“Forever has been erased from the world of the living. It never was. So too has never vanished. It has forever been this way.

“As the world watches, the earth crumbles. The sun and the stars sigh their last breath and slip from reality. Panicked voices speak of fixes that can only be temporary as they sweat their water into the dirt. The final light clinging to their universe slows to match the movements of an old man left behind in the panic to escape. A glass box shields them from any route out of their horror; it’s their only protection.

“Fear slides its grin across the clear glass, fogging the surface with its dark breath, and looks into the shivering masses' deep eyes, daring them to take the step into nothing. Scared, the people turn from the outside and look in. They search for a route to escape from their world into a better one, a different one; any world but the one that now threatened their very existence.

“A woman, one single woman, finds a tunnel, an existence unlike any dream from any sleeping child. It shines with a mystery and a darkness, but more so, it shins with a hope. She cries for her friends to follow.

“And so they do. They create large waterfalls and small closets with secrets kept tucked in the back. There became forests, rivers, cities, stores, trains, and skies. As the woman and her friends create a world where all was possible, others saw.

“’Your forever is alive,’ the woman shouts to the scared billions. ‘I have found a safe place, where you no longer have to worry for your very memory, for your very existence.’

“And the people rejoice. And the people praised her glory. And they trample her in their rush through the tunnel.

“’No!’ the friends scream as their new world fills with all.”

For a moment, Gren’s gaze continued its blank stare. She hardly noticed as the leaves swayed from the oak branches in the thicket surrounding her. She only vaguely remembered her older brother and mother in their beds covered in shadows cast by a dying fire. She swung her size seven sneakers over her father’s and her own forgotten sleeping bags while absentmindedly rubbing her hand along her father’s arm.

Moss grew on the large rock they both sat on, but provided them with little comfort. The rock’s thick fur did more to dampen Gren’s jeans than it did to shield her from the rock’s hard shell. She didn’t notice though. Her father’s stories always entranced her. Even when she couldn’t quite understand what they meant, she would still cherish every word and turn them over in her head until she felt she truly knew their meaning.

But the story her father had told her tonight never revealed itself to her. She couldn’t make sense of it. No matter how many times she pondered it, no answer appeared.

“Jar?” Gren turned her gaze to her father, and then to her sleeping mother, afraid she would wake up and chastise her for calling him by his name. When Gren’s eyes returned to Jar she found him staring back down at her.

“Something you need little one?” Jar’s voice kept the same calm midtown it always did, just a little quitter to avoid waking his wife. This close, Gren could see specks in his brown iris. Dirty bangs hung almost long enough to cover the twinkle Gren imagined she could see coming from inside his pupil.

As she wondered if that twinkle would ever go away, Jar smiled at her. “Gren? You wanted to ask a question?”

Gren snapped back to the moment and recalled the story he had told her.

“Your story doesn’t make any sense.” She informed him.

“Why’s that?”

Gren watched the stubble around his chin shift as he frowned at her.

“Why would the people be mean to the woman if she saved them?”

“They were scared, sweetie. People don’t always react rationally, especially when they’re frightened”

Gren turned toward the two empty sleeping bags. Small stars spotted the smaller light blue one, including the built in pillow it had at its head, while the others tattered brown cover provided almost no cushion from the hard packed dirt and the weeds that pushed up through it. Whenever Gren had asked, Jar had always told her that he kept his old sleeping bag for sentimental reasons. He had traveled with it since long before her or her older brother had been born. Gren knew that he would sleep in that thing even with a winter storm blazing around them, all the while with a stubborn look on his face.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“It still doesn’t make any sense. Those people are stupid.” Gren’s mouth began to stretch open.

“Are you getting tired? Should we go to bed?”

Gren stuffed the out coming yawn back down her throat. She looked back at her father.

“No. We need to stay up and read more. But not anymore of your weird stories. From a real book.” Gren scooted along the rock, closer to her father as the fire seemed to fade to a dim orange.

“Hey, it’s not one of my stories. It’s a legend I heard in the decayed loops. So simmer down little lady. We really do need to get to bed though, if your mother wakes up she’ll be angry again.”

“Whenever we stay up and she’s angry, she’s always smiling too.” Gren looked down at her mother’s steady breaths. Jar’s lips twitched upward as he looked at his wife.

“She just wants to make sure you get your sleep. And I actually need mine too. Time for bed.”

“No, but wait.” Gren wined. Her older brother opened his eyes and turned in his sleeping bag to look at his sister. Gren smiled apologetically at him. “Sorry Syth.”

“Yes, it’s time for bed.” Jar nodded at Syth. “Sorry if we woke you.”

“It’s fine.” Syth rolled over to face away from the fire.

Jar stepped up from the rock as Gren hopped off. He slipped under the tattered brown sleeping bag and rested his head on one hand while Gren climbed into hers, still thinking about the odd story her dad had decided to tell her tonight.

It didn’t make sense to her. She couldn’t figure out which sun the story was talking about. It wasn’t uncommon for a room to have a sun, even if you could only see it out of a window. The forest room they were in now had seen the sun set just three hours ago. It was impossible to tell which sun was the sun from the story.

Gren watched as the coals in the fire died and left their family in a gripping darkness. Hearing her father shift in his sleeping bag gave Gren enough comfort that she hardly noticed it though; instead she was entranced by her own thoughts.

She wondered why the people had been surrounded by glass.

“Had they build it themselves or had the rooms created it for them? Which room had they been in anyway? Perhaps,” She thought, “it’s a room in the decayed realm.”

The fire gave a sharp cracking sound which only disturbed Gren’s musings slightly.

She couldn’t even figure out who the people were or where they had gone.

“Was the story even real? How could fear fog a piece of glass? How could a fire crackle when it had just gone out?”

Gren’s eye lids had grown heavy as she slept, but shot open as soon as that thought crossed her mind. The fire gave no sign of life as Gren studied it. Her mind raced as she tried to figure what sound she had heard only moments before. She considered a cough, but the sound hadn’t been hoarse enough. A popping joint would have been quieter.

A stick would fit perfectly. It had been the snapping of a branch. Someone was stalking them from the shadows of the forest.

She tried to calm herself. She had woken up suddenly but it must have simply been some animal stepping on a twig. It was more likely to be a harmless squirrel than anything else

She heard a rustling from the cluster of Oaks nearest her and she twisted in her sleeping bag to look away from where the fire had been and toward where the sound had come from. As she squinted through the darkness and between the trunks, she couldn’t see anything, let alone what had made the noise.

The silence drew on and she began to feel afraid. As a chill ran down her body she looked up toward where her father laid, hoping to find comfort.

Jar’s eyes were wide awake as he looked at Gren and his lips tightened to a straight line. He moved his shoulder and pulled an arm out of the sleeping bag. Slowly he brought his hand to his face and his finger to his lips.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is my first time posting, so forgive me my errors. I appreciate feedback, even in small forms, and I am humble about the quality of my work.