This is another short story I wrote sometime in...2011, I believe. Its called Runes. Its a rough draft. Also, this is before I met my roommate Amy. I’d been walking the desert for several days now. Why, you might ask? I’d been trying to find a reason, a purpose, a meaning, something to bring reality into my grasp. Driving in a vehicle, I would only have seen the desert. By walking it, I feel the heat of the day, the chill of the night. I hear the gentle winds carry the sands. I feel the dryness in my throat, the cool rush of water down my throat. I didn’t just experience the desert, I lived the desert, I felt the desert, and in a way, I became part of the desert. And, in that way, the desert became a part of me. But, no matter how far I wandered, I could not accomplish my goal. It seemed like one giant game of “how long until the desert consumes me?” It was a chilly night, cold as I’d imagine death to be. Never having had the experience, I can’t quite say. I had just stopped at a gas station for dinner, if a plastic wrap sandwich and a bottle of soda could even be considered dinner. After a while of wandering further, the sun began to set over the distant mountains, painting the sands a vibrant persimmon tone. I took out my map and scanned the local landscape. No town either direction for miles. I guess this night’s going to be another cold one. Dawning my jacket, I stopped a minute to reflect on the coming darkness. The desert, such polarity. One minute, you’re dying of heat, the next, you’re shivering. Enough. If I don’t keep moving, who knows what’ll happen. After a few hours of walking, I came to a small bridge traversing a swerving creek. Imagine that, a bubbling, living, breathing stream sewing its way across barrenness. A lamp rose from the concrete bricks, seemingly out of place, the only light source for miles. But it was there, shining in the darkness. I bent over, across the craggy railing, to observe the illumination dancing on the river below. It was moving at a fairly rapid pace, so as to make the streaks of bright yellow ephemeral. If anything, it looked like somebody was looking down at a freeway from an overpass. Each car holding its own life, it’s own story to tell, it’s own hopes and dreams. Oh god, Amy… As I mentioned, there was a reason I was here. A girl I had known named Amy. She was a different kind of girl. She’s the one that sat in the back, never spoke to anybody, ate lunch alone, and overall went ignored. Except in art class, where her gruesome depictions drew much attention from teacher and student alike. I was in a similar situation. I mean, I wasn’t an outcast, per se, but wasn’t popular, either. I mean, sure, I had my small group of friends, but if you went around the school asking my name, you’d get mostly blank, curious faces. Somewhat knowing her pain, I decided to sit down with her one day at lunch. To my surprise, she was actually a fascinating person. She told me about all the stories she’d write at home, all the paintings she did in art class, all the photographs she took in the wilderness. Apparently she was a major fan of very dark literature and art styles, and would often write about very depression subjects and paint bloody figures, which often caused conflict with the As the bell rang, and we walked to our art class together, she invited me to her house after school. Excited, I accepted. After school, we walked to her house. Out of the corner of my eye, I believe I saw her hand hesitate as it reached for mine before jerking back, like a snake stalking its prey. Once we got there, I had a few pleasant words with her mother before heading upstairs. I have to say, entering her room was like a portal to a new world. So many paintings. So many books. It was her own world, I could tell. Seeing everything, so immaculate, made me almost feel…unwelcome. It was so pure, so innocent, yet, at the same time, so dark. The paintings of death and decay, the books containing who knows what, the black walls and purple curtains, the towers and towers of bands I’d never heard of. After that day, we started doing things as friends. A few lunches here and there, a few trips to the mall, watching movies all day. It was amazing. Slowly, we became more serious. Nights spent playing World of Warcraft became trips to the local café for poetry night. Sitting across the couch became sitting together, our hands embracing. And then, television became reading. Walks to the theater turned into walks to the library. My mind was expanding. My entire perception of the world was changing, all because of this one girl. It was…for a lack of a better word, amazing. I remember how one evening, I had walked her home from the library (I had a car, but walking gave us more time together). We stood at her door, and she gave me a quick kiss on the lips and a smile before giggling and walking inside. I was in love. My perception of the world was rapidly changing from simply being about the facts to seeing beauty in art in every minute detail. Fast forward a few months, to that…dreadful night. We had decided to take a stroll across town, since she had always loved the glow of the streetlights against the abyss of the night sky. But, from the look in her eyes, I could tell something was bothering her. Her jaw locked and eyes gazed into nothing as we walked across an overpass. She stopped for a minute. After looking at the stream of cars, she turned to me. “Those headlights…they each represent a soul on the way to life.” I looked at her, confused. “What?” She kept looking at the freeway and sighed. “I kept this perception of the world all in my mind, hoping that somebody would one day understand it. You say you understand it, but really, you don’t. You know it in your mind, but not in your heart. See the road? See how many lives there are? The world would do better without somebody crazy like me.” And before I could do anything, she jumped. And I screamed. And I ran. I was a coward. I didn’t know what to do. I simply ran home, got into my car, and left. There had to be some purpose in life. Now I had to find it. And so now here I stand. As I looked up, a beat-up truck came to a stop across the bridge. A elderly voice called my name. “Son, what’re you doing out this late?” I whirled around. Why does it matter, I thought. “I’m just…out for a stroll.” “Well, you should know better than that, given your age. Where are you headin’ off to?” “Whatever’s the next town over, really.” I shrugged. I didn’t even know where I was. I’d left my car at some random hotel, and the only thing I had with me is a backpack full of supplies, some money, and a few sets of clothes. “Hop in. I’ll take you there. Any particular destination?” “The nearest motel you know of.” A deep sigh came from the cab. “Son, I don’t know your intentions, but know that traveling alone has dire consequences. Doing anything alone has dire consequences. Believe me.” I figured that going with this man would either get me to where I was going, or allow me to see my love sooner. As I hopped in, I got a closer look at the man’s face. Balding, sixties. His eyes showed the scars of a soldier long forgotten by his country. We drove in silence that night, my eyes fixated on the changing scenery outside the window. When we got to the motel, I thanked him and entered the lobby. After paying for a room, I sat down at one of the public computers, seeking companionship. I signed on. There was a message from Amy.
Posted on: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 03:40:07 +0000
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