Around the Globe

Written as a contest entry, using a photo provided by the website.

Let’s go to a place

Where the grass is green

And the clouds don’t fade

Let’s go around the globe.

 

Let’s go to a land

Where the moon watches you

Watches us

Let’s go around the globe.

 

Let’s go to a kingdom

Where the king got bored

And left without packing

Let’s go around the globe.

 

Let’s go around the globe

To great destinations

Where dreams become reality

Let’s go around the globe.

 

 

 

Chapter one and only: Let’s go

 

There is something warm on your cheek while you are lying. It feels soft and lukewarm, just as comforting as a dead grandmother’s palm. Your eyes open wide, focusing on your surroundings with the intensity of a feline. Above you, there seems to be a ring of shrubbery. White clouds mask the sky in the distance, and you become aware of the prickly feeling of grass on your bare skin.

 

You slowly sit up. You find that your arms are having trouble supporting you. You certainly haven’t been this heavy, or this weak before. Then you begin to wonder… what was before this?

 

Your entire body is bare. You cry out a little, covering your chest with your arms and clamping your legs shut. That is when you notice the thick, black threads coming out of the backs of your hands. Another black line catches your eyes; this one is on your hip. There are more on your shoulders, and your elbows… there is even one in your long hair, leading from the top of your head. Panicking slightly, you begin tugging on one of them. Why won’t it come out? you ask yourself. Of course, you don’t have the answer.

 

You notice that there is more ground on the other side of this circular plant that you are hiding in. You are wary of where these strings lead, but you know you cannot stay here. Your fingers grab onto the hedge, helping you climb to your feet. There is indeed more around you; a whole maze, it seems. You are the centerpiece in a large, round arena of plants. In the distance, you see the dark violet silhouette of a tall, thin castle. The air is so dusty… you can hardly see that far. You decide then and there that you must go to the fortress.

 

The dark wires snatch your attention. They are spread around your hiding place in a large sun pattern, as twisted as spider legs, scattered to the four winds, and all severed before ten feet. A glint catches the corner of your vision like a sharp fishhook, and you turn in that direction. There is something metal over there.

 

Now that you know how to stand, you infer that you can walk. Once you come outside, however, you pitch forward and slam into the ground. A groan drags from your throat as your hip collides with what feels like a knife. You look down and see that it is only a pebble of some sort, and you are lying on a sandy stone path. All around you, the only interruption in the golden earth is the islands of plants.

 

You climb to your feet and make for the metal object you saw. Your bare soles make an audible noise as they slap against the roughly-fitted tiles. The air hitting your body makes you shiver and hug yourself; it is stagnant and piercing. You must find something to wear.

 

At your feet lies a pair of silver scissors. You have never seen them before in your life, but somehow you know what they are. Your knees make an effort to bend so you can scoop them into your hand. Once you have them, you know what you must do. You lift your other hand and glare at the fat wire. Then you cut its throat. You must be careful, though; you don’t want to cut your skin, but you also don’t want to have an inch of this strange thread sticking out. You could poke your eye out!

 

Now you switch your hands on the scissors. It is much more difficult to do this with your left hand. You accidentally cut yourself this time, but the thread is cloth and it soaks up the small trickle of blood like a thirsty beast. Your lips curl in a disgusted sneer as you turn to the one on your elbow. After the tedious chore of cutting each string is passed, you inspect the black holes on your body. Your brow knits together with worry. How strange this will look, you think. You assume that there is paint in the area which you could use to mask the foreign circles, but you don’t know why.

 

Goosebumps ripple up and down your arms. The little hairs on your unshaven legs bristle at the chill surrounding you. Surely you can take the time to find clothing [i]before[/i] you venture into the castle.

 

The maze is intricate and it feels alive around you. The walls shiver when you aren’t looking, you know it! You are afraid to touch one. There are no leaves on the ground, no trees anywhere in sight. Only shrubs and bushes surround you, sliced into detailed figures and pillars. Your knees are weak, and you trip over yourself as you walk. Somehow you manage to stay on your feet… that is, until now. Your foot catches on a bump in the walkway, and you topple to the side and into a wall. The plant feels so strange that your skin is alive with alarms, and your brain is numb and frightened. You stumble away from it, horror tingling in your mouth, and look at it incredulously. That plant is fake! You didn’t see before because to your eyes, it looks as natural as the skin on your arm.

