Young Writers Society

Forgotten Legacy

Book One; The Glass Staff

I.

There was a path by my house, on which I often wore down the soles of my shoes when I was confused or depressed. It was mostly covered by the trees, but it was obviously there when one was looking for it. I never strayed from the view of the house, however.

If I treaded softly enough, I could hear the trees whisper. If I stomped loudly, I could feel the birds' annoyance. If I wept over the collage of leaves and flowers, I could smell the earth's pity for me. If I screamed in anger, I could see the weeds turn away from me. If I was on the path.

Most of the time, however, I was too absorbed in my own furiously fast thoughts to give much heed to my other senses.

One day, I was muttering to myself about the horrible boy at school, who often popped up at random times and tripped me. I kicked a stone along the path, and, not giving half the attention I should have, wandered farther into the woods than I ever went before. I didn't know I was doing so until I stopped vexing the boy and realized it was rather dark in my usually sunny forest. The branches were tightly packed, in such a way that even if the leaves were stripped from the trees, it would still be dark. I looked around, contemplating.

I had never gotten lost before. Nor was I lost; or at least it seemed that way to me. I was still on the path; a more over grown part of it, but still on it nonetheless. I simply turned around and started back the way I came.

What a strange feeling it is, walking along perfectly humble and calm, and the next second realizing you were carrying yourself into an even darker, more unfamiliar hollow. I stopped and looked around. It was darker, yes, but the path was more worn. Which, I reminded myself, must mean I'm getting closer to my home.

For some reason the thought did not make the shadows any less black, nor make the towering trees lean back. I continued on nervously.

After walking a considerably long time, I came upon a mound of dirt. Now, usually, a mound of dirt does not make one stop and stare, nor does it make one unsure of whether it is seeing things or not. But this mound of dirt certainly had that effect on me. Well...maybe not the mound itself, but the thing sticking out of it.

I wasn't sure what to make of it. I had never seen anything like it before. It was a wooden pole, buried halfway, or at least deep enough for it to remain upright. At the top of the pole, the wood split in two and made a circle, meeting at the top. But what scared me the most was the glass vase in the center of the circle, tinted a green color, but otherwise clear...and in the bottom of it there sat a black pool of liquid, but with utmost certainty, I knew that shining a light on it would reveal it dark red rather than black.

Something brushed the top of my head, and I spun around, my heart in my throat. Nobody was there. I wanted to scream, but I was too afraid that if I did so, my heart would fly right out of my mouth and onto the ground, and the thought of that wasn't very appeasing. Instead I lifted my feet and flew down the path, away from the mound of dirt, away from the strange pole sticking out of it.

If my mind wasn't so jumbled with fright, I would have thought it peculiar how I got back to my house in less than ten minutes, when it had taken so long to walk that far in the first place. But indeed I could not think that well, and so the only thing I felt was relief as I darted into my warm house and skidded to a stop by the kitchen.

Viktoria, is that you? my mother called from upstairs. I sank into one of the chairs by the kitchen table and dropped my head onto my arms, too overwhelmed to answer. A second later I felt her presence in the doorway. I'm making macaroni for dinner. Is that alright?

I nodded, lifting my head to do so. Mother caught my chin and looked at me. Dear, are you alright? You look like the blood has been drained from your very soul! she exclaimed. I made a slight noise, which I believe was an attempted laugh, and then I fell into shadows thicker and darker than the ones in the woods.