Still in Solitude

The boy's eyes were pellucid and diaphanous as he lingered, obscured by the brittle, crumbling leaves falling off the long-lived boughs of the ancient beech tree. The beech tree was an observer too. It had been there for several decades and was now elderly; however, it was still standing grandly. The beech tree was done waiting. The boy had returned and would remain until there were no more long summers of fun and complaints of chores and homework. He would be there until all he had ever known disappeared. What had happened was gone. But, the boy would never be.

60 years earlier...

Following the endlessly long winter, Fond Solum gazed up to the sky, enjoying the temporary warmth that came. During the spring, after school, he went gallivanting around the expanse of crops beside the crimson-coloured barn. His hours were spent there late into the afternoon until his mother called him home for supper. On the days when he could not bear the sun's heat, he strayed aimlessly into the abandoned house on the hill, near the beech tree. He was lonely. There weren't any other children in the town. 

On one of the days, Fond heard something unusual. He heard the sound of metal, sharply penetrating clunky planks of wood. Tall men lifted and hammered down the planks. They placed them in a long line, like a trail. He was standing on a trail metres away, wondering what it was.  The pebbles on the ground rolled and crunched as he set food on them. Fond didn't know what it was, so he asked his mother. She responded. She explained that it was the railroad.

Out of curiosity, Fond visited the bustle of the railroad for weeks until there was new bustle right on the very street that he lived on.

Across the street, a short man walked back and forth from his car to the house, which used to be silent. Dark. Dreary. Until they came. The new family had moved in. Sitting on a wooden chair, Fond sprinted to their front door. There was a girl. Fond took a deep breath, lifted his finger, and tapped the girl on the shoulder. She turned around, surprised. "Dearly, me! Who are you?" The girl was short like her father.  She grinned and reached out to Fond and jerked his hand up and down. "Pithy Cordial. Nice to meet you."

They did almost everything together. They rolled down hills, made up stories, and played hide-and-seek. They played in the woods and thought it was haunted at night. Fond even showed her the youthful beech tree. Pithy decided to call him Dearly; she thought it was more suitable. They climbed up onto the strong branches of the tree with deep grooves and dents scattered throughout it. They notice that there was more busyness and commotion in the town each day as migrants stepped out from the train station, just like Pithy had.

When winter had come again, they had seen hundreds of townspeople gathered in one area, like a swarm of ants on the sidewalk. More were coming. Pithy and Dearly could only hear one large voice — so loud that the few blades of yellow grass poking out of the snow were knocked back. "Stay away! Don't come near! Smallpox!" yelled Mr. Admonitory. They didn't understand. It began to rain. They went home.

Two weeks following, he finally realized what it was. Fond had seen the worse of it. Many, many times. His uncle, aunt, grandfather, and grandmother had all been homes of the virus. The smallpox slithered gradually, invading their bodies, enlarging itself until its host couldn't stand it anymore. The smallpox had settled in. The rashes were like puddles of water in the rain, growing larger and larger until there was a flood. The pustules were lumpy, firm, stubborn. They were abnormal mountains guarding the arms, legs, hands, and feet — all over the victims. Smallpox had colonized them.

Though the days became quiet, Fond's thoughts were screaming and sobbing, trapped inside his head with no one to share them with. Pithy was gone. Then it was his mother. His thoughts reached out, like a hand, attempting to grasp wisps of fun and joy. It missed. He felt as if he were nobody, particularly a nobody without any company.

Only half a dozen people came to the gathering in the graveyard: Pithy's father, and Fond's five second cousins that he had only met once. Hearing about Fond and Pithy's adventures in the woods, their friend the beech tree, and their stories, Pithy's father decided to put Fond's stone beside Pithy's. FOND SOLUM. DEARLY DEPARTED. WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN. 1850-1861.

There, on the beech tree, he came out. Under the moonlight, he gazed at the sky. Waiting. Alone. No one could see him. At that time, nothing would have changed if he didn't exist at all. Remaining. Until the last family moved out. Until the houses decayed, becoming rooms of forgotten memories. Until he saw a curious face, lost and lonely. The face belonged to a boy eating a Mars bar.

~

Cover designed on Canva.

Story inspired by "October in the Chair" by Neil Gaiman.

A vote would be highly appreciated!