FOREST OF THE LOST

PART ONE

There is something cathartic in taking pen to paper, to lay down one's thoughts, not necessarily to lay out an end but to silently sound out some of what is and wonder as to what might be. There is a certain strangeness that makes sense and no sense at the same time. To act on an impulse that feels clear only ... it isn't. For something odd has happened, is happening, and surely will continue in the same light, and all this coming in a moment where there is little to no ... light.

Three candles burn in the dimness ... one of a decent size, averagely medium in height and width ... the other two much smaller, perhaps only a third as tall and wide as their companion. The larger candle releases a gentle vanilla scent into the room, while the two smaller flames offer strawberry and, curiously, sweet toffee scents ... sweet toffee, a fragrance not often found in candle form but chosen almost at random, as fate would have it, among the first three to be lit, having been removed from a stored collection to serve a function less of frivolity and more of serving a purpose.

Initially, the larger candle's flame is steady and unwavering, while the smaller flames quiver and dance, their light shifting with an unseen energy, though, steady or not, all three are putting on a show of light and shadow.

The reason for the dance of three candle flames is that of a storm which so happens to be raging outside, a storm so horrid that it is the cause of a power outage. And as I would like to think I am in a position safe from harm, sealed away from any draft that could explain the flickering flame, there are other unseen forces at work.

Still, if a hidden breeze were to be of blame for the unwitting source of entertainment, surely all three flames would tremble in unison, not just the two. The candles sit together at the room's center, so logic suggests what affects one should affect them all. But then again, what do I really know? Sometimes, even the smallest mysteries remain unsolved, their answers mingling with the mingled scents of vanilla, strawberry, and toffee swirling in the shadowed room.

I sit and write in my here and now more to document my current situation for future reference, should need arise for this right here to be referred to. Why am I creating documentation of any situation at all, via the written word, and why might it be a thing of necessity of reference? ... Give me time and I will explain for there is more to be laid out before purpose can be put forward.

Time ... how odd it is ...

As it is at this moment, I am alone in the upstairs front bedroom of a house I have recently moved into, and I am sitting on a wooden chair right by the only window for this room which I have nailed down the frame and boarded up. From the sounds of things outside, I might be better off moving away from the window, probably wise to head more towards the center of the room, closer to those candles are located, just in case the worst should happen.

For now, I will stay where I am. I have purchased a desk, and it is situated by the very window I previously mentioned. The lit candles, though not on or by the desk, provide enough illumination from where they are for me to write. There are more candles available to me though I won't overindulge, besides, the scent or the combined scent is quite pleasing as is.

Between the candles and the writing are somewhat distracting me from the storm outside, lack of electricity and thunderous wind and rain notwithstanding. So, down to the nitty gritty and the reason as to why I have the need for documentation. ...

Life, as it was before the very point I have now reached, had me wanting change, it had me wanting some element of peace, left me with a desire to get away to somewhere where no one knows me. I haven't so much found or discovered this house I have come to acquire as much as it drew me in ... a right place right time kind of thing that seems more than something that came by chance.

This town I have come to ... it is one I would have been sure I knew nothing about though there is something ever so familiar about it. The familiarity is akin to having been here all my life, or at least, somewhere I have visited on many occasions, ... which, of course, I haven't. The house itself is up on a hill, it's more of an incline than a hill, and the bulk of the town is at the base of this hill.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, I want to investigate one spot in particular. Almost at the bottom of the hill, not much down along a left turn, there is a rather large open spaced car park, at the far end of which there is a children's playground, an amenities center a little further on, a bridge that will take you close to the main town beach area, and another spot that peeks my interest.

If you were to walk to and through this car park heading towards the spot where the beach bridge is, you would come to the entrance of what essentially is a forest like park, and to hammer that down, the name attached to the place actually is Forest Park. It is this park that intrigues me. I already kind of observed this spot from across the car park earlier today, right when the storm was about to pick up a little venom.

Odd to say that a moment of observation had a profound effect on me, especially coming at a time when I was gathering my bearings for a place that should be a hundred percent new to me, but this is what has grabbed me. So indeed, tomorrow, all going well, I want a closer inspection of that park entrance and perhaps even the park itself if I am brave enough.

What has bravery got to do with checking out a park? That's just it you see, or perhaps you don't. As it is, I feel as if a jigsaw puzzle is in need of assemblance, a puzzle I am intertwined with, and the starting piece is that park entrance. What picture is this puzzle going to show when it is fully assembled? If you come with me, perhaps we will find out together.

Who am I? My name is Terrence Williams.