Enchanted Tale

Two: Painful Past

I sat on the rocking chair still as a stone. I stared into the dancing fire thinking to myself. Peter had fallen asleep moments ago. I could tell he has had a long day. I don't know how I'm going to support him. It was hard enough to get food for myself but now for him as well? I tried pushing those thoughts to the back of my head and I thought about the fact that I know have someone to keep me company. I've been alone for so long I reckon he'll find me weird and leave. That's what scared me. That I would be solitarily confined to this place once again. I couldn't go to Lathance or else I would be thrown in the dungeon. And I don't know where else to go.

It saddened me to know that there was still a possibility that I would be alone again. The empty feeling I felt would return, and the sleepless nights would feel like they never left. I vaguely remember when I was a child, I would sleep in my parents bed holding my bear close and feeling like they were right there with me, but when I opened my eyes, they were nowhere to be found.

A tear escaped my eye as all the memories flooded my head. The more I thought about it, the sadder I got. I couldn't take my eyes off of the flames. What I hadn't realised is, as my emotions grew stronger, the fire grew larger.

"You've practically raised yourself. You had to survive in these woods all alone. No one to protect you from danger. No one to soothe your nightmares or even kiss you goodnight." My heart raced at the cold hard facts going through my thoughts. My eyes were glossy and my grip on the arm of the chair grew tighter. "It's gotten so bad that you were excited to have a simple conversation with a stranger and now you're letting him stay with you."

My saddness and anger had hit it's peak. My body was tensing. The fire had roared out of the chimney and I fell back sheilding myself from the burn. When I moved my hands down the fire had gone down to a single, small flame burning on the firewood.

"What was that?" I whispered to myself.

I leaned closer to the fire and studied it. How did that happen? It just accelerated without anyone doing anything to it? I looked back to Peter who was shifting in the small bed. It couldn't have been him? I ran outside to see if someone had found the cottage. No one was in sight.

I went back inside and sat on the chair, rubbing my eyes. It has been a long day. I'm probably just exhausted. I slowly drifted to sleep, with the small mysterious flame being the last thing I saw.

—

My eyes shot open due to a violent noise. I looked around panting. I was some what calmed because it was just Peter still shifting in the bed. He had a discomforted expression on his face.

"No... no... I didn't mean it. I DIDN'T MEAN TO!" Peter shouted.

I ran over to him and held his shoulders to stop his trembling. "Shh, shh, it's okay. You're fine. It's safe." I explained.

He lifted his back off of the bed, his eyes were wide and alert. His breathing was frantic. "Wh-what happened?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." I said, pushing his damp hair off of his forehead.

"I-It was j-just a nightmare." He tried to explain.

"Well would you like to talk about it?" I asked, setting on my knees ready to listen.

He was quiet for a moment, and when he was ready to speak again he spoke in shame. "It was my father," He started. He looked to the floor trying not to let the tears run down his face. "He was shouting at me. 'You did it! You killed her! None of this would have happened if you hadn't come along!" He recited through his tears. He looked up at me, with the only source of light coming from the moon seeping through the window, his eyes glistened in saddness. "But I didn't." He exclaimed. "I didn't kill her."

"Didn't kill who?" I finally asked.

His lips pursed together. His eyes scrunched, squeezing the tears out. "My mother..."

I didn't know what my reaction should be, so I just stared at him eager to hear more.

"She died when I was a baby. I don't know why. But my father blamed her death on me." He furrowed his eyebrows. "He blamed me! An innocent baby just coming into this vile world, knowing nothing of life nor death!" He complained.

I sat there, feeling sympathetic for him.

"He's made me feel guilty. Every chance he had to verbally abuse me, he took, never letting me forget that the day of my birth was the day of my mother's death. I eventually grew tired of it and ran away. Not long after I was captured and put into a foster home. Demonstrous place it was. My foster parents never liked any of the children they were caring for. Just the money that we brought in. And when they had enough money, they would throw us out. That's when I was introduced to the world of road sweeping."

"Wow." The one word that could sum up my thoughts. In my opinion, it was a poor choice of a word, but it was all I could come up with. I just wonder how long he has been keeping that in? It sounds like something he's had on his mind for ages. I was honoured to be the one he let it out to.

"I'm sorry I woke you." He said.

"Oh it's alright. I have every other night to sleep. I'm sorry that you had to go through that pain." Better choice of words Elle. I thought to myself.

"Well, now that I've gotten that burden off of my chest, I'm going to try to sleep now." He half smiled.

"Okay." I smiled back and went to my bed.

"Thank you Elle." He said. I turned around. "Thank you for everything."

The smile crept it's way back onto my face. "You're welcome Peter."

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