This is not going to take my attention away from A Dark Path, I will add onto this gradually but not every day or so. Perhaps maybe once a week. Just a random piece. I hope you'll enjoy it.
It seems that we are only the people whom we perceive ourselves to be. For something so fragile as a suggestion, the ripple it creates can be something dangerous. Can we ever truly forgive ourselves for the things that we have done? Are we ever truly able to find peace? Such questions carry answers that create the very fear that can weaken our hearts. But yet, ironically, we strive on. We keep walking down the path the fates have woven for us even against our own warnings.
Can we ever feel what its like to be at home?
Katrina sat down on the soft riverbank that stretched itself beside her grandmother’s cottage home. It was mid-summer; the air was crisp warm with a tiny hint of lavender flowing in its currents. Her long sandy-brown hair fell past her shoulders and her hands clung on to the book that she held in her lap.
She closed her eyes and felt the wind brush against her face. It was the beginning of January, and here she was, in the middle of nowhere, with none of her friends, no technology to speak of - except for the Television that was in the cottage –and no body around for at least ten miles.
She looked around. The scene was picture-perfect. Clear water running serenely, ducks swimming silently and the deep blue sky smiling down from above. The green grass that clashed against the bright white sand was blinding.
For a seventeen-year-old girl, this was not something she usually would have picked for something to do during the holidays. She stood to her feet: Her long purple dress flowing in the wind, the gold edges glinting brightly, she made her way around the riverbank until she was in the cover of an ancient willow tree. It’s elongated leaves providing great protection from the sun. The air was considerably cooler under here, and this made it all the more enjoyable.
Katrina unclipped a pen from the spine of the book and opened up to a page near the middle. She then began to write…
2nd January 2007.
The sun has risen close to her peak now and the rays she casts down cannot even protrude the protection of The Willow. Life, ironically, seems so much less complex when I sit underneath here. The glow from the green leaves, the sound of the water rushing by, it gives me a sense of security that I have never felt before. It lets me think and believe that I am the only person left on this planet; nothing else matters.
I can see a small cocoon dangling from a branch above me and I can’t help but wonder what colours this butterfly will bring to the world. What joys it will spread, and how productive it will live its life.
Pathetic, I know, but sometimes I wish I could be something like a butterfly: To fly away to places unknown, to do things without worrying about consequences. Does that not seem like an ideal life?
I think that
Katrina looked up from the page and stared at her surroundings. She could have sworn she heard a noise. Like a breaking of a twig, or a quick intake of breath, even. She shook her head and went back to her writings.
I think that if you truly believe something can happen, that somehow, somewhere, an angel of sorts hears you and makes your dreams come true.
There it was again. She looked around and once more but saw nothing.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“I know someone is there!” she said.
“Oh?” came a voice directly behind her. She jumped, squeaked, and spun around on the spot. “And how did you know I was there?”
She was looking into the blue eyes of her thirteen-year-old, sandy haired little brother, James.
“You’re not exactly the quiet type!” said Katrina.
“I am so!” he said indignantly. “I was able to mostly sneak up on you, wasn’t I?”
Katrina scoffed. “Only because I was bust writing.”
“You still didn’t hear me,”
She sighed. If she retorted this childish argument would just keep going and going until she would be annoyed with her brother.
“James,” she said. “Can’t you leave me alone for just one moment? I would like to have some time on my own,”
“Fine,” said James, acting out a sniffle and turned his back on her and walked away. As she watched him go, she heard him say, “I know when I’m not loved,”
She sighed. It was going to be a long summer.