The Garden Of Secrets

Celine

The keys jingle in my hands as I lock the door of the store. Poppy went home a long time ago, grumbling about some guy that came in earlier. I'm assuming it's the dude with the tattoos and who asked me my name..which for the record, was odd. No one has ever cared enough to ask me my name. It made me feel warm and fuzzy honestly, but also creeped me the hell out. I have a feeling it's about to get all NCIS up in here. My conscious chides at me, calling me ridiculous, I, of course, ignore her. I think it would be cool to see NCIS agents..but then again I would be dead so...I guess I wouldn't really get to see...you get my point.

I shake my head to clear it, I've been doing a lot of today. I usually avoid it like the plague. It always leads to my father and plenty of crying. On days like this, I usually go straight to bed once home, but I don't feel like it today. I haven't been to the woods in a while, maybe I'll go for a walk. I hear my conscious purr in agreement and roll my eyes. So now she decides to make herself known again. It's been a long time since I've heard from her. I can't believe I'm about to admit this but I was starting to miss her constant insight and snarky comments. I mean; everyone has a talking conscious..right? I never really questioned it.

I run across the street, not wanting to become a hood ornament to anyone's Prius. I open the door to the apartment building and hurry inside, shivering as I feel the rain, which feels more like ice, slide down my neck and back. I smile in greeting to the doorman and the lobby desk worker for that night. Not a single word exchanged between the three of us, just smiles and nodding. Nothing out of the ordinary, however, the occasional word is nice and today it's needed, but never comes.

The elevator ride seems longer than usual, the music is quieter and more dismal than I remember from earlier this morning. Maybe it's the rain and gray sky, it's known for putting a damper on the mood. I walk from the doors as they groan and squeak open to the 4th floor of the building; the floor in which our shared apartment is. I can hear my conscious grumbling over something, this never comes as a shock to me, it's always something with her. I go to open the door, but it's locked. Poppy came home a few hours ago...it shouldn't be locked. I unlock it using my key and walk in cautiously. Everything seems normal, I make my way to the kitchen and notice a note; "Dear Cel, I've gone out with some friends! Don't wait up for me, I have my key. Sleep tight! Much love, Pops" I sigh reading over her loopy handwriting. She's gone out again, no surprise if she comes home hungover tomorrow if she comes home at all.

I set the note down along with my keys and look around; alone...again. I could go out, could stay home. But neither of those sound appealing...so I guess a walk in the woods it is. I go back to my room and change out of my work clothes and into suitable clothes for the woods; leggings, a black shirt, boots, and a brown leather jacket. My unruly blonde hair refuses to back into anything but a french braid. I get my dad's bow and quiver off the wall where it hangs over my bed. Something about this feels right. Whenever I hold his bow, I feel better. Maybe it's because he touched it, maybe because it was his, I don't know for sure. I just wish he was home.

My feet don't touch the ground the whole way from my car into the woods. I feel free. Free from the confines of everyday life, free from my thoughts. Just free from it all. The wind smells of the woods, perhaps the most freeing smell in the world...to me at least. My boots pound over the earth as I run, long been off the path most take through woods. They miss so much. So many beautiful things.

I run for what seems like hours, maybe it is, the sky is darkening when I sit by the creek to take a break and catch my breath. I watch the water trickle downstream, sometimes small fish swim down the creek with the current. I wonder what it's like, swimming with the current, letting it take you wherever it wants. Here I am, daydreaming again. My mother used to scold me for daydreaming too much. It never stopped me though, my father loved to tell me about his dreams, he's the one who taught me about dream journaling. Very shark boy and lava girl of me huh? It was my favorite thing to do, every morning I would wake up and put my dream, no matter how scary or uneventful. My favorite dreams were the ones about the wolves. I used to ask for a wolf pup every year for Christmas, granted I never got one, but I had hoped I would. Sometimes if I close my eyes, I can still recall these dreams. The howling at the moon, running through the woods. Being free. To this day I never knew what fueled my obsession with wolves. Maybe it was their carefree spirit, or maybe it was the fact they had family that accepted who they were.