The Bagman's Direction

Chapter 50

"Have I ever told you the name of my bike?"

We were on the brink of yet another forest, even after what felt like hours of driving. We were still in the DC, of course. Yet being at the edge of a jungle-like forest it dawned on me we had some hiking to do. At least it would distract me from Fetch's pain.

"No, you haven't. Have I ever told you that you're obsessed with trees?" I teased.

He laughed and we left our helmets on the bike handles. He wandered over to me and took my hand in his.

"He's called Moth"

"He?"

"Are you not going to ask me why?" Harry nudged me.

"I'm asking why your motorbike is a 'he' first" I chuckled.

We started heading into the forest, something I wasn't unfamiliar with when it came to him.

"I call him Moth because moths are ugly" He proceeded, ignoring what I said. "They're disregarded or deemed unimportant, sometimes even feared. They're faded little creatures who aren't as good as butterflies but they're attracted to light. They find something beautiful to latch onto during their short little lives. I guess you could say they find the good in every situation, if we regard light as good and dark as evil that is. My motorbike is called Moth because it will always lead me to light. It drives me out of the dark places and towards the light places, the good places"

"That's beautiful, Harry"

"Don't be condescending" He scoffed. 

"I wasn't. I genuinely like it" I shrugged, squeezing his hand.

"I like to think you all as my moths to be honest" He grinned, "We're all heading in the same direction towards something beautiful, to a brighter place"

"You could say we're heading in 'One Direction'" I joked.

He playfully elbowed me and rolled his eyes. The rest of the way we strode in silence until we came upon what looked like a ruin.

There were stones as faded as a favourite sticker, they looked as if they were slowly decaying. They were covered in moss and algae, as if Mother Nature had attacked them. She apparently also knocked them down and made rocks crumble. The stones were fairly large, mostly broken. The jagged marble and sandstone blocks didn't appear to make a building. They might've made walls or sculptures, maybe even beautiful carved attractions. Yet most were ruined, they were severely weathered and the vines crept up them like winding jungle snakes. 

"We're in the depths of Rock Creek Park" Harry explained, smiling at my awe of the architecture, "In the war of 1812, the Capitol was nearly burned down and needed to be rebuilt. The stones you see now originate from there. They looked like this now not because they're so old but because there was a renovation from 1958 to 1962. There was an agreement and these puzzle pieces were put here. Louis, this is my home"

My fingers brushed over the fuzzy moss and patterned marble. I wanted to be buried there, among history and nature and beauty.

"Where do you sleep?" I asked.

Harry pointed roughly upwards and my gaze followed his finger. There was a treehouse a couple of metres away, looking high and mighty as it resided in an oak.

I smiled, following the ladder down with my eyes before chasing after it. Harry ran after me but I was faster. I hurried up the wooden planks nailed into the tree that acted like one big ladder and after five minutes or so I scurried inside the makeshift house.

I huffed and puffed but the polished wooden hut didn't blow down. There was carpet underneath my body and the room was tall enough for me to stand but I stayed seated. It appeared there were multiple rooms, bridges from one opening to another to get to different rooms dolled up in different trees. It reminded me of something you'd see in a movie. Harry was clever but I didn't know he was an architect or a carpenter.