The Lost Boy

Chapter 3

Green. So much green. Flowers, all different colors, like the rainbows that would strike the London sky after a rainfall. Twigs and branches and roots and leaves, all expanding far from the trees to reach for each other and for the bright sky above. 

Sounds. All sorts of sounds, different from the silence of the beach behind him. Croaks and squeaks and chirps and calls and screeches coming from all directions from creatures he couldn't see or name. 

Smells. So many smells. Sweet and rancid, pleasant and odd, all of them strange and foreign and so incredible. Every few steps he inhaled deeply through his nose in a vain attempt to take in every smell of the jungle. One that he recognized was the sweet smell of dew, the kind that would stain the streets of London after a fresh rain. Only this smell was clear and clean and mixed with other smells that were accessible in nature and nature alone. It was so familiar, but nothing like what he smelled in London. 

It was so odd, so new, so amazing, all he could do was inhale through his nostrils and take in everything that he could. 

A chill. Shade. Moisture in the air. The interior of the jungle was so different from the beach, where he had been exposed to the wrath of the sun. Under the welcoming arms of the massive trees, his warm skin was allowed to cool off, and being away from the heat seemed to bring back a bit of his strength. 

Deep breath after deep breath, his heartbeat calmed and his legs quit trembling. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was now dry and shielding the lump on his head, and he freed the sand sticking to the red locks, careful to avoid the bump. Then he brushed himself off and examined his arms and legs for any further injuries as he walked tentatively through the woods, carefully stepping over rocks and roots. 

A few bruises could be seen beneath the layer of pink along his skin and he discovered a cut on his cheek that stung fiercely when he touched it. 

Banged, bruised, exhausted, and so thirsty, he continued through the trees, determined to find the source of the bells he'd heard on the beach and possibly find help. Hopefully even a way to find his friends. 

Flies buzzed around his head, their never-ending, persistent hum ringing in his ears as he swatted them away. They landed on his sweaty arms too, and his skin grew redder as he slapped them away. Leaves, branches, and vines adorned with flowers all stretched out towards his face as though to block something from his view. The crinkled green surfaces of the leaves were moist, sweaty like him, suggesting rain the night before. 

It was all so different, so foreign, so bizarre, so far from anything he'd ever imagined, that a small laugh escaped his lips, feeling good in his chest while his dry throat cracked painfully. 

This place was amazing. 

Then he gasped sharply. 

Jingling. That same jingling sound of those same bells. Soft and gentle, muffled but clear at the same time. 

In the jungle; the sound was in the jungle with him. How far away, he couldn't tell, but he was positive that the bells were in this very jungle. 

Purpose swelled in his aching feet, pushing him further through the trees. A metallic scent of blood met his nose; one glance down proved that the roots and the rocks were merciless against his feet. 

Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. 

It roared in his ears and pounded in his chest, throbbing in his feet and bringing on even more pain. 

Just keep movin'. 

The bells had stopped again, faded from existence. The forest was silent except for the crunch of leaves, the thump of toes against roots, the snap of twigs, the heavy, labored breathing of an exhausted, dehydrated boy. 

The sun watched his journey through the thick trees for a long time, traveling across the sky to follow him before growing bored and sinking towards the horizon, dragging a dark blanket of stars over the island as it went. 

He looked up to the sky, panting, and his eyes found the brightest star in the night sky. 

The North Star. 

The wishing star. 

His star. 

Every night he'd looked through the orphanage window to that very star, certain that was the star his parents used as a window to his world, the star they used to watch over and protect him. It brought him comfort, filled his chest with a warm feeling, like when he'd reach his evening soup before it went cold and its heat would warm his insides. 

It was his secret, like the pan flute necklace tucked under his shirt, something he never mentioned to his fellow orphans. It was his personal escape, a connection to his parents, a constant reminder that anything was possible if he only imagined. 

As the sun ducked out of view into a dark blue bed of salt water, turning the sky a deep, endless black, he kept his eyes locked on the star,his feet continuing to trudge across the dirt. 

"Can you imagine?" he whispered softly to the star, speaking to a mother and a father he'd never known. "I really did it." 

Numbness, pain, and his tremulous legs finally gave out, causing him to collapse at the feet of a massive tree. Every breath made his mouth drier, made his eyelids heavier. 

The roots were as soft as his old cot back at the orphanage, and they would work just as well as a makeshift bed.