Every day, I walk the same path with my dog through the woods, and I have never noticed the tunnel through the brush that leads to an open plain. I know that I need to take a left at the first forking path, continue straight, turn right to go up the slope, past the silver birches and lone oak tree, turn left again and continue straight until I circle back to the start. That's my journey. It has never changed. Until today.
I throw my dog's tennis ball again, watching her dart down the path with her paws thundering against the ground. I inhale the fresh air, enjoying the sun streaming through the gaps in the silver birches. Even in winter, I walk this path to escape from the hustle and bustle of city life. The vibrance and the noise, the air filled with smog and the rows of incredibly bland, identical houses. I complain about the unchanging landscape of the city and yet still take the same route day after day after day, but the woodland landscape is ever-changing, and so I can't tire from wandering and watching the wildlife. Polly comes running back, the tennis ball firmly between her teeth. I take it from her, keeping ahold of it before turning left. But, just before my feet can automatically take me in the familiar direction, a very slight breeze from the right causes the hair on my arms to stand up and for goosebumps to scatter my skin. Polly whines and presses herself against my leg, I stroke her head to reassure her. Turning my head, I see a tunnel made of interwoven branches, with ivy cascading down the front. I look around even though I know that I'm alone. Curiosity gets the better of me. I clip Polly's lead back on to her collar and tentatively make my way towards the tunnel. Polly grounds herself, but I pull her forward.
"Come on girl, it's okay," I reassure, although my voice is almost whispering.
I pull the ivy back, seeing a tunnel that disappears into the distance, but there are gaps which proved light to guide me. I take the initiative and go. I walk and walk and walk, my head bowed and aching until finally, I'm blinded by the bright sunlight and open plains. My feet continue without my brain telling them to, and again, I walk and walk and walk and walk and walk and walk and walk, and something tells me that no one has been here for years. There are no trodden paths, no mutilated patches of land, no litter, just a wide expanse of untouched beauty.
Eventually, I come across some ruins. Barely standing with parts falling to the ground as I breathe. Polly whimpers and hides behind my legs. I bend down, planting a kiss on her forehead and scratching her neck to reassure her. I huff, ignore my apprehensions, and head towards the crumbling, pale, yellow bricks that barely stretch up towards the sky. Studying the structure, I can tell that when it had been built, it stood proud and strong and looked as if it brushed the atmosphere. The stairs seem sturdy enough, so I make the ascent to the next floor and I keep going up until I reach the roofless tower. The wind, much stronger up high than down on the ground causes my hair to whip at my face. From here, I can see how ivy has woven it's way between the bricks, engulfing large parts of the building and swallowing them whole. Purple plants sprout from the edge of the tower and cascade in a waterfall of various violet hues down to the dirt below. The sun beams down and warms my skin. I close my eyes and soak up the peaceful atmosphere. My lungs feel clean. I feel refreshed. Polly starts barking, pulling me out of my state of mind. I carefully but quickly go to her, but as soon as I reach her, she runs off to another part of the ruins.
"Polly!" I call as I follow her.
Weaving through the remnants, Polly leads me to a small passageway, overgrown and forgotten entirely. I look in, and look at Polly, whose tail is wagging and tongue is lolling as she pants after running. She clearly seems happy to investigate. I push back the ivy, seeing flecks of sunlight shining through the cracks in the concave roof. Polly walks in first, taking the lead so I continue following her. It's not a long walk, because Polly stops suddenly and jumps up, pressing her paws against the wall and sniffing a particular area. She barks at it, then at me. I shake my head, laughing at her odd behaviour. She jumps back down, and sits without me telling her to. Something must be important. I inspect the area she seems to be fascinated with, using the torch on my keyring. It takes me a while, but I see what the fuss is about. The brick is loose. Holding the torch in my mouth, I wiggle my fingers into the gaps, not giving up until it suddenly breaks free. My arms are almost ripped out of their sockets by the weight of this single slab. I place it on the ground, wiping my hands on my jeans, leaving dusty trails. I squint into the little gap in the wall, the edge of something visible a little further in. I have to scrunch my face up as I reluctantly reach in, my squeamishness the most prevalent characteristic at this moment. Carefully, I lift out the object, and my little torchlight reveals what it is.
A letter. Yellowed and dusty, the paper almost crumbling in my hands, just like the building. The writing on the front is so faded, I can't make it out, so I turn it over. It's unopened. The wax seal is unbroken, a family crest still clear in detail and wealth. My hands are shaking, so I calm myself with a pause and a few deep breaths. Tentatively, I pull the top away from the rest of the envelope, thankful that it gives easily. Inside, a folded piece of paper sits in better condition, and so I pull it out, unfolding it to see a beautiful handwritten message, but in a language I can't recognise. A name to call it pops into my head. A letter of age.
Written: 2017, 18 y/o
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The Works
General FictionA variety of of works written by me from 2013 and onwards. Essays, poems, short stories, one shots; set tasks, random ideas, and dream-inspired.
