III
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Section three.
Thump. He could begin to hear his own heartbeat. Gradually, it began to speed up, pumping blood throughout his form with urgency. His eyes seemingly opened but moments after closing them. There was nothing in sight, no flame next to him, he could only feel himself rising slightly.
He noticed another detail. There was no him—he had no form. He felt akin to a pair of eyes floating in the sky, lacking ability to speak or move. It couldn’t be said what his facial expression would have been. In as much of a frenzy as he could muster, he panicked.
Then, as he looked upward, he caught a glimpse of the moon hanging in the sky. The view was familiar. With more of a grasp on where he was, he looked down, meeting no bodily obstruction. Underneath of him was a scene he hadn’t seen for years; the top of his shack. The wooden logs were slightly eroded from the elements.
He recoiled from shock, or at least would have. Wouldn’t this mean he was staring at himself? He didn’t understand the meaning of this any more than his warmer dream.
Staring intently at his shack, he noticed a disturbance in the distance across from the pond, deep inside of the forest. About a mile off, there seemed to be a group of figures approaching at a steady pace as they waded through leaves. From their direction, the boy gleaned they would soon reach the lake. And then, maybe even his home.
In hand, they held weapons. Some were black, these included spearheads and daggers which were sharper than anything he’d seen, while heavier weapons were made of stone. Strangely, the boy’s vision could make out these details regardless of distance. As he was sure that this was a dream, he grew more interested in this aspect.
He tore his gaze away from the trees and looked farther across the forest. His vision seemed to race as if he were flying, expanding in scope until he was more aware of these surroundings than he’d ever been. He had never seen those parts of the region—if this was real, that was.
If this was real, he thought. ‘This is a dream, right?’ he began to wonder. Compared to even his earlier dream, these “feelings” were more vivid. He could recognize the smell, the familiarity of his surroundings. Even when actively thinking about it, these details did not change.
He started to grow nervous again. Though his vacant heart could not beat, he chose to flee.
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Eyes open once again, he immediately sat up, thoughts whistling throughout the jumbled mess inside of his mind. Sweat had already accumulated during his sleep, though his dream felt short. Along with his action, it shot off of the strands of hair clinging to his forehead.
‘What if it were real? Whoever they are, they’d be on their way here right now.’ Just like before, the details of his dream did not elude him. He immediately made a decision. With their weapons, he wouldn’t be safe.
As he stood up, eyes red, he rushed toward the door. Opening it, he remembered something. Something in the recesses of his mind urged him to put out the flame burning in the middle of the shack. Complying quickly, he did. Crouching hurriedly, he blew on it until all that was left was smoke. Fumbling around for his tools, he grabbed most of them, including his makeshift knife and stones, throwing the half-eaten raccoon out into the forest while knocking down his door as he rushed out. The inside, as dark as the night outside, mirrored his fate should he have stayed.
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He picked up speed as he ran, passing the dogtree and pressing his way into the forest. The canopy darkened his surroundings as he contemplated on what he’d do now. Though he could continue running until he escaped, he decided against it. He wasn’t ready to leave.
He ran until he couldn’t anymore, but he knew he hadn’t made it far. An oak tree stood in front of him, obscured by darkness. Looking it over, he thought its branches could hold him. Before he began climbing, he decided to bury most of his things near the tree’s trunk.
After he finished, he only had his knife in hand, testing different branches as he began climbing. Soon, he spotted an area where a thick branch split into thirds. Climbing onto it with trembling fingers, the branches dug into his back and legs, but it held.
On the way here, he realized he hadn’t eaten much recently. He’d discarded the raccoon in terror, scared of whoever those people were and what they’d do should they find recent evidence of his stay. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea. He decided to look out for any animals on the ground, his hands shivering as he rubbed the dirt off of them.
