I was going through old notebooks today (I only ever write in two pages of each of them) and I found a story called The Border World I had written for a flash-fiction contest. Except it went way over 100 words and needed lots of follow-up.... Anyways, I read it and, kind of like it? So now I'm thinking about continuing with it, because there are a lot of themes and such I'd like to fill out more/ introduce. Tell me what you think!
(Sorry for the funky text, I had to copy and paste and Blogger doesn't like it when I do that )
(Sorry for the funky text, I had to copy and paste and Blogger doesn't like it when I do that )
The shadows cast by the setting sun creeped and crawled across the land, distorting the silhouettes of scattered trees. Slavering waves clawed at the steep cliffs that stood guard against the sea, and the salty moans and howls called up to the girl in the house. She didn't respond to them. Instead she looked into the mug of tea she cupped in her hands, watched as the clear water infused with the brown seeping from the teabag. She looked up as the man called The Poet sat down across from her.
"She had questions, so many, but the first she asked were, "What is this place, why am I here?"
She hadn't heard the poet speak before. His voice was lilting and rythmic as he explained,
"Between where something is, and is,"
He placed each palm up, as if an "is" had come to rest there.
"There lies a place that "isn't",
A place we call the Border World,
A place you've come to visit."
He smiled, as if his quatraine had elucidated everything.
"But poet, that makes no sense! I was in my house and now I'm here, yet you tell me that here isn't anywhere?"
The poet seemed about to speak but paused, tasting the words in his mouth, flavoring and distilling, swirling with meaning and metaphor.
"The Border World, it floats between,
what you see before you and your dreams.
A snow-blank page on which reality resides
Amongst the inky black behind your eyes."
The girl did not comprehