Short story collection

Memories

"That man is still there," I remember thinking that summer afternoon. He was always there by the lake it seemed. I remember the first time I came here, I had just moved into town when I decided to go bushwalking in the nearby national park. I had to ask around a bit before I could find the trail, unfortunately for me I got lost after taking the wrong side-track, as I walked through the trail I had realised that rather than going up I was going down. It was too late to turn back as I had already switched tracks twice and could not remember how to get back.

"Here goes nothing," I thought continuing on the track. When I reached the bottom of the hill the track passed by an open sunny meadow with this massive clear lake that reflected the surrounding mountains as clearly as a mirror. I stopped briefly to admire the view before glancing around to see if anyone was around to get directions from. But with my luck, of course, there was no one in sight. Seeing this I walked slowly through the foot long grass in the field towards the lake.

That's when I first saw him.

The man was lying in a patch of flattened grass, bathed in sunlight. He was seemingly asleep, wearing a white button-up shirt and black jeans with a mask that covered his eyes. It looked like a red fox. It was hard to tell but he seemed a similar age to me.

At this moment he seemed at peace with the world like no trouble could find him there. Feeling desperate with no idea where I was, I called out to him.

"Excuse me, Sir." He stirred and stretched reminding me of a cat. He seemed to look at me curiously with piercing green eyes as he sat up as if no one had ever called out to him before. I remember feeling awkward so I continued, "I'm lost, do you know the way back to town from here?" He said nothing but reached into a small black backpack near him and pulled out a map, he passed it to me and briefly showed me where we were and where town was.

He got up suddenly and dusted himself off, his short blond hair rustling in the wind. He waved goodbye before jogging up the path that I had taken leaving me alone in the meadow watching the clouds flow like water across the sky.

I remembered an accident that occurred on the trail later that day, the memory of it shocked me. A rock had fallen on someone not long after I had exited the main trail.

Since that day, in order to avoid falling rocks, I have chosen to take the path by the lake whenever I go bushwalking, and every time he is there. Waiting. Sitting by the lake, standing looking into the distance, or laying in the grass. I've heard rumors he's a ghost. It seemed many people have seen him by the lake, yet he never seemed to age or change in any way even after many years had passed.

I didn't think he was in fact a ghost, but one day I saw him disappear.

I was there when it happened. I waved at him as I walked through as always, if he looked my way we got into the habit of greeting one another although he never once spoke. I decided to walk towards him as he sat in the center of the field as I took a break. At this time of year wildflowers of all kinds were blooming in the meadow and the grass shone golden in the afternoon light. Later as I was standing by the lake the man began to walk along the large stones at the edge towards me, I was in my early 20s and did not mind the silent company with whom I often shared my thoughts.

He slipped and almost fell into the water, I reached out to catch him but realised, as my hand caught his which was like ice, he had been dead for a long time. What caused his fall was not a loss of balance but rather his foot disappearing as he took a step.

He was the one who had died in that accident those many months ago.

As he disappeared from this world I heard him speak. "Thank you." He shut his eyes, the one thing visible through the top of his mask and smiled as his memories flashed before his eyes; their first meeting, why he had chosen her, and the companionship they had shared. "There is nothing worse than dying alone." With that he was gone as if he had never existed.

Now every time I pass that meadow I look hoping to see that strange man, to whom I was gratefully considered a friend, if only for a year, and stop by the lake in order to silently honor his memory.

Now as I rest by the lake I sometimes still think I see him from the corner of my eye, staring into the distance as if nothing had ever happened.

*note: this is an earlier story of mine and if anyone reads it, thank you, grammar may not be perfect but I enjoyed writing it.