Adjusting, he managed to find a semi-comfortable sitting position as he angled his head downward, observing the ground and being careful to maintain balance. He kept his eyes open for a long time, but eventually their eyelids became too heavy for him to hold. This night, out of nearly all he’d lived through, was one of the longest. He fell asleep without noticing, his heartbeat finally slowing into a rhythm that seemed to meld with the tree underneath him.
When he awoke, the sky above did little to lighten his mood. Instead, the sky’s tone matched his feelings. It was a cloudy day. Giant, leaden clouds slowly marched across the sky like soldiers. There seemed to be no end to the army that marched downstream. It looked like it’d soon rain.
All was silent, no birds in the sky apart from the scant crow. No morning chirps, no crickets, only stillness. Trees stood in their place beneath the sky in reverence, bystanders to the cavalry marching above.
Even the sun seemed hesitant to shine under the suffocating pressure of those generals. The boy’s mood plummeted along with the temperature, recalling what’d happened the night before. He decided to climb down from the tree. Those people should have gone now, if they were real, he thought. He was beginning to feel a bit silly for rushing all the way out here without thinking it through.
As he climbed, he managed to spot a rabbit near the stump of the tree. He immediately slowed, continuing in a more silent manner. He wasn’t very far up, and if he climbed or receded down any more, he’d scare it off. Though he wasn’t too high, he wasn’t used to this, so the fall could prove dangerous.
‘I could use it to dampen my fall,’ he thought, readying himself to drop. When he was ready, he lightly pushed off of the tree and angled his feet downward, connecting them in a pincer. Almost parallel to the tree, his arms hovering away from his body, he landed.
He heard a squeak, but that was all. His ankles ached slightly, but there was no struggle from below. His knees bent as he locked onto his target with his eyes. As he stepped off, blood began to seep out of its mouth. From the initial impact, specks of blood dotted the base of the tree. His face showed remorse, but he’d made it as quick as he could. He picked it up by the ears; he’d skin it later. He didn’t want to leave it here in case something, or someone else came along to eat it.
Leaving his supplies under the tree, he walked in the direction of his shack. It took a while for his nerves to calm as a slight drizzle began to rain down from above. The canopy kept him mostly dry. He’d never felt so nervous to see his home.
‘Only a few more, a few more,’ he thought as he kept his gaze forward. As he moved branches and leaves out of his face, he grew nervous once more.
Soon, he brushed away the last tree branch that blocked his vision. Through the misty rain, he caught sight of his shack. He could see wood. It was in shambles. The slight smirk on his face disappeared instantly as he stared at his former home. For quite some time, he stared, the canopy of the forest no longer protecting him from the rain. As he grew drenched, he observed. There were cuts in every facet of it. The logs had been chopped into small pieces, the shaky roof finally collapsed over the mess, attempting to mask its shame.
He staggered once as he began to walk again, toward the shattered mass of wood and thatch. His foot bumped against a memory; a shattered statue. The turtle that’d just yesterday enjoyed a blissful life of shade. Struggling to tear his eyes away from it, he lamented. His work had amounted to nothing more. Nothing more than this.
He attempted to lift a log to see inside. Although he had sufficient strength, he couldn’t bring himself to see it through. The clouds above finally relinquished their tears unto the earth, bathing the soil in a mourning silence. It seemed the soldiers above had lost their battle as well.
The silence was difficult to bear for the boy, but he dared not interrupt it with any sobbing.
His hands fell weakly to his wides, the clouds’ tears mingling with his in harmony. Taking a last look at his home through the curtains of rain that now fell, he stabbed a stone into one of the tattered logs, hoping it would forever remain.
Walking on a familiar trail, he reached a tree. It kept him company for a portion of his life. He felt it necessary to wish it a proper goodbye. Patting it two times, both with different meanings, he walked, the dampened branches of the forest welcoming him once more.
The dogwood tree stood witness to this in silence, though the rain that fell from its branches sufficed to tell the boy how it felt. Its branches hung lower than usual today.
The pond sat silent. It hadn’t received a goodbye, but the boy would remember all it had provided for him.