 

You hurry as much as your limp muscles will allow. There must be something around here that you can wear. Your hair keeps flopping in the way, as well. You make a sudden turn away from a dead end, and then you feel yourself smile. There is a random assortment of multi-colored vanities. Their mirrors reflect your naked curves from every angle, but you are not looking. Your eyes are on the pile of crumpled dresses and outfits. None of these things look like anything you would wear on a normal day, but that doesn’t matter to you. You fall to your knees on top of bright green fabric. It feels scratchy, yet soft on your shivering skin. You ruffle through the clothes, your grin eager. Then you find your dress.

 

Its rippling skirt is thick and layered, like a tulip’s soft, dying petals. Each piece of thin, transparent cloth was pale pink, so aged as to feel old and dusty in your fingers. There is a large bundle of cloth that looks like a bow resting at the base of the back. You run your fingers over the sequins and beads that cover the strapless top. It is perfect. You undo the trio of clasps running down the back and step into it. It hugs your body, more comforting than a lover’s embrace. With a happy sigh, you look around for something to hold back the hanging mess of your hair. You limp past each of the vanities, inspecting the jewelry and makeup that decorates each. At one, there is a small basket filled with ties. You pull out a pale magenta ribbon and then start to look for a brush.

 

Once you have successfully pulled back the bothersome strands of your brown hair, you wonder about shoes. Do they matter? Are there any here? Perhaps there will be a point when you will want them, for instance, if you were to happen upon a hall filled with glass shards. You begin to search for something nice and flat and comfortable; you are still trying to walk correctly, and still having difficulty. It occurs to you that the clothes might be hiding some shoes. You go to them, push them aside, and find what you are looking for.

 

They are ballerina slippers with long, fat ribbons. They are similar to your dress in color, though a little redder. You twist them around your legs, tying a nice, sturdy bow above your knee, and stand. Your hands smooth over the shape of your body, sweetly caressed by the dress. How wonderful. You are pleased with yourself until your eyes fall on the harsh black spots still present on your skin. Your mouth twists into a scowl as you turn your head, and then you see the makeup. Of course! You move to one of the vanities, tripping over the front of your dress as you go, and start to sift through the powders and gels for one that matches your skin tone. The best you can find is several shades greyer than your hand, but that’s OK. Nobody will be looking at your hands, most likely. You rub the makeup onto your skin, hardly caring if it looks neat. Just so long as you cannot see the black, you are fine.

 

Now you can go to the castle. You turn around in a circle, looking for its silhouette above the hedge-line. You can’t quite remember where it was… perhaps if you go back where you came from. Then you can’t remember that either. Gnawing your lip in angst, you decide to pick a random path and take it. For some reason you don’t think you can get all that lost in here.

 

Your dress likes to slip under your feet and scare you half to death. After a few minutes of this frustrating problem, you bend and grab the front end of your skirt. Who will care if you carry it as you walk? Your slippers make a soft pattering sound on the tiles as you scurry clumsily through the path you have chosen. You smell something faintly sweet, like honeysuckles, and it draws your attention. You probably wouldn’t have turned down this hall if it weren’t for that scent.

 

Before you, there is a small courtyard full of bushes and plants. There are tiny red flowers decorating some of them, but your eyes are elsewhere. There are trees on the other side of this area, tall and skinny like poles, and past them stands the castle. It is even more beautiful than you remember; the windows appear green now that you are closer. You can count all the openings on each tower. With excitement bubbling in your blood, you begin to rush forward. The palace is not far away at all!

 

You push past the topiaries that seem to reach out for you; they can’t have you. At your feet lies a field of great rolling hills, all covered in vibrant green grass. You look past them and see the grand entrance of the castle. I can get there, you think. It will be easy. You peer through the dusty air and begin to wonder if it looks glittery. It feels like there is a thin mist dangling in the air, dampening your skin and making you cold. You become glad that the dress covers most of your body. If only it had sleeves… You look down at your shoulder and see a small sparkle. It looks like the sun is fading. It is getting dark, and now it feels like it might be raining. With a deep frown, you stare up at the sun. It is straight above you, like a light bulb! You remember that it was in the same place when first you saw it. It hasn’t moved a bit! The sky is only darkening. You notice that the clouds aren’t dark and heavy as rainclouds should be; they form a dome above you. The sky is painted on. With fear in your throat, you lift your eyes to the sun. It is beginning to fade to white.

