“Taran. I’m afraid of love.” I felt her hand tremble in mine. “I’m afraid of you.”
We walked to the lake. “There’s a statue in the cave. Of the monsters on the surface. Of a little girl controlling them.”
Alice nodded. “Jessica.”
“So they teach.”
“What do you mean?”
I looked across the lake. “I’m no longer in the caves. I’m on the surface.”
She leaned into me, drew my arm around her waist. “Taran. What are you afraid of?”
What was I afraid of? I didn’t know. I’d never thought about it. I’d never asked myself. I’d always tried to follow what I thought were the rules of life. The way I thought was right.
“Everything’s a lie.”
“No. It’s not.” Her fingers brushed my cheek. “It’s just bigger than you knew.”
“I’m afraid of me. Alice.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t know who I am.”
147 Words
@LurchMunster
This is part 29 in the continuing story I’m working on for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge.(And yes. I know I’m days late getting this one written and posted.)
The entire story, from part 29 to part 1, is located here.
We withdrew from the hills, leaving the building behind, returning to Old Phoenix. “Who was that? Where did he take my mother?”
We returned to Old Phoenix, as the sun was setting. “Follow us!” the cats mewed. They led us to an old warehouse someone had converted into a theater. There were several tables along the East wall. The cats led us to one. “Sit! Sit!”
Before we could act, eagles fell from the sky, their talons and beaks seeking flesh and blood. A pack of wolves raced from behind the building, joining the eagles. And the strange man I’d seen days before was suddenly there. He gently picked up Alice and they were gone, over the hills, into the sun.
The next morning, after we’d eaten, Alice and I took a walk. We left Old Phoenix, and walked beyond the boardwalk, and the houses in the hills. We walked along the edge of the lake.
The old woman smiled. A far younger woman stepped out of her. “I’ll take you to Alice.”
That night, we ate in the church in Old Phoenix. As we ate, I noticed Alice staring at her glass of water, lost in her thoughts. I knew she was afraid of how she felt about me. She’d lost everyone she’d let into her heart.
“Have you learned?” Alice’s voice drifted up to me.
An old dog came through the door and stretched out on the floor beside the old woman, resting his chin between his paws, and I heard a voice, though no one spoke, “Your grandson, is here, Cynthia.”
The man asked the woman, “Did you show him the picture?”
My Soul's Tears 