Sanctuary

Part One: Home

The trees continue far down either side of the road as the terrain switches from tar to uneven earth beneath the car. Bumpy grounds shake the vehicle and slowly, the road becomes less and less smooth.

WELCOME TO WILLOW'S CREEK, FOUNDED BY THE DONALD'S, EST. 1721

I watch the sign shift back and forth on its post. Where it should be firmly attached to its metal beams, the green sign instead is kept hanging by one weather beaten hex bolt, causing it to blow mindlessly with the wind. We pass the sign as nature begins shrouding our path.

The further we drive, the darker the sky becomes. The elongated trees surround the car as the road becomes more narrow and the density of the forest alas reaches its apex. As we drive down the road, I peer through the gaps of the underbrush.

My eyes immediately land on a dark silhouette a bit deeper into the forest and off of the road standing upright, but after blinking twice I make it out to be my imagination. It was probably just someone hunting, I tell myself. In an instant, the silhouette is gone, along with it my dreams of ever having a normal life again.

I look at my mother who is bobbing her head in tone with the slow song emanating from the car speakers.

"We're almost there," Mother divulges. My only response is a deep scoff. I stare past my nearly transparent reflection as the trees spread apart once more and eventually, we reach civilization. That is, if you even want to call it that. This has to take the title as the most rural, outmoded town on the planet.

As we venture further north, we reach an intersection of sorts where we turn once more and eventually reach town. The outlying town consists of grassy farms, barns and sheds. We finally reach the interior of town where majority of the stores are set up along with a police station, a hospital, and grocery markets.

When we turn down the road with few other cars, all eyes are on us. Mother beams and waves as the townspeople watch us with curiosity. I sink further into my seat until we pass them and later pull into the driveway of our new home all the way at the end of the block.

Mother practically flies out of the car in excitement as she runs to the door and knocks on the glass through the screen. I step out and pull our suitcases from the trunk and toss them onto the dusty ground.

An old woman peers through the screen with a grimace, but upon seeing Mother she practically screams. "Amy! Oh my lord; they're here Richard! Come out front right now!" the country bumpkin chimed and Mother was already in her tight embrace.

Seconds later, an older man with white hair walks out. "Amy!" he shouts as Mother smiles and hugs him.

"I hate to break up this little reunion but I can't carry both of these suitcases," all eyes avert to me as Mother rolls her eyes.

"My my, if it isn't my pessimistic granddaughter," the country bumpkin says playfully before embracing me. "I missed you dear."

"I missed you too, Grandma." I really had. Being the parents of my father, seeing them brought forth painful memories. For some reason, my eyes start to well up with tears and before I can stop it, little droplets start leaking from my ducts.

"Richard, get the bags will ya'?" My grandmother says as he groans then greets me gently. My grandmother leads me into my new room where I sit on the bed and let out all of the hurt I've kept bottled in.