 

Now you are panicking. You have to get to the castle. You start to run down the hill before you, trying not to slip on the slick grass. You fall once and hear a tear in the gentle fabric covering your behind. You can feel the mud trying to devour your feet. This is going all wrong.

 

You dash to your feet and start to race through the mounds of earth. Time is of the essence! The front of your dress is bundled in your arms; you hug it to your heart as you run. It’s so hard not to fall when every other second kicks you in the back of the knees. Finally you reach the stony entrance to the castle. The moisture on your cheeks streaks with tears of happiness.

 

Now you can figure out what is happening to you. Surely there will be someone inside who can help you. What castle does not have royalty? You nearly fall as you come forward; there is still mud on your shoes. You feel the back of your dress dragging on the marble floor, probably with the same ailment. It is a shame that such a beautiful dress has become so dirty.

 

There is only one door that you can see, and it is small. Quite unlike what you envisioned; it should be tall and magnificent. It is only a few inches taller than your head. You lift a hand to touch the red wood, and when contact is made you feel the same as when you stumbled into the plant maze’s wall. A shudder rolls down your spine as you grab the door’s handle and pull it open. You don’t want to touch anything else in this place.

 

The floor is covered in an intricate tile, with white patterns twisting to and fro. The tiniest of staircases stares at you, its twisting body hidden by the room it leads to. There must be a window at the top; blue light tumbles down the steps. The swirling metal railing has its arms open to you, and also seems to be gesturing to the open door to the left. You begin to go forward, curious of this inviting room, and glance around at the aging walls. They are deep crimson, with many shades of black staining them. You are glad that a place this beautiful has survived long enough for you to see it.

 

Once you go through the door, you begin to feel strange. A ballroom reaches ahead of you, its elegant and knobby frame glaring down at you. The pair of chandeliers looks heavy and sparkly. You veer to the right to avoid their shadows, glancing at yourself in the tall mirror on the wall. There is a streak of mud marking your jaw. You wipe it off and peer into the darkness ahead; the only light is the same faint moonlight you saw on the stairs.

 

At the other end of this long room, there appears to be some sort of structure. You tip-toe towards it, careful not to slip on the shiny floor, and stop once you are covered in the thing’s shadow. Your head lifts and your eyes try to pierce the darkness. You find that it is kind of like a stage; you can climb up onto it if you are careful. There is the horrid sound of your fragile dress catching on something, and you can feel it ripping. With a pout, you grab hold of your skirt and put it in its rightful place: behind your feet. Now, to inspect this platform.

 

The floor is made of neat wood. There are faint stains and scratches in some places, but they have been tenderly taken care of. You move forward, your nose nearly to the ground, in the hopes of finding something interesting. Then, you do.

 

You run into a thick curtain. Its heavy cloth is like a gentle push, but on your face. You smile and run your hands over it, feeling for the split so you can push them apart. They resist your touch, as if they do not want to move, but you are determined. Finally you find the opening. Both of your hands grab one side of the curtain, and you run with it to the side of the small theatre, constantly tripping over the inner folds of your dress as you do. You don’t mind; you are too eager to see what is behind these drapes.

 

Now you peer around the drooping folds of cloth. Though you want to see, you are cautious. If anything is going to jump out at you, it will be here.

 

There are several pairs of shiny dots floating in there, reflecting the little light there is in the room. You creep forward to investigate, careful not to step on any of the extravagant clothes that decorate the stage floor. You come across a shattered mirror, and your fractured face stares back up at you. A little tremor runs down your spine and makes you nervous. You move toward something that can support you, and it ends up being very unstable itself. It swings and bumps against you, making you back away and stare up at it in fear. You can hear ropes creaking somewhere up above. Your eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness, and now you see that what you have bumped into is a man’s body suspended in the air. With a squeak, you fall back and scramble to get off the stage. You don’t want to be here anymore. It’s too frightening, and you have no idea what’s going on. You begin to wonder just where you are, and how you will get out.

