by Colin Ososki
SNOWFALL
Frost. With blood, this was the only thing in the dead grass of Pæraleth. The blood of many citizens was shed overnight in a massive revolt. Mr. Charlie had won the election, and during his speech he revealed more plans that the people of were not aware of. This caused much trouble all over the world within moments of hearing the words on the radio. Within three hours, a doctor in the South had been assassinated, reasons unknown. There was hysteria in Salem, people were worried about the doctors in the town, although there were only three. The politicians presented a few words of safety for the people in the town, they said that they would be safe and could continue their researches. But most appalling, was the promise of the removal of Amendment 66. The light snowfall covered the roof with a light layer of snow, which buried Milo’s shoes an inch deep.
Milo hadn’t slept. He attempted it, when he arrived back at home late the night before, but there was no success. His thoughts kept him awake. An hour went by before he decided to climb onto the roof. He thought of his near future. It was Monday morning now, and he turned fifteen in just weeks. Sometime soon he would show the first signs of sprouting. If the color of his eyes were blue, he would be sentenced to death.
He also thought of Artimus and the other doctors, including Milo’s father. What was to become of them? The politicians had promised he wouldn’t get rid of them, but how can a man like Mr. Charlie keep his word?
He also thought of the girl he had met the night before. She almost didn’t seem real, like something from a dream. But I didn’t just imagine it. I wish I had some sort of proof. I want to see her again. He walked back from the ledge of the roof, and crawled through his open window back into his rain-soaked, dusty bedroom.
He left his window open often, as he stayed on the roof often. Lots of storms occurred in Salem, so the wood in his bedroom near the window were stained with water damage. There was a wooden desk across the room from the window, where Milo temporarily set his items. On the desk, was a notebook, open to the middle, filled with scribbles. Milo read through what he had written the night before. He had written another piece of a story that he had started long ago.
-----
The next day was very uneventful for him. He moped around for most of the morning, drifting across the dusty floors on his light feet, pacing the various rooms of his house in search of interesting things to do. It was not unlike any other day, for he felt most of his life was like this. His father was away at work, so Milo was alone. He walked outside for a bit in the afternoon, taking a long path around Salem, enjoying views of his city in the whimsical snowfall. When he returned home he had a great meal to eat, and then waited for his father to return home before drifting off into an immersing sleep.
The next morning came with a surprise to Milo. When he awoke, unusually early on this day, his bedroom window was cracked open slightly, with a chilling wind splashing through. When his eyes had fully returned to their awakened state, he quickly got up out of his bed and walked over the window. He didn’t see any other strange things near the window, nor outside the window, so he closed it shut and locked it. But something else was there.
Beneath Milo’s cold, bare feet, he felt the presence of something soft. He moved his foot and looked below, and there sat a small slip of paper. Milo knelt down and picked it up. He noticed there was text on it, but before reading it he took a look around the room and out the window. Seeing nothing peculiar, Milo read what was on the paper. In very small, fancy script, it read, GOLBURN AND EDWARDSON. He peered out the window once more. The streets?
Thoughts came to Milo. He felt that this note could’ve been from the girl. If it was her, how does she know where I live? Oh yeah, she read my mind.
-----
Snow fell from the darkened sky with a gentle force, creating a calm in Milo. He walked on Edwardson Street, towards Golburn, at the corner. The area was empty of people. He tried keeping himself company with his thoughts.
The sounds of gentle footsteps in the snow made their way to Milo’s frosted ears. It was quite foggy in the air, but Milo could see a distinct figure in the fog, that of a girl. As she came closer, Milo saw that this indeed was the girl from the dinner hall.
“So it was you?” asked Milo. She was now very close, within speaking distance. She didn’t respond right away, not even looking his way, but rather at the street. When she became closer, she spoke.
“Yes,” she said. Milo could see her clearly now. She looked the same as before; dark hair, pale, a scar on her cheek.
