Threading Yarns

Claramay

The woods are dark as if nature itself has bathed in black and as I sit there staring at the two necklaces in my hand, I can't help the pang of sorrow and guilt that washes over me, smothering me completely. But I know I can't give up just yet.

Poppy is missing. I whisper those words to myself like a mantra,  getting up and drag my unwilling feet back to my house, to the neighbourhood that is just waking up and going about their work.

Nothing has changed for the people around me and it kind of disappointed me.

I don’t know, maybe I had expected the world to end, or even the aliens to take over — an apocalyptic crisis maybe. But the world is oddly still, stagnant.

One missing person in the starving, struggling humanity is no one of consequence. People can forget them as quickly and move on as if nothing has happened.

I am so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice the tall lank figure in an oversized hoodie, staring at me from the distance.

However just as I lift my gaze, the figure abruptly turns around and is off on a blue bicycle, pedalling off, the baggy clothes fluttering in the wind.

But that one gaze, one moment is enough for me to realise that that person wasn’t a stranger.

There is something oddly familiar about that face — perfectly cut, so perfect that it’s almost an insult to beauty. Those sharp cobalt eyes, distant as the sky, yet burning like gas flames.

Claramay.

The unspoken name escapes from my lips, almost like a gasp.

It’s Claramay.

I start walking briskly, turning corners, counting the lampposts. Even after all these years, I remember her home exactly. It is a pretty white cottage just off the road. A cobbled path leads right up to it. The gravel crunches noisily under my feet.

I stand for a long time on the porch. The place isn’t looking like anyone has lived here recently. For a moment I think that it might really have been a hallucination and I had imagined the whole thing.

But the lock is no more and the place is looking less dusty than I expected it to be.

I gather up my courage and knock on the door.

Two sharp knocks.

The sound reverberates through the air, sounding oddly serene.

I hear the scraping of wood on the floor and sound of soft footsteps which stops right at the door.

I hold my breath, not knowing what lay behind that door.

The atmosphere suddenly seems cold and the winds blow chillier than before. It is as if the world around is giving me a cold shoulder. Like nature doesn’t want to witness this moment and is begging the time to freeze.

Suddenly I don’t want to meet the person on the other side.

Something is just not right.

I have the strangest desire to turn back and run, run for my life...

A/N Anyone wants to read the whole story please PM me 😉