 

The sound of the hanging man’s swing becomes loud and frantic, like he is trying to move. You are curled up against the front end of the miniature theatre, hugging your legs and hiding from the unfamiliar figure. You don’t know if you should look back or try and sneak away. Then you think of how scary it would be to find yourself hanging off the ground in a dark place. Your teeth gnaw on your lip as you peer over the edge of the stage.

 

The dark silhouette of an arm waves in your direction. You see the flashing eyes of the man as they blink; you can almost hear his throat trying to make a sound at you. Cautious as a cat, you crawl back up and edge closer to him. Your eyes search for some way that you can help him down. Through the shadows of the secret backstage, you see a shining suit of armor. It is leaning crookedly against the back wall, with its sword loosely clasped below one hand. You climb up to peer into his slotted mask, with curiosity burning a hole in your stomach. Is it empty inside? You stand on the dirty tips of your toes, and you catch sight of a shadowed face. You fall back with a peep of fear as your hand snatches the sword from its perch.

 

It rips violently apart, throwing you back into a forest of hanging bodies. You gasp and stare up at the slanted shadows as they surround you; legs and arms and groping, lifeless hands crowding you. Their dingy clothes crackle as they brush up against you. You hold the heavy sword in your arms, cradled like a sharp child as you move through the puppet people. You must find the main rope that is suspending the man you are helping. You see it in the darkness above his receding hairline, and your arms raise the sword in preparation. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment you are flooded with the confusion he feels. Don’t worry, you think in his direction as you swing the blade in an arc.

 

The sound of the strings snapping under the sharp edge of the weapon is like music to your ears. You try to help him as he crumbles, and once you are supporting him you realize that he is short. There is a wide ring of white fluff circling his neck, resting on his collar like a tired cat. His chest heaves as he struggles to stand on his own. You shake your head and start to lead him from the stage. After a moment of stumbling, he just leans on you. You know he doesn’t know what’s going on, and that he is probably happy to have help.

 

As you guide him across the ballroom, you glance down to look at his clothes. They are a random array of crimson patterns and bold gold lining. The wet moonlight that shines from a hidden window illuminates a white paper pinned to the front of his tunic. He tries to block your curiosity by putting his hand over it, but you push it away. The page’s corners are aged, as if they have been curled with endless days of the same color sunshine.[i] “To be or not to be,”[/i] it says in heavily detailed calligraphy. You tighten your grip on him so you can get a better look at the words. What do they mean?

 

Your new companion is trying to speak to you. You watch his lips attempt to form words, soundlessly molding the syllables beyond your hearing. You frown and shake your head sadly; he reacts with a huff and begins to pat down his pockets. His knuckles are shaking, sifting through the folds of his trousers until he produces a shadow. He lifts it to the note on his chest and starts making marks �" you realize that it is a feather-pen in his hand. His struggling only heightens your anticipation, until finally he looks up at you. His pointed moustache and goatee fit mysteriously with his crystal blue eyes.

 

His hands bloom to show you the scribbles he has made to communicate with you. “Dwarbken sanjo ackitoe?”

 

Your brow furrows in confusion. What is that supposed to mean? Your eyes lift to his face and you raise an eyebrow at him. You watch as he frowns and looks over his note. It seems to make sense to him; he offers it to you again. The letters he has written all twist and writhe on the paper. You roll your eyes in frustration and start to pull him forward. It seems the only thing you can do is help him along. You yourself are still having problems keeping your feet under you. It is only made more evident with the added weight of the man hanging off your arm. You didn’t take the time to sever the strings to the skin, so now they trail behind him and twist around his ankles.

 

Almost a moment later, you find that you are standing at the top of the stairs outside, in front of the castle. The moonlight glitters on the stone steps as you descend. The puppet man is getting a little better at being something other than dead weight in your embrace. His padded slippers, you see now, are the same color as his rusty red trousers. He looks like a theatre man, too dainty to be dangled on a string. You feel sorry for him, just as you feel sorry for yourself; you don’t know how you will get out of this strange place. Where does the sky end? Where is a portal out of here?

