THE FORGOTTEN GROVE

One

" Give the kid the pick of pips and give him all your stripes and ribbons, Now he's sitting in his hole, he might as well have buttons and bows"
Kate Bush
—————————
(Army Dreamers)

!.

"Eamon!!" Hafsa called for the hundredth time, her toes curling with eager anticipation on the grassy field of her front house as though the Nike snickers she wore were heating from the sternness of the sun to the ground and burning her under feet. In contrast, in real, she just was overly ecstatic about their planned exploratory for the weekend, which all so happened to be today, yes... this very day of an unwaveringly sunny Sunday, that also had been stamped and marked as their hangout day since Eamon's parents decided to move a three-hour drive to a different street in the same town.

The two had been best friends since birth— Their parents had fortuitously moved to town on the same day both pregnant mothers were put to bed side by side in the same hospital room; cries from babies swelled in the maternity ward at the same time, second... minute... hour, and there just so happened to be two vacant houses adjacent to the other where both families moved into and instantly became best of friends. and it was only a matter of time before the children grew up and became familiar with the culture that hauled along their birth— They did a lot of things together: played in the field together, had tons and tons of sleepovers together, and as though those weren't enough, they came up with a worklist entailing events that had them occupied every day to the climax of each day: On Mondays they would go collecting bugs for their little bugs museum in Hafsa's basement, on Tuesdays they would go shopping for lemons and brown sugar which would come in handy for their notorious lemonade business on Wednesdays, Thursdays acquainted them with frequenting the town's general library for most recent mystery books with coins made from their little business, on Fridays they stay behind in Eamon's house to watch their favorite documentary shows which mostly involved loud competitive guesses and quiz answering, and heavy bickering afterward, Saturdays were for scavenger hunts, and Sundays which entailed the favorite event on their list was for exploratory like they watched in their Friday documentaries, only this time they didn't sit back and watch other people do it, they explored the hidden and open parts of town themselves.

And though this was a tradition coming for years, Hafsa and Eamon had to trade all of these enjoyable events for just a day in the week due to Eamon moving out miles away— his dad had secured a job in the city, the new street was closer— and that day was on Sundays, when both families could easily harmoniously reunite and spend quality time together.

Now, Eamon was about to ruin it by being too slow, the clock struck 4 pm minutes ago and Hafsa's curfew was 8 pm, her parents would be anything but friendly about their exploratory once the singing clock in their living room struck 5 pm.

Hafsa was growing impatient.

"Come on now Eamon, we don't have all day," She called with finality and a string of pleading in her voice as he wheeled out of the driveway with his bicycle meeting his best friend reclined on hers in distraught, the look on her face, like a queen who'd had her crown snatched from her by a circus monkey.

"You look like my poo." He jested reaching a halt beside her.

The comment followed a passive-aggressive smack on his head which unfortunately had her hand bounding right back due to his full curly chestnut hair. Still, from the 'ouch' complaint sound that preceded the action, Hafsa was filled with a handful of satisfaction knowing 'that did not go to waste after all'"

The two rode at full throttle up the deserted highway that led to the outskirts of town— today was a special day, said Hafsa, they had to make the most of it by skirting beyond their circle— filling the eerie silence of roadside trees wallowing in agony and the February cold allowing whispers of winds to slap against their bare skins, with singsongs from their documentary shows and tunes that swelled suspense in between.

The wind was especially fierce today, Eamon noted, he couldn't tell whether it was a bodily reaction to the excitement spiraling adrenaline along his veins from the new adventures awaiting them but he welcomed the feeling anyway.

As they cut by a weathered picket fence that ringed the Cemetery in the outskirt of Gretna, gooseflesh raised on Hafsa's hands and legs as she watched the wind bellow and blow leaves dancing on the tombstones like ghostly spirits in the crepuscle of autumn.

She looked away quickly and hastened her pedals as though if truly there were wandering ghosts like she'd read in her ghost stories they'd now be coming for her for knowing about them and yet deciding it wasn't time to explore them yet.

The battle of thoughts suddenly wounded its way to the front of her mind, she wondered; was it fear holding her back from picking the cemetery as their next visit of adventure every time or was it just not the time for it yet?

Her resolves were crumbled as they reached a screeching stop, Eamon in tail behind her.

She swallowed, out of breath, as she battled with words huddling from her throat, "We're here." She said.

"The Forgotten Grove?" Eamon asked, also out of breath.

She nodded, her face an ocean of sunshine as her cheeks bobbed into a smile. "The Forgotten Grove."

'Updated—26-04-24

Hello you,
If you've made it up to this point it means my story has successfully grasped your interest.
Now tell me everything: what do you think? Like the characters already? It's mid?? Can't wait for more?
I would love to hear all that you have to say.'

Quick question: Tell me about yourself.