Young Writers Society

She waited. The biting air filled her chest as she observed the beauty around her. The almost still water looked as if it were on fire from the reflection of crimson and amber leaves that danced on the surface from the trees which lined the river. The air was thick with the promise of frost and the water drowsily followed along its path. The dock her chair was on rocked gently with the flowing current and she sat and watched the day move slowly past. Her legs and toes had long since gone numb despite the winter boots and thick cream woven blanket that encompassed her legs. The thermos keeping her black tea warm had long since been emptied and the last cup was cradled in her hands with the steam lazily drifting up and up and up.

She continued waiting, avoiding the warm cinnamon brown eyes that stared intently at her. There were things that she was certain of: the changing of the seasons, the endless course of the river, the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. But there were things that she wasn’t certain of as well, including the fact that she could not be certain that the person in front of her was actually there. No one, other than the kindly old neighbor who hobbled over to deliver a crisp apple pie after asking to borrow a cup of sugar earlier that morning, had been with her for weeks, and even that brief interaction had been days ago.

So she waited for her imaginary companion to disappear. It had happened more and more over the past few weeks. Seeing people that weren’t there, that couldn’t be there. The list grew by one, or two, or three every week. Her sister, her captain, her uncle, her friends, and finally the young man sitting in front of her.

This one was the most realistic mirage her hyperactive and damaged brain had imagined. His golden hair gleamed in the watery light and swayed with the crisp draft of wind. Her mind must have been lonely, or bored, because her silent companion had sat long enough that the tips of his ears and nose a rosy burn from the cold. In her faded and jumbled memories he was always moving, always restless: tapping his fingers to an unknown beat on a table, bouncing his leg when sprawled upon a chair, pulling threads out of clothing and wrapping them around his knuckles. Her hallucination was completely still. She mirrored him, staying frozen, partly because of the weather, and partly because she feared any movement would cause her silent company to disappear. This was the longest she had had any company, real or fake, in quite some time.

She risked a small movement, her eyes shifted away from the meandering river and towards the golden-haired man that sat stock still across from her in the wooden deck chair that matched her own. It was odd to see him not sprawled across in the youthful uncaring way of the past. His feet were firmly planted on the weather stained dock, forearms resting on his strong thighs, hands clasped together so tightly that his fingers were white despite the crisp fall air. He hung his head low between his broad shoulders, and he looked at her with those eyes. In them she only saw a deep, unrelenting sadness that was shown in the silver rimming his lids and the severe crease between his brows.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,” She finally spoke, her voice hoarse from disuse, “I know you’re not real. Jesus, could you smile, or something? You know, like you used to,” He acted as if she had done nothing, said nothing, just like her other ghosts, “No? Nothing? God, the least my fucked up brain could have done was make you happy.”

They just stared at each other, a mirage and a shadow of a human sitting together on a dock in the cold, next to a sleepy river.

She allowed herself one last long look over him, and looked back around the nature that surrounded her.

“I’m real, Madds.” He said softly. The deep timbre of his voice breaking the silent spell around us.

“No, I don’t think you are,” She replied sharply, “The talking is a neat new trick though, but not a particularly fun one. I should have assumed it would happen eventually I guess, I’m already nuts. Why not go all the way and talk to people that aren’t there?”

She gathered up the blanket and thermos as she spoke, intent on following the gravel path back to the small cabin a few hundred feet from the dock. But he stepped in front of her quickly and reached out as if to hold her arm. Maddigan flinched away just as fast. He switched direction and in a smooth movement grabbed the blanket that was slowly slipping out from her grasp. He bundled the soft cover in his strong hands and showed his usual restless for the first time, fisting his hands in the soft fabric over and over as if he could squeeze it down smaller.

“Please, Madds,” His voice breaking on her name, “Please, believe me, I’m here.”

Madds’ heart thundered, pulse skyrocketing. She ducked around him and quickly started for the cabin. She could hear him following her, the crunch of his footsteps shattering the careful illusion that she had painstakingly and unknowingly created. She broke into a run, knowing that her cabin, her shelter, would shield her from the storm that raged inside of her.

Disuse and neglect had weakened her so he quickly caught up to her. He blew past her and blocked the steps to the porch in front of Madds to halt her progress without touching her.

“Maddigan.” He gasped desperately. Then again in fear when her knees buckled and she swaying unsteadily. 

I should have had more to eat than that pie. Was Madds last thought before the blackness around her vision took over. 

~

He felt as if his stomach was being sucked out through his spine by a thin plastic straw. She was a shadow of the girl that he had held so close in her memories. She had none of the light that had always emanated from her. The ever-present twinkle in her eyes had dulled into nothingness. He only wanted to see her. To see if the past months had left her unscathed. But they hadn’t just like they hadn’t left him without scars on his skin and his soul.