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My Story Untold

By @Venice_Loveland

Belonging

I come to a stop beside the creek. My breath fogs the chilly evening air, but I could care less. The sight of it all amazes me. I close my eyes and hear the snippy chirps of the birds broken conversations, the tinkling of the water swishing and swaying, onward moving. I open my eyes, tilt my head back and heave a sigh. The leaving light filters through the small green leaves, casting soft shadows over the graveled ground. The tree on the other side of the creek bed fans, trunks splaying their offspring to shelter the rocks and living water below. My heart is in utter peace. My head in simply clarity. And I can’t help but think to myself,

This is where I belong. I don’t know how and I don’t know why; but I belong.

The path almost seemingly stretches stretched out on in front of me and I know with no doubt in my soul that that is where I must go. I follow the cracking pavement and find a small and unused path leading down to the stream. A fallen tree trunk- which looks almost cleanly cut so it might not have truly fallen- is laid bare across the stream of water, asking for those who dare to try and cross. I saddle up my courage and take a breath for myself, saying, I can do this. I can do this. I straddle myself on the tree and begin to slowly inch forward, lifting my body with my arms and setting myself down a worms mile. I take short, incoming breaths as what feels like hours later, I jump off the end. Ahead of me is a small tree stump, what I suspect used to ground the unfortunate tree. The light is holding on by a thread and i can clearly see the moon glowing to its peak. The whispers of the river lulling me on, telling me to continue the path I now see. Old yellow and orange leaves crunch beneath my tennis shoes, looking drabby and dull compared to the neon colors adorning my footwear. The trees are close enough to touch, the bark getting darker and looking far more worn as I take each step. Something inside me stirs and I feel as if I’ve been here before. I silently dismiss the thought, but still walk on. I look up and the canopy has changed. The light that had remained only minutes before is dead, waiting for the moon to steal it’s golden glory. Not looking where I’m walking, I trip over something, catching myself before I fall. Arms outstretched and breathing ragged, I look around to see what I could have possibly tripped on. There is nothing but leaves and soil.

So I must be spectacular if I can trip on air. I smile to myself, the bitter joke sort of funny. Suddenly a branch snaps behind me, and I whirl around, heart pounding in my chest. A tall man in fine black clothes looks down at me, his periwinkle eyes widening in what must have been shock as he looked at me. I stare right back, taking in the silk, but well fitting uniform.

But why would any uniform be black? And why on earth would anyone wear silk in a forest in 2018!?

I distinctly remember him saying something softly beneath his breath. It almost sound like,” just my luck to find you here.” But before I could ask him a single one of my ever growing list of questions, he looked at me and said one word that turned my whole life around. Just one word.

“Amalary.”

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