Brandon, this one is for you

After toiling through 26 fruitless pages, I decided to start my latest story all over again. (see previous post "road block") And, at Brandon's request, I'm posting my first page of the new stuff here, because he wants to read it and for some reason none of my emails to him are showing up! So, indulge me if you will, and if you've got a moment, drop me a line and tell me what you think.


Chapter One

My fingers scraped painfully on the stone as I worked with anxious energy to twist the rusted lock from its catch. It was cold; many of the neglected stones had fallen away from the walls, and tiny shafts of half-light filtered through the cracks left bare. Though I was thankful for the weak light, it brought with it the chill. I didn’t care much—I knew that there would be no other place I could rest, no other place to feel safe, than the room beyond this heavy door with its rusted iron inlay. This great door had been beautiful once, but like so many things, time’s slow decay had left it ruined. Still, it stubbornly kept its duty, like a weathered soldier wearily using the last of its strength to bar me from passing.

I bloodied my knuckles, but finally the lock fell away and I earnestly pushed my shoulder against the solid weight of the door, and it creaked open with a scraping sigh, as if the soldier had fallen and had passed from this life to the next. It was of no consequence to me. The door had served well, but the place it kept had long ago been forgotten. It was no longer required to protect it so mightily.

I should have better prepared myself. I knew that since the fire, this wing had fallen into disrepair, but my mind had still faithfully preserved it as it once was—a warm place, with billowing gauze curtains and colorful toys. As I stood in that dark doorway, those memories slipped away. All that remained of the high raftered ceilings and thick, protective walls were skeletal braces and scorched, blackened stones. The roofing had caved in on one side, letting in starlight and snow. It had gathered in the corners and drifted on the floor, thick and white and eerily shadowed where there had once been crimson carpet glittering with sunshine-patterns.

The fireplace was the only fixture that remained largely unchanged. The chimney stood stalwart, shooting up straight and tall through sagging eaves. I stood for several minutes staring into the black depths of the hearth, wondering how the fireside that had kept me warm and comforted me as I slept in my father’s arms could have possibly turned my childhood refuge into this ravaged void.

I tucked myself into a corner beneath the fallen-in roof out of the snow and wind. I could hear the groaning of the tired planks and knew that if there came a strong breeze there was possibility of my being crushed beneath collapsing walls, but I didn’t care. Let it all fall in on me.

I folded my knees beneath my chin and squeezed my eyes shut tight. Nobody was around to see, but I still felt hot humiliation as the tears scalded my cheeks. The undisturbed silence of countless years was broken by the sound of my choking sobs and the violent tremors that shook my body. Everything had been taken from me. Even my memories of this nursery-room.

There was a bitter chill. My sobs slowly quieted, the heat of my despair dissipating into unfeeling resignation. The numb stretched from beyond my frozen, bleeding fingers and my aching bones to my soul. I wanted to die. Perhaps I would. The thought comforted me, if only a little.

Instead, I fell asleep.


© Crystal Campbell Smith, 2007