“How did you find my house?” Milo asked. It was her who left that little note. All he got as a response was a swift shrug. She seemed happier than before. It seemed to Milo like the last time, at the dinner hall, she was worried about something. Then he asked, “So can you tell me your name?”
“My name is Lyrah,” she said.
-----
“Where did you find these?” Milo asked, taking a bright red apple from Lyrah’s hand as she held it out to him. They both smiled, her smile being the most radiant that Milo had yet seen from her. They were just outside Salem, on the edge of the forest. Snow had covered the trees and ground with a thick layer of brilliant white. This was the third time this week that they had met. They had met twice the previous week.
“There’s an apple tree,” she said, “on a small, lonely island in the sea. It stands tall and strong, although its branches are wilted like a willow. Its trunk has twists and turns and many holes and hollows for the company of animals. I’ve only been there once before. The apples from that tree are the greatest in Pæraleth.”
“You didn’t get these from there,” Milo said. “Not unless you’re some sort of magic traveler.”
“No,” said Lyrah.
“So where did these apples come from?”
“You know that old creaky shop at the end of Yellowill?” She tossed her apple up high.
“Yeah?” Milo watched the apple; it almost didn’t look like it was going to come down.
Lyrah caught it. “They had some extras,” she said. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Moments later, several more barks joined. “It’s beautiful Milo, the tree. It’s where I would like to go someday,” she said. She looked to the sky. “When I have nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. When I feel free.”
“Free from what?” Milo asked.
She was still looking at the sky, but became expressionless. Then after a pause, she looked at him and forthrightly said, “Just everything, you know?” Milo agreed silently. “I have a gift for you,” said Lyrah, taking a step back and reaching into her bag.
Milo was surprised. A gift? “A gift?” He asked.
Lyrah pulled her hand back out of her bag, and in her hand was a beautiful snow globe. She handed it out to him, smiling, and Milo took it. He smiled back, as he looked at the magnificent piece. It had a round, wooden base, made of old wood. Atop the wooden base sat the glass globe that was home to two, wooden carved polar bears sitting on an iceberg. At first, Milo didn’t know what to say, but eventually he came to the words, “Thank you.”
-----
Milo and Lyrah neared the bridge, walking in the slow wind. It was beginning to grow dark, and Lyrah had told Milo she was leaving. “Today was nice,” said Milo. The wind was beginning to blow stronger. Milo just then noticed the lack of snow on the ground; instead most of it was sloppy, dirty slush. The air was birthing a grey, gloomy atmosphere; it looked rainy. Lyrah looked back at Milo when he spoke.
“Yeah,” she said. Milo was thinking about saying something, but Lyrah spoke first. “I have to go now.” She said, and she began to turn away.
-----
Lit by dimly burning candles, the small town of Dwinforge stood still. The air was with chills, breathed by the seaside. The gateway into the town, swayed with the breeze. But for a few wondering souls, the town was empty at this time.
Sitting alone inside his small, uncomfortable home, was a man by the name of Mr. Potter. He was a strange m
an, fat and had long, messy, black hair. He sipped his tea. His ears twitched, moving to the sounds outside. He heard footsteps, far from his doorstep, but yet so near. A scream then, for the perpetrators had scared off the wondering souls of the town. Could it be them?
Walking in the shadows of the town were three unstoppable lynxes, dressed in darkened armor. They were nearly invisible, but they could be heard, for Mr. Potter had incredible hearing. He stood from his seat, rising to go to the back of the room, where a small speaking tube was on the wall. He whispered lightly into the rusted tube, “Lucius.” From the other end came nothing but the distorted sounds of a man waking. “Lucius,” Mr. Potter whispered again, “they are here!”
Then a chilling voice came from the speaker, “If they dare enter, they will all be killed. I assure you there will be no survivors, unless a message need be sent to their master.”
