[ COACH ] Hope
[ SONG | ARTIST ] Winter Wonderland | Pentatonix
[ WATTPAD WORD COUNT ] 786 words
Let's run away, he said; and his words, his voice- the tone of it, urgent and at once gentle- weigh down in my mind as I slip through my bedroom window and balance myself on the sill. I jump off, crisp breeze brushing my cheeks, and gracefully descend to the ground as a feather; and crouch, unharmed, but every inch of me trembling, the pumping sound of blood echoeing in my ears. I start for the forest.
Tonight is the eve of Christmas, and I'd been looking forward to this since September- since he and I started arranging this rendevous. I pause, look upwards. towards the moonless heavens concealed by the silver foliage of the trees. The wind is silenced at the redwood to my right.
"Devonne..." a voice hisses quite above me. The shadowed frame of a young man promptly projects from the tree, and even before I could sigh his name out of relief he has stridden over to me and has taken me in his arms.
"You're cold..." Eric breathes on my ear.
"Of course." I manage to chuckle; though I'm sure he's had some hint that I'm not solely shaking out of the freezing weather. Something has gone terribly wrong.
But he doesn't ask about it. He never forces anything out of me. I like that about him. He just dusts the fresh snow off the lapels of my garment, and kisses my left cheekbone, which has gone purple from being hit by my father's fist the other night. His lips are warm against my skin.
Eric reaches for my hand and we start to brisk thorugh the forest. In the darkness Eric and I are easily a pair. Both wearing faded crimson frock coats and bonnets and boots. The only thing I've brought is a purse that my late mother had given me for my tenth birthday, which I've easily tucked in my inner pocket; it contains medicine and small aid kits lest something goes awry. Eric's the one with the one with a rather big leather body bag. It holds the food that must last for days, and his mother's pearls (to bargain with necessities from strangers on the roads). It keeps on jumping and bumping quite heavily on his back. But it doesn't bother him. He has a strong body from working at the farm.
A good distance away from the cabin I hear kids sing "Silent Night," accompanied by a guitar and little bells. My spine tingles upon hearing their angelic voices- as they grow softer and softer at each step I take. I shudder as they sing the last line in a ghostlike inflection. The one about sleeping in heavenly peace. Sooner or later, someone would enter that cabin and find out a table of molded untouched turkey, and cheese and bread, and wine, and burnt out candles; beside which, on the blood-stained wooden floor, a body lay, knife through his back.
Schal in himmlischer Ruh...
I steal a glance at Eric. His countenace is drenched in darkness, but I can still make out his profile. I've traced it a thousand times with my finger before anyway, on nights he'd linger in my room, ready anytime to disappear through the window once the sound of my father's voice ring through the cabin. His heart would be heavy because once again I'd turned down his plea to run away. For a thousand times. No, more than that. He probably never thought a day would come that I'd finally acquiese.
A little later Eric and I have cleared out the forest. I gasp. The sun has started to rise, to shine on the blanket of snow covering the mountains. Over the white landscape are towns yet to be discovered with Eric. I wonder if we are facing death instead of salvation: shall Eric and I be eaten by a pack of wolves? die of hypothermia? hunted and shot down by authorities- he for theft, I for murder?
Or do we make it? meet Mr. Parson Brown at the next town and get married? We then start a new life. Have kids we'd love with all our hearts as we love each other, and when they're older, Eric and I would tell them the story of the time we were given new births, too, somehow like those who believe on the Messiah, on the eve of Christmas.
The mere thought of it sends goosebumps all over my body; and my breathing heavy, my temples throbbing, I squeeze Eric's hand. He squeezes back.
And we run.
Each second a little further away from what we used to (and mistakenly) call home- from the Righteous Rod and the heartaches it had imprinted in our souls. Here we are. Together... and we run.
Into the wild.
Into the great White.
