy on an article for my journalism class that I'm very proud of, but now that I have free time I'm back to blogging again. Part two of this story will be up in a few days.