“They are close, Lucius,” said Mr. Potter, beginning to shake in fear. “You will be coming down to help me, right?” The door of the house exploded open, and the room was suddenly filled with large cat-like silhouettes. Mr. Potter let out a cry of terror.
SUN VENTURE
The following morning Milo sprung from his bed more energized than usual and aimed his feet in the direction of the window. The air was thick with a sort of moisture he was not familiar with. He could hear the gentle chirping of small sparrows outside his house. Had the weather changed? He stopped his rush briskly though, for what he had hoped was lying on the floor near the window was not there. There was no note from Lyrah. I guess I won’t be seeing her today. But then other thoughts crossed Milo’s mind. Don’t just assume that. There are plenty of other ways we could meet somewhere. I think.
The weather had indeed changed. He visited downtown that afternoon, a dull day for him. Most of the snow had melted away and the remains of a silver rain shower were spread widely over the city. There was no sign of Lyrah at all that day. He went to sleep at an earlier time than usual that night.
Milo dreamt well that night, but briefly. He awoke the next morning with a blank expression, puzzled by his dream. He tried to remember. There was a hallway; a brightly painted, but faded hallway. There were people in there, but I don’t remember who. Only fragments of the images were coming forth from the depths of his mind.
Milo woke, then. What? His eyes hurt, for his vision was blurred by the blinding light coming from the open window. Waking again? The confusion settled, but then a new feeling arose. The dream was not so different than reality; in the dream his window was open and spilling a bright, beautiful sun into his room. When his eyes had focused he noticed that in reality, too, his window was wide open and a great beam of sunlight was sharply coming through. He squinted, and got up from his bed.
Milo was relieved when he saw a note lying beneath the open window. He picked up the note from the ground and looked out his window. The light from the sun was almost unbearable. The note read, GOLDHARBOUR.
-----
Is that her? Distracted, Milo almost slipped on a slippery rock; he was at the top of a large hill, covered in a beautiful layer of fresh grass, wet with dew and rain. Atop the hill was a road that leads down to the rim of Salem, where only a few houses were left there. This part of town was near the bay on the North side, where a dock was built and named Goldharbour. On the side of the road near the bottom of the hill was Lyrah.
When he reached the bottom of the hill, he said “Hello,” and they went on their way. Lyrah wanted to explore deeper into the forest, not just the short Northeast of Goldharbour. The air was not nearly as cold as previous days, and it was calm. The snow had mostly melted away, revealing Salem’s true, old views. They went deep into the forest, traveling further than they had before when they saw the lynx.
“Milo,” said Lyrah, running up to a profoundly old tree. She stopped when she neared the rotting, creaking trunk and turned to Milo. He came forward; previously he had stopped to look at his surroundings. She asked, “Do you ever think the world gets boring?”
Milo, hesitant, responded, “Sort of,” and tried to think of more to say.
“You want to make our own?” asked Lyrah.
“Sure,” Milo tittered, “that sounds fun.”
“Okay,” Lyrah said, hopping up onto the fallen tree, “Where do we start?”
Milo followed, leaping ahead onto a rock up higher. A gust of wind blew theatrically into the scene when Lyrah looked up at him. “Here,” he said. “All of this –it’s ours.”
-----
After exploring for hours, Milo stopped for a second; something up ahead caught his eye. It was some sort of large, stone thing. He walked along the rim of a clearing in the forest, headed towards the stone thing. Lyrah was behind him, walking alone. She had stayed back to examine a flower. “Can you see it better now?” she called.
“No,” he replied, “it’s still far off. Kinda looks like a big wall. What do you think?”
Lyrah said, “I don’t know. I have never been this deep in the forest.”
Milo turned around to her and shrugged, then looked again at the stone thing. “Come on,” he said to her, “I want to see what this is.”
They walked until Lyrah said “We’re getting closer,” and their walking suddenly became a sprint. Before long, they had arrived at a section of the forest where to trees parted. He was right; it was a wall.
