001

She has been there for too long.

God knows she’s been out there.

God knows she’s tried every route and root that penetrated the cracks in the cold stone walls. Regardless of how many times she’s been waylaid or how many times she has hesitated because of how familiar the passageways have become, it is not her fault she’s lost her path. Getting lost never appears in a sudden and remarkable turn of events; you cannot pinpoint the exact moment you lost track of where you were going. It is gradual; it sneaks up on you. You cannot foresee it, because the castle was not built for you.

Only now is she frantic. Only now is the sweat beginning to gather in a thin layer, invisible, yet palpable. Losing yourself never appears in a sudden and remarkable turn of events; you follow every sign you can find, but even the way back eludes you. The ground plan of what was once a familiar home has turned into an arabesque. The hallways coil inward. The air churns inexplicably. You would give your heart to escape and go back, but it is not your choice. You are powerless and no matter how many of the hanging roots and vines you mark in your memory, no matter how many flagstone shapes and outlines you become able of discerning, you will remain lost.

A long-tailed magpie flew in a flutter into the hallway where she had sat down in exhaustion; she had leaned against one of the few walls that remained solidly upright instead of curving towards the floor. These arched hallway walls invoked inside of her an acute feeling of claustrophobia, as though she were at the foot of a petrified wave enclosing in slow-motion. She couldn’t bring her attention to the magpie immediately, but as it settled upon one of the more slender roots that protruded through the decaying stone of the wall across her, she raised her head to look at it. The magpie was mute, yet it still spoke to her. It hopped up and down the hairy wooden root and cocked its small black head to each side in accordance to its hop. She didn’t know where it had come from, but she was too exhausted to be confused.

“Set it on fire,” spoke the magpie. She blinked, and then gazed dully at the bird. “Set it on fire?” she repeated, quizzically. The magpie did not wait. It left with the same rapidity it had upon arrival, perhaps even more quickly. She could feel the suddenness of it this time and it felt like a dream, the fatigue creeping through the walls of her head, as well as along the still-curving walls of the hall. In the palm of her hand she held now a single lit candle. A soft halo surrounded the central flame, but it was hardly warm and the tallow seemed to almost not melt at all. She must have been dreaming. The candle’s materialization had been as surreptitious as the magpie’s origin, and equally sinister. “Set it on fire.”

Would you have continued the tortuous trek? Would you have, even with the candle’s seeming permanence and illumination, continued to search for the way out? There was no way out she could search for, but merely the promise of one, which was what she has only now realised. You cannot straighten stone; it may only mould itself and at that very moment it was bending around her in a formless and engulfing embrace. As she sank further into her dream, the walls of the castle changed more drastically and rapidly, the roots interlocking into thick paisley. Would you not have let it burn?

Would you tell me that you would have tried harder? Would you tell me you’d try to go out there, because you’d be stronger?

God knows she’s tried. God knows she’s been out there.

Reviews

[mikl paul]

i really enjoy this. would you be willing to let us include it in a short story collection we are publishing? we aren't able to pay authors, because we are just starting, but we cover the prince of print and it will be available on about 20 different sites. here is our website if you'd like to take a look and officially submit. www.oliviaedenpublishing.com