I remember a bed. Slowly waking up from a deep, heavy sleep, so deep and heavy I thought I would drown in it, die in it, never wake up from it.
But I did.
I tried to remember – I had to remember… something. Important – but it was already gone, as such dreams usually are.
I remember it was a poor apartment, the mattress sat on the floor, and the floor wasn’t entirely solid. If you’ve lived in a poor apartment, you know.
The light was blinding – I’d forgotten to close the curtains the night before. The pain of the light helped wake me up. I remember I had nowhere else to go that day, but I couldn’t stay where I was. The air inside was heavy and I had to go, now. I had to leave. I had to get out, now.
The cheap carpet stung my feet and I didn’t even eat before I left, a comfortable pair of shoes, a light jacket – I had to leave, now, I had to go, outside, now.
At least the air outside didn’t get stuck in my throat.
The world held its breath as my eyes adjusted – it was early. Too early for any cars on the road, too quiet for even birds to be fully awake, still waking up themselves, too early for the sky to remember its blue.
I can’t remember if I had anywhere particular to go that day, I just needed to be… out. I just needed to… go, I needed to go, now, I needed—
I walked.
I wasn’t going anywhere, just walking.
The old cracked sidewalk was welcome in its familiarity – I knew where to step so I wouldn’t twist my ankle on the crumbling concrete, take a bigger step over a rough patch or an abandoned slope to a driveway for a long-torn-down house. I always wondered what stories happened in houses I’d never see, especially once they were no longer here. How many worlds came and went in families I’d never meet?
I’d never know.
There was an undeveloped woodlot a couple of streets away that had its own stories—stories of picnics and skipping school and hearts on trees, stories of decades and centuries and wars unknown to history. I liked to visit here before anyone else was awake, and dream of them.
It wasn’t exactly wild anymore, this deep into where humans kept growing their habitat, and it wasn’t a park, but it was quiet. This early in the day, cool, and still in that short time before the people of the day woke up and the people of the night went to bed.
From the signs, I knew it would be a gas station soon, or maybe a strip mall with a dollar store and cheap fast food and cheaper liquor, or maybe a cheap business lot that would get abandoned before it made back the investment money, or maybe cheap condos that would just burn down after a few years for the insurance payout.
But right now it was still alive, a quiet place for anyone who wanted more time with quiet time and peaceful things.
I’d never seen anyone else here.
Not long past stepping off the broken sidewalk and pushing through the neglected underbrush, the trees seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky, the outside world muffled to silence behind me in a way that made me feel small again, but safe. A soft, earthy breath cleaned my lungs in a way the dissolving asphalt and exhaust-coated street never could.
The under-crunch of leaves and twigs set a quiet rhythm as I made my way deeper through the familiar trees. They were thick together, wild, greedy leaves only letting slip small specks of light to the ground. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d explored this woodlot since I was a child; every tree was familiar to me, a friend.
And then, I saw it.
A glint of… something, on the ground, at the base of an old tree almost hidden by old leaves and older roots.
The way it caught the light was c3RyYW5nZQ==—it wasn’t trash. Here? Nobody came here.
A rush of hot anger colored my vision as I crouched to clear the leaves away. This place would soon be nothing, and even here, someone dared to infect even this place with their trash?
The rest of the world faded into the background as I examined the b2JqZWN0 closely. It was small, covered with patterns that—I couldn't tell if they were naturally formed or intricately carved. It wasn’t like anything I had seen before.
It wasn’t trash, I think, or art, but it definitely wasn’t natural either.
I didn’t notice the faint light it cast on my fingers until I picked it up. It was heavy. Why was it so heavy?
I remember that confused me.
It was strangely warm as I reached down to dig it out of the loose soil, despite the coolness of the early morning. Why was it so warm?
The air around me seemed to vibrate with a low, almost imperceptible hum.
It was embedded in old roots—clearly, it had been here for a long, long time. How old was it?
The colors kept shifting across its surface. The patterns moved with the sky in the night. The sun felt so—
It was so loud in the quiet.
It was looking for—
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