𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 | Letters of the Alphabet

Ｌｅｔｔｅｒｓ   ｏｆ   ｔｈｅ   Ａｌｐｈａｂｅｔ

✫ 

"This is my favorite place," he tells me, guiding us through a deviating trail off the main one. I follow him, looking both ways before stepping off the ice and onto the snow veiled flooring. 

"Where are we going?" I ask towards him, ducking under overgrown nature. I reach forward, grabbing onto a thin branch, the specks of wood imprinting my hand. My feet crunch atop the snow, a series of footprints follow. 

"Believe me," he says, assuring me. He looks over his shoulder with a mischievous, troubling lopsided grin. There's a prankster gleam in his bright blue eyes. "You'll want to see this." He throws a hand up towards himself and I trail the rest of the way. His black jacket falls below his knees and he's now got thin periwinkle gloves over his fingers. 

"You really like this place too?" I ask him. 

"Yep." 

"Me too," I say, "I went here a lot with my family, we'd take our dog for walks and go almost every other day." I lick my chapped lips, the thin threads of skin sting at the touch of my tongue. 

"You have a dog?" He keeps awkwardly walking along the uneven ground, his feet marching onto the snow, walking atop overgrown roots hidden by curtains of white. 

"I used to," I tell him sheepishly, keeping my vision narrowed on my feet. I watch carefully as I walk, hopeful to not trip, scared to. I peer my eyes up swiftly towards his back then back onto my sneakers. "After she died, we kind of stopped going." 

"You're still here," he told me as if to say that I never entirely stopped. Which was true to an extent. I didn't stop going, but the trails I took were never the same as the one we took with Chloe, our golden retriever. "We're almost there." 

We make our way closer to something in the distance. A compilation of wooden planks in the shape of a hunting stand. There's a metal ladder pressed to the platform and a small box-like-house attached to the tree. It's at least twenty feet up. 

We wander through the trees, weaving in and out until he climbs up the ladder effortlessly, seating himself beside it. His legs dangle over. Birdie peers over the edge, gripping onto the platform behind him as a quiff of blond hair slips through the dark gray beanie. "You coming, slow-poke?" 

I firmly grip the ladder. "Is this thing even safe?" 

"Of course it is... or maybe it isn't?" he jests, but there's a curt laugh that ceases his chuckles, almost a reminder that it could go far from well. I walk up each step as it creaks and whines at every bit of pressure that I've applied to it. 

I sit myself next to him and look at the trees. "I don't want to go home," I say, tired. The coldness nips my nose and cheeks, I'm afraid to touch a finger to the frozen flesh. 

"Who's saying you have to?" Birdie wonders aloud, a goofy smile on his lips. "You've got me." 

I force a grimace, the blood rushing to my toes as they lean on air for support. The extending drop that follows the platform has my stomach churning. "I hate heights, I've just had a nightmare last night where I feel off a cliff after running from..." My voice stops.