The Traveler

The charred remains of what was a small fire, tells him that the man he is after, was here only days ago. On one knee, he goes to stirring the burnt remains within the circle of stones and in doing so, tiny bones emerge. Thinking life has come to this, and needing to squash the emptiness in his gut, he looks up in wanting to know where the sun is and seeing it is now on the other side, he lets go of the stick as he stands upon his feet.

Using what is left of the daylight, he picks through the scrub brush for anything that will burn. During his scavenging, a rekindled breeze tells of water being nearby. Arms emptied of what gathered, sets out in finding that source of water.

Along his way, quick hands give a merciful kill. Sling shot put away, he walks over to his kill and after gutting and saving what vital parts he likes, ten steps over is stagnant water thick with lily pads and caring little about this, he does what he can in filling the bladder. Chore completed, once back to camp, preparations are met to where upon the spit, roasts a river rat. Off to the side of his meal, is the full ration of collected swamp water slowly rising to a boil.

Waiting on fruition, dancing in and out of his mind is the young boy telling him how his sister was used as a shield. In his mind, there is one to the gallows, while the other safely into Mother’s arms. Until then, had worse, dances on his tastebuds. Shortly after his meal is consumed, he gives one last look to the stars as sleep comes.

+

Awakening, dawn is still on its way when he goes to crawling out of his bedroll. Slipping on one boot at a time, next is his shirt followed by his duster. Used to the weight of it as the coat feels like a second skin, with a bird chirping, he makes sure nothing is left behind before he sets out on the hard pan.

Traffic that was once a forever thing on this thoroughfare is no longer a problem. Staying to the middle of, the sky is dull of color as the sun has yet to climb over the ridge. Feeling there is truth to be said about the hours marked as the coldest part of the day, reflects on when he sees a two-story roadside inn.

Two coins gives him a room. Neck washed, and other parts, there is a diner on the first floor and drifting down the stairwell, there are candles lit everywhere. At first, he goes to thinking about the gloom of the outside world having everything to do with the lighting but no sooner entering the room full of people talking in another language, from what he sees on their faces, no one looks happy.

Portion paid for, a tap has him looking into the eyes of a boy telling him, “They want to know if you are the Traveler.” There is no hiding his scared face and stringy hair, so he tells the child, “Yes.”

Having his answer, the child leaves him to his meal that has him hearing the hush brush across the room. Halfway knowing, and raising that first spoonful, the warmth is quite tasty. Sadly, the quantity of such goodness is limited, and thinking this is widespread, after his last spoonful, the child pulls on his sleeve.

“Pardon, Sir.”

“What is on your mind?”

“A bad man took my sister.”

At a loss of how to respond, he looks over the child’s face to those sitting at scattered tables.

Grief is all he sees.

Most call him a vigilante. To others, a hero. To him, there is work to be done which brings him back to hearing his footfalls amongst other sounds talking about nature taking back what was truly hers in the first place.

As it is right now, the world is not well.

Sick, he thinks. Veering off such a conclusion, drops his focus to the sky putting on a show. Miles now he has walked and keeping with the steady pulse of his heart, is him on his want of bringing little sister home.

Further on, and just over the length of a mile, and while being in its orbital twist, the world turns to where the natural light comes in strong in announcing another scorching day. Instinctively, his hand goes to adjusting the strap fastened to the filled bladder. Aside his bit of paranoia of double checking its fullness, the warmth feels like a good morning kiss, and in random contrast of, is him dropping to one knee in picking up a rag doll.

Hand stitched, he brushes away the dirt from the button nose and after doing so, stares at the marble eyes staring back. Outside of the bit of dirt, the doll looks fresh as if the child had a hard time of letting go. That considered, careful is his way of putting the doll within his side pouch while all the while thinking this is a good omen.

Moving on, after a long while of having not much to look at, of what changes is the road carving its way through a Poppy field. Though the flower beautiful, he is aware of the dangerous effects of being under the spell of the enchantress. A few close to him has gone that way and with that playing in his head, what comes next is the alchemist taking all that he needs. Pursuing this, right away he gets the feeling that the kid’s sister is a fighter. Mixing the will to live with a drug being known to cause sedation, passive the child would be, and easily managed. Cargo, like a suitcase without a handle, tossed about. Letting the thought pass, the heat of the day has brought forth tar bubbles and caring less of what is gumming up the soles of his boots, keeps to his dreary climb.

+

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The beauty of nature’s landscape has a way of uplifting his walk upon the rise and fall of the road. After several miles of enduring such elegance, he takes notice of a barn that draws his attention to the main house situated up on the hill. The silence between the two has him thinking of a painting, and moving off to what else lie ahead, sees Chick’s gas station.

With its bay door wide open, the oil-stained floor is lacking a vehicle needing servicing which coincides with the missing gas jockey hunkered down in the cubicle centered between the gas pumps. Dwelling on the influences of yesteryear, with Chick’s behind him now, not long after, he finds himself reading the faded, painted letters welcoming him to the town of Reed.

Moving deeper inside the town of Reed, what strikes him is the void of candlelight hung in an inviting way. Troubled that this town is not like the last, finds himself walking by the front of a church.

Looking to its closed doors, thinks of sister in a cage being pulled by a mule for all to see. Certainly, such a demoralizing sight would create a situation of some kind of uprising but thinking the townsfolk have washed their hands of the goings on along the road, the neighboring streets fall to the wayside as the road takes him beyond the town of Reed.

By the time the sun is close to dipping below the snowcapped mountains, hunger starts making a ruckus. It has been a while and keeping steady with his footfalls taking him around a slight bend, up ahead is a forest of old growth and hopefully a meal.

Deep within now and after finding a spot off the road suitable to his liking, he sheds his gear, the pouch holding the rag doll tucked carefully next to the bladder. Friends, he thinks they have become and with that tickling his mind, sets out in looking for prey. His first course is a fat grub worm and ignoring the tree rats scampering above him, much to his liking is the sound of flowing water. Careful in his approach, soon after, his kill is over a slow burning fire and thankful for the meal, the night sky is full of stars. Thinking of sister wishing on one, soon, he thinks.