 

Your attention is drawn by your friend’s hand, tugging like a puppy on a strand of your hair. He is staring above you, his mouth slightly agape. Thick beams of the moon’s light lead to the center of the sky. Where the sun was long ago, there is now a white circle with a dark pupil. You watch in horror as the eye-moon blinks heavy lids; there is a small sound as the eyelashes hit the air. It swivels around, staring down on the land, and you decide that you must not be seen. You don’t know what it would mean, but it can’t be good.

 

Hand grabbing the man’s arm, you pull him into the shadow of the tall trees nearby. You peer around them, pressed against their thin trunks, to see the green hills you had to run through before. There is the dark streak where you fell in the mud. Your eyes move back and forth, trying to seek out some place where you can sneak to the other side. There must be somewhere you can hide. You see a row of bushes nearby, leading to the maze on the other side of this meadow. That is your ticket to safety.

 

You nod toward your destination to catch the poet’s attention, and then you are off. A streak through the grass, you are hidden on the far side of the bush row in no time at all. You breathe a little sigh of relief and start to creep forward, checking to see that your friend is following. He is, in an awkward crouch that suggests he doesn’t want to get his clothes dirty. You giggle softly at him, earning a bewildered look, and move ahead.

 

Through the thin branches of the plant, you can see the glistening of the dew-sprinkled grass under the moon’s gaze. You become distracted by its beauty, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that there is a hill you didn’t see before. Your hand moves down it before your body does, but you are too shocked by it to catch yourself. You tumble forward, rolling down the hill and losing yourself in the folds of your skirt.

 

Almost instantly, the eye turns to you. You watch the light race toward you in horror, and then a hand grabs your arm. The shade of a topiary plant protects you from the damning light. You look up in confusion, only to see that it is the man who has saved you. He winks at you, his moustache twitching with his smile, and motions for you to lead the way. With a smile, you oblige.

 

The maze’s familiar walls reach high above you. You don’t want your new friend to feel the strangeness like you did, so you point to the plant and insist with your expression that he must not touch it. His eyes widen a little, like those of a child frightened by a wise man’s tale, and nods his head. You smile proudly; you are turning out to be a better leader than you hoped for.

 

You focus your attention on the task at hand. You must find a way out of here. With the way the sky appears to be, you think that there must be a wall you can reach, if you only keep walking. As you begin to navigate through the halls, your eyes search for any clues that could point you in the right direction. Perhaps there will be an arrow somewhere, pointing one way or another. You are holding hands with the man you found; it only seems right. He is beginning to catch on to the act of using his legs. You glance at him once or twice and notice that his knees are no longer wobbly. He looks back at you, catches you staring, and you turn away in embarrassment.

 

A faint glimmer catches your eye, not because it is silver, but because it is gold. Your curiosity spikes as you start toward the lights; they are just beyond this corner! Once you see, you are not disappointed.

 

Small, glowing birds form a hovering cloud of beating wings. They flit past each other, tweeting merrily as they pass the plants by. Their feathers, you see as you come closer, are sparkling gold. You feel the man’s hand tighten around yours. When you look at him, you see that he is very much as amazed as you are. Smiling broadly, you begin to pull him alongside the singing birds. They don’t shy away from you; in fact they seem to enjoy your company. You feel your face light up with glee as you follow the lit path. These tiny creatures must be guiding the way.

 

Within a few short turns, you can stop. The birds fly away in a small flourish, opening to display the wall of the globe. You can do nothing but stare at it for a second. It is painted as if it were just another wall to the maze, except there is a door. Your heart rises in your throat; do you dare go through?

 

Your companion steps up beside you, his hand strong in yours. You turn to him and see a small smile on his lips, and a twinkle in his eye. Your confidence rises like a kite on a hot wind. A single step parts you and that door, and soon there are none. Your hand grabs its knob, gives it a good turn, and then pulls. You move away as a cold rush of dark air hits you in the face. You cower against the man’s chest, and he holds you. Both your eyes are staring straight into the blackness of the open doorway.

 

Then you enter.

 

The End. 

Author's Note

It is written in second person.

Reviews

[Alexus Shanae]

Second person talent!
I was realed in right away, engrossed with what was happening, at times feeling i was there. very good, i give you thumbs up!