The wall was made of dark stone, crafted as meticulously straight as he’d ever seen, and it was overgrown with vines and shrubs. When he stood closer, out of the trees, he saw what he thought was the top of the wall. It’s gigantic. What was most profound about the discovery was the size; the stone wall stood easily over two hundred feet tall.
Milo could feel Lyrah standing beside him. “Milo, look,” said Lyrah. She pointed to an area on the wall, and he understood what she was showing him. Underneath all the plants, vines, and moss, there were large carvings making pictures.
“I can’t believe this,” Milo said, “Lyrah, these must be ages old!”
“Yeah,” she said. She walked closer, right up the wall, and put her hand up to the stone and felt its cold surface. She removed a large patch of moss and vines to reveal a large carving showing men with spears, standing atop a large hill. Milo walked along the wall, looking in amazement at the ancient carvings. He saw one that sort of resembled a small village, another of what looked like hunters, and another of a lion.
“Looks a lot like some of the things around here,” said Lyrah. She, too, was walking along the wall. She saw a carving of some hunters, and she saw one carving that showed two villages in peace with one another. Just as Milo looked over at Lyrah, he saw her gasp.
“What is it?” He asked. She did not speak, out loud nor in her mind. She was standing very still, just looking at the carvings on the great, stone wall; one in particular. It was a carving of a human body, severed and being consumed by grotesque creature. The thing looked taller than a human, although it kept a similar form. Most of the human-like thing was colored a blackish color, but it had various bright colors such as yellows, greens, and blues, running along its body like stripes on a tiger. Its head was also a very peculiar shape, unlike a human head. In its hands were the remains of the human body it was devouring.
“Milo,” Lyrah started, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she pointed to the wall. Milo looked to where she was pointing. On the wall there were hundreds and hundreds of more of the human-like creatures. All the same, black with brightly colored stripes.
-----
Milo and Lyrah had explored the forest for hours. Their negative and despairing thoughts of the wall were being pushed away in their minds; they had decided to not speak much of it and focus more on some happier things. “This world is full of bad things,” Lyrah said. “Let’s try to not think of them.”
I love this. They were quite far from the wall now, and they were exploring a new area of the forest. They were now coming across another clearing in the forest, and his thoughts were fading back into
reality.
Taking the first steps into the clearing, Lyrah slowed down. Milo slowed also, just a step or so behind her. “That’s strange,” said Milo, looking into the clearing, where a large, old, wooden house stood. It was torn and abandoned.
“I wonder what it’s doing here,” said Lyrah.
“Who would live in the forest?” Milo took a step forward, towards the house.
“Do you think there’s someone in there?” Lyrah asked, hesitant to follow him.
“I’m not sure,” replied Milo, looking back at her, and then back to the house, “I kinda want to find out.” He walked forward with a volatile confidence and curiosity. Milo felt a sudden drop of rain. Rain? Following, came more drops. This changed the color of the sky; it dimmed the previous flowing of blue.
Lyrah entered the room, but stopped at the doorway. She saw Milo standing in the center of the room, just standing still, his back to her. His eyes roamed the crooked, old, wooden house with curiosity. He turned to face her again from the back of the room. He looked at her eyes, and then at the scar on her cheek.
“What?” she capriciously asked.
Milo cracked a smile and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, and he took one step forward, turning back and looking around the room again.
“So what do you think?” She asked.
“What, of the house?”
“Yeah,” Lyrah walked forwards towards the beginning steps to a staircase, “I like it.” She put one foot on the wooden, spiral staircase and looked up. Through the sunlight shining through the half-broken windows and the dust soaring about, the rest of the house on the upper floor seemed like an adventure.
Milo stood by her and looked up. Neither of them needed to say anything, they both knew what each other was thinking. Lyrah bolted up the stairs and Milo followed closely behind. The wooden boards creaked and groaned as their audacious feet flew them to the upper floor. They found the spiral staircase to be a bit higher than they had thought it was.
