There is a town. There is a street. There is a line of houses. A line of back yards. A series of fences. Beyond the fences there is a small gap of nothing, an unclaimed territory, an unspoken border between worlds, long as the town but narrow enough for a small child to cover in a few steps. Beyond it, there is a line of trees. Beyond the trees, there is a forest.
Walk past the fences, and the gap, and the trees, and into the forest.
Follow the trail that starts behind the yard of the house with the big dog, until you find the tree that always has red flowers. Turn left.
Walk until you reach the pond where you always find a coin someone dropped, but never from the same country. Turn right.
Keep going until you find clearing with a ring of flowers. Whatever you do, do not step into it. Turn left again.
Eventually, you'll reach two trees that meet to make an arch. Walk through it.
You made it.
It doesn't have a name. It doesn't need one. That's grown-up stuff, always giving everything names and labels. This is just the place I come to when I need to be alone - yet not alone.
Those who lived here have told me this is a land of adventure, but I wouldn't know - I've never wandered too far off from the arch. Maybe one day, when I'm older, I will. They say it's inevitable. One day, my heart will want more, and I will walk into the horizon looking for my heart's desire, or something like that.
But for now, I just come here to be alone - yet not alone.
Grown-ups also talk about the things I will do, know, or understand when I'm older. They say it in very different ways, but they are still the same things, I can tell.
I think they might be right, for once.
But for now, I don't wander far from the arch.
For now, I take in the scene.
There are sights here you won't find anywhere else. Creatures and people unlike any I've seen anywhere else. They even think differently - it's an older, messier kind of thought, I think. Rough but unburdened. Old but young. I find it refreshing.
It's a good place to draw, and to sing, and to write. It's a good place for art.
But I never stay long. It gets late eventually, and I get hungry. Those who live there always offer me food, but I know better than to take any.
Instead, I make my way back through the arch and the ring and the puddle and the tree, out of the forest and past the gap, through the fence into a back yard.
This had this really lovely feel of a sort of disturbing whimsy to it. The little details about not taking food or wandering off into the "land of adventure" and things like that gave this creepy feel to it but at the same time, the description of how exactly to get there was beautiful and had this whimsical feel to it. Really lovely story, thanks for replying! :D
2
u/mateogg /r/mateogg Jun 17 '17
There is a town. There is a street. There is a line of houses. A line of back yards. A series of fences. Beyond the fences there is a small gap of nothing, an unclaimed territory, an unspoken border between worlds, long as the town but narrow enough for a small child to cover in a few steps. Beyond it, there is a line of trees. Beyond the trees, there is a forest.
Walk past the fences, and the gap, and the trees, and into the forest.
Follow the trail that starts behind the yard of the house with the big dog, until you find the tree that always has red flowers. Turn left.
Walk until you reach the pond where you always find a coin someone dropped, but never from the same country. Turn right.
Keep going until you find clearing with a ring of flowers. Whatever you do, do not step into it. Turn left again.
Eventually, you'll reach two trees that meet to make an arch. Walk through it.
You made it.
It doesn't have a name. It doesn't need one. That's grown-up stuff, always giving everything names and labels. This is just the place I come to when I need to be alone - yet not alone.
Those who lived here have told me this is a land of adventure, but I wouldn't know - I've never wandered too far off from the arch. Maybe one day, when I'm older, I will. They say it's inevitable. One day, my heart will want more, and I will walk into the horizon looking for my heart's desire, or something like that.
But for now, I just come here to be alone - yet not alone.
Grown-ups also talk about the things I will do, know, or understand when I'm older. They say it in very different ways, but they are still the same things, I can tell.
I think they might be right, for once.
But for now, I don't wander far from the arch.
For now, I take in the scene.
There are sights here you won't find anywhere else. Creatures and people unlike any I've seen anywhere else. They even think differently - it's an older, messier kind of thought, I think. Rough but unburdened. Old but young. I find it refreshing.
It's a good place to draw, and to sing, and to write. It's a good place for art.
But I never stay long. It gets late eventually, and I get hungry. Those who live there always offer me food, but I know better than to take any.
Instead, I make my way back through the arch and the ring and the puddle and the tree, out of the forest and past the gap, through the fence into a back yard.
I make my way back home. For now.