The Peony Chronicles

Chapter Two

It was only when he was fourteen did he get so desperate for attention, he acted out in sheer distress. Only then, did he throw off the chains of morality and decide that any recognition was good. It was a late friday afternoon in September, the leaves were decaying and so was the patience of the pastor's son. He decided to slip away in hopes to find his father. He packed lunch in a bindle and slipped on his ratty shoes and thumped off down the road. There was a heart-throbbing sensation bubbling in his chest as Gael skipped away from all he ever knew, he was running into unknown territories, and as guilty as he felt, as blasphemous as the situation seemed, off he ran towards what he thought to be a holy conquest, an adventure of some sort.

Setting foot into Cold Creek for the first time, was mystical to him. It was sweltering outside, but Gael could not help but feel chilled by the displacement in himself. Bindle held tight he took a deep breath and plastered a wide smile towards some passing folk on the roadside that he'd seen every sunday from behind a pew or tucked behind the organ. To his surprise, his kindness was actually retaliated with an equilibrium of empathy as the folk waved back at him. Gael wandered down the main street with an interest. It was a cozy little place, the stores lined up to form a road but were awfully far apart from one another. Yes, indeed, cozy, but terrifying at the same time.

Yet, he knew all the faces, as they all were faithful. He knew not the names or their part in the social hierarchy (as he knew not that such things existed), but just as comforting people he had grown to observe in a hushed silence.

"Well hey there, stranger!" called a voice from one of the stores and a Gael looked up in pure shock. He fell down at the sudden boom that cut through the thick atmosphere, bindle plopped at his side. There sat someone he'd seen before, yes, but no one he'd be allowed to talk to. This felt much different, he felt more approachable as he sat there on the ground, caught off guard. Not like when someone accidentally saw him at one of the sermons, where he'd just hide until further notice of himself was dispersed. He was here, in the town, alone, meeting someone for the first time, formally.

The person who approached Gael was a girl, and he was astounded. She wore a pretty dress the color of daffodils, a ribbon of matching color holding her hair back. It was very casual attire, especially since she wore no shoes. She sat on the edge of a patio, a wide, toothless smile on her face. "Hiyah! Where yah from?"

Gael opened his mouth to speak, but could not get the words out. He sat up and brushed himself off, in shorts and a button down. The little crucifix he wore dangled down from his collar lazily and he fumbled to straighten it. "I-- Uh--"

"Never heard of that place before!" she teased, slipping down to sit on the step next to him. She played with her ginger locks, freckles freckled all up her face. Gael couldn't help but keep his eyes off her freckles, they were positively wild and estranged. He never recalled anyone that looked so strange before.

"I-- I-I-I'm not f-from there--" He fumbled nervously, a small smile on his face. He cleared his throat a moment before looking up and continuing his shaky introduction, "That place-- that place doesn't exist...! I-- I live on the Mitchell farm--!"

"Ooo! You're a squatter?" she questioned enthusiastically, her red curls bouncing with her rising excitement.
"A squat-- What--? No!" Gael laughing out awkwardly. "I-- I live there! I am his son-- The pastor--!"

"You are?" She gasped, taking his hands, a wide grin wired with lots of braces stretching across her rounded and puffy cheeks. "Wha'cher name?"

"Oh-- Uh-- Gael--! Gael Mitchell!"

He had introduced himself.

Introductions were something that had troubled Gael for a prolonged amount of time, as he was never quite the best with them. There weren't many people that resided in his life so how could he possibly have known the proper way to greet a new individual; a singular and lone obstacle he himself decided to tackle head on.