acatalepsy

F O U R Down The Rabbit Hole

F O U R

Down The Rabbit Hole

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soothing orange hew over the maze as we chatted away the afternoon over tea, the dangers of what lied in the walls pushed far back in my mind. Avon - unlike Peter - was delighted to explain many stories about the wonder of what he referred the maze to be as 'The Labyrinth'. They were daunting and exiting - his tales - as Avon retold the adventures of Mr. Fox and him as they traveled every nook and cranny of the Labyrinth, encountering numerous wild and mythical beasts along with cunning tricks from the walls themselves. Several stories consisted of very embarrassing moments for Peter - much to his horror - and our laughter echoed throughout the small cottage as he denied every accusation made from Avon's wild tales.

As I watched Avon and Peter bicker - Mr. Fox looking on with amusement - I couldn't help but feel homesick; wondering if I ever was like that with my family. I used to remember them - my family - way back in the beginning of the maze. But after a while, the memories started to blur; the once familiar smell of my father's cologne and the small outline of my mother's face a hazy fog in the back of my mind. I wanted to remember; my father's voice and my mother's smile. I wanted to go home.

I had helped Avon wash the silver ware - Peter and Mr. Fox cleaning up the table - and it was well into the night that Mr. Fox and Avon finally retired to their respectful rooms, welcoming both of us to stay the night before going to bed. I was bundled in a warm blanket on the couch, the air whispering through the windows in a cool breeze, and Peter sat next to the fire, his hair glinting a pale blonde as he gazed into the flames; his breathing shallow while his expression was... peaceful.

"Hey, Peter?"

There was silence for a moment before Peter spoke, his voice seeming to ring loudly throughout the quiet household for such a simple phrase.

"Yeah?"

He had broken his gaze from the fire, a tired smile finding its way onto his lips as he looked up from the floor to me, and I could feel guilt wash over me as I prepared myself to ask the next question.

"When can I go home?"

There was silence again as Peter's smile dropped off his face; shock present on his features before slowly morphing into one of hurt.

"What?" he asked.

His voice was devoided of emotion as he looked at me and I slowly sat up from the side of the couch in confusion, comfort momentarily forgotten.

"You heard me. When can I g-"

"Why," he questioned, cutting me off with an angry glare, "Why would you want to leave?"

He was standing up now, walking slowly back and forth with an agitated look to his face, and I stood up to face him, perplexed by his sudden demeanor change.

"What do you mean why? I have a family too-"

"We'll be your family," he cut me off again, this time a hopeful look to his face as he continued to talk, "You don't need them. We can be your new family."

Frozen, I stood there in shock as I tried to process what he had just proposed. I could stay. He was right. I could stay, stay with him. Stay with Avon, and Mr. Fox. I could stay, and explore all the wonders of the Labyrinth, experience all the adventures Avon told over tea with the gleam of exhilaration in his eyes. I would never be bored; never have to worry about the hard, cold truth of reality again.

You could stay, his eyes were pleading, and I debated it.

But then I couldn't. I couldn't, because I had a Mum and a Dad - somewhere - and I had a life before this; before the Labyrinth and its looming walls, before Peter and his mischievous smiles. I had a life to live; a life to make mistakes in and a world to discover - beyond the stone maze of the Labyrinth.