STORY ARC 6: His Only Solace
His Only Solace Was an Old Hollowed-Out Tree and a Set of Outdated Encyclopedias
The first chapter of a ‘choose your own path’ story.
He carved his heart into the bark of a tree with words not his own…
This is a collaborative web-novel and is the very beginning of this emotionally gripping story about Matt and his hiding place. What will happen next in Matt’s story? Did you know that you can decide?
Please check out this article to find out how you can to contribute to this and other ‘choose your own’ stories in this publication!
SAFE AT LAST —
Refuge. Safety. Relief. Comfort. Asylum. Protection.
The words and thoughts tumbled over one another as he ran to his place of safety — his tree — the old, dead one out in the magnificent woods, which by the way, he wouldn’t ever dare set foot in when it got dark. Too many noises; too scary. But during the day, he went there as often as he could. It still wasn’t often enough to escape the awfulness, the terror. It could never be often enough.
Earlier that day, before he escaped to run to his secret tree with the hole just big enough to stand in, he was at the old broken-down vine-covered cabin near the rushing stream. It wasn’t ever warm inside the cabin, not ever. There were holes everywhere, no windows, bugs all over, and there was even sometimes a stray cat or six that camped inside. They were mostly scraggly and shivering and hungry.
Matt had enough problems of his own without having to worry about hungry stray cats.
But right now he was safe, at least for a while. He leaned against the damp bark, inhaling his favorite smells, revelling in the relief, the immense relief. He sank down slowly, scraping his jacket noisily against the roughened bark, eventually arriving at his sitting destination.
He knew there wasn’t much time, so he savored every second of this reprieve, breathing in, breathing out, relishing the feel of his lungs expanding and contracting.
Just sitting, just breathing.
Settled, he reached into one of his inside jacket pockets and pulled out the well-used black stylus, the kind with the pointy end. He was constantly amazed that this thin piece of plastic hadn’t broken yet, after all, he must have used it at least a thousand times already.
Well, maybe not quite a thousand, but close. He looked around at the inside of his fragrant safe space and let his eyes wander over hundreds of words, carved in the bark, all with Pointer, for that was the name he decided to call his stylus long ago, when he started writing the words.
Pondering, studying, reviewing the words already in place on the inside of the tree, he decided to place the next one underneath ‘Australia’, which was carved in precise letters showing the approximate shape of the continent. Looking intently at the word, he picked a particular spot on the southern shore, right where one of the ‘A’s’ landed.
For you see, the next precious word to be carved with Pointer was going to be ‘Kangaroo.’
He didn’t really know how to draw very well, so he decided to just write the word from left to right instead of making the shape of a kangaroo with the letters. He got right to work, diligently, carefully pressing, lifting, pressing, lifting, carving.
Finished, he slipped the stylus into his jacket pocket, took a moment to look around at the abundant moss and ferns and listened to the birds chirping for their supper, and then began to run back to the old vine-covered cabin in the woods.
THE CABIN JUST BEFORE NIGHT
As Matt approached his unwelcome home, he could hear the babble of the stream along with the happy ribbiting frogs along the banks. Thankfully what he didn’t hear was HIM inside or around the cabin. Sighing with relief, Matt opened the rotted wood door and stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was a dozen stray cats sprawled everywhere, mostly watching him from above and ready to pounce at any sign of danger. He was used to the smell of the cats, but he often wondered how anyone could get used to that smell? At least they kept the rats at bay, there was that anyway.
The next thing he saw was a welcome sight, a set of old encyclopedias stacked in the corner of the smallish room, crowded as it was with cats. These books were his salvation, his only joy, and his well-guarded secret. The leather-bound tomes were stacked at angles almost next to his ratty sleeping mat, in fact, Matt imagined that they were his headboard, soaking into his brain while he was sleeping.
At least he hoped that something would soak in instead of the constant fear.
Looking longingly at the pile, he knew that there was no more time to pull the next one off the pile and peruse it carefully. Because HE would be here any time since it was already dusk and HE ALWAYS came at dark. HE demanded certain perfections from Matt which if he didn’t comply came with grave consequences.
He obediently sat down in just the right place and waited. It wasn’t long before he could hear the diesel truck coming up the driveway, he knew that sound like he knew his own name.
Matt closed his eyes, curled up tight, trembling, and waited for the inevitable.
You decide what happens next…why not write the next chapter using one of these prompts or from your own idea?
1. HE comes through the door angry and drunk, what does HE do when HE sees Matt? 2. HE drives up, stops the truck and leaves without coming into the cabin, what does Matt do? 3. Matt begins to cry and HE comes in the door and sees him crying, what happens?
