Young Writers Society

In the not so far off distance, he could see a shimmer. He attempted to steer himself away but his curious side had very different ideas. And so he walked, only half reluctantly, towards the shimmer.

The constant burning of the sand beneath his feet; a never relieved reminder this was most likely a bad idea, never mind being dangerous as well. Then again, he thought, walking outside the safety of the tribe grounds was dangerous in its own right, and he has survived that danger for all this time walking.

As he neared the shimmer, it began to take form. As he came closer he realised it was a tree. He was taken aback, although never breaking stride; trees were a rarity in this wasteland of a desert, especially so near to the plain of rock. Still he walked, wondering all the way. He started with mouth agape when he saw what was dripping down off of it, water!

‘That can’t be right,’ he said aloud in surprise.

And yet there it was, a steady dribble from the long leaves. He extended his hand and wet his fingers, it felt like water. He cautiously moved his fingers towards his face and took a whiff of its scent, considering that he hadn’t really thought to smell water before; he didn’t know what to expect, but he thought even if he had known he wouldn’t have been able to identify it, because it had no smell whatsoever anyway.

He decided to taste the small amount on his fingers, it tasted sweet; he decided to drink some more. After drinking a generous amount, he stared the tree some moments more, all the while his muscles began to slack and it felt like tar was running down his limbs and hardening into lead.

He realises his foolishness and shock strikes him to his knees. He scrambles in the sand, digging as fast as his heavy limbs can.

And what he saw was scarier than any story or rhyme told to him as a frightened child could. About a foot down in the hot sand, he realised it isn’t a natural tree, about a foot down, he saw rock.

He closes his eyes.

Beware the dripping rock tree, beware its stare.

Beware its sweet treat, and if you ever see it.

Walk away, walk away.

Then...

Nothing.

*

Viajero’s drifting, falling down. Down this endless void. Voices, surrounding him, talking and talking, generations of dead, those that haven’t chosen between. But he already has made his mind; he had made it that day he made an oath with his friend, the friend he wanted to spend his life with. That day... he remembers.

‘Come back, no matter what happens come back, ok?’ she said to him.

He smiles and promises, ‘Of course.’

His oath pulls him back.

He dreams of falling backwards, back into what was. He glimpses past events, past deeds, good, bad and even time make no difference here in the abyss of memories.

A very familiar and loved voice whispered into his ear, ‘Wake up, Viajero.’

He woke in extreme comfort to his own groaning and some very audible gasps. As soon as he sat up a buzz of talk erupted from many, many small mouths from what he could hear. He creaked one eye open and saw his guess was correct; the room was crowded with pale men and women with curious expressions. He opened the other eye and stared at the odd pale people with equal curiosity.

How can anyone be so pale? This and many more questions unasked and unanswered. Why am I here? How am I here? Tired and confused he laid back down and shut his eyes still listening to the whispers of the pale dogs, that is what he has decided to name them for now.

‘We found you unconscious in the forest, are you ok?’ Inquires one of the women closest to him.

He hears many more questions behind that voice, but those questions were not directed to him, rather whispered to the people closest to them under their breath.

‘How is his skin so dark and tanned?’

‘Where did he come from?’

‘They say he dropped out of the sky.’

‘Don’t be daft, that’s not possible, he’d be dead.’

What scared him the most at the present moment was that he could comprehend the speech, yet they were speaking a completely different language than the only one he knew.

‘Are you alright?’ Again the woman asks. Again he has no idea, so he grunts and hopes it’s answer enough to satisfy them, for the time being at least.

‘Can you speak?’ Apparently it wasn’t.

He sat back up and spoke in a surprisingly even voice, ‘I’m fine, now leave me in peace.’

Suddenly a cannon shot of shocked gasps and chatter erupted around the room, several people went so far as to step out of the room. He hadn’t meant to burst out like how he had, and he had no clue why he could speak in their language, but it had a desirable effect as far as he was concerned.

‘Excuse me sir, but considering we found you and gave you hospitality the least you could do is answer our questions.’ This was said by a rough man’s voice somewhere behind the crowd.

He sighed with exhaustion, ‘I will answer your questions when I know the answers, now please leave me and allow myself to collect my thoughts.’ He didn’t exactly feel up to answering these troublesome people when he didn’t even know half the answers himself.

The man began to speak again but a woman stopped him with a ‘Hush! Let him think, Lady knows you would be somewhat dazed if you had been asleep for two whole days.’

He was in the middle of thinking about the strange way these people spoke when he realised what she said, two whole days? So that’s why I’m so hungry.

‘Truly, have I been asleep for two days?’ he asked.

‘Yes sir, ever since we found you,’ this from another woman behind the original speaker.

‘I pray you, let me outside for a moment.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Answered the first woman, then she turned around and started clearing a path through the crowd.

He stood up and started walking through the crowd, as he neared the maple door a pale girl grabbed hold of his hand and whispered: ‘Here, let me help you.’

He’s standing in the desert staring out at the bright yellow sand, with a girl standing next to him. Her long hair swayed in the wind, tiny strands tickle his hand. The girl grabs hold of him and whispers in his ear: ‘Here Viajero, I know it’s a hard thing to do, and you know it’s hard enough for me to let you go, but you’ll be back. Just hurry and you’ll be back soon enough.’ He nods and relinquishes his hold while starting his long walk, only looking back at his home to gaze at the girl he loves one last time.

He’s back in the strange room with the girl asking him if he’s alright. Viajero is fine, more than fine, he now knows his name, where he is from and what is waiting for him, but this information just reveals many more questions.

The last person moved from in front of the doorway and revealed the outlining of another door down a hallway; he could see light from where the door didn’t quite fit the frame. It was a beautiful sight, promising so much; home, love and a cure to this nothingness of a memory.

He rips his arm from the girl and sprints down the hallway. Just before he reaches the door, it’s opened and the face of a pale boy appears, this one appeared a servant; no doubt he came to check what the source of the noise. He rips out the doorway, nearly knocking over the surprised boy in the process, and stares out at the green landscape.

The chorus of birds hangs over the splayed landscape, the lay of the land curves and bends along with the line of the trees, the morning dew glitters on the leaves. There isn’t a grain of sand in sight. He looks down at his feet in the green grass, it feels so different from the sand, it doesn’t shift when his weight does. The sensation makes him dizzy, suddenly the grass sways before him and he falls into something that feels like grass, but he cannot tell because everything is black.

Again he hears the voice of the angel from his memory, whispering into his ear, ‘Come on Viajero, remember your promise?’ he can feel the breath on his ear, but the voice is gone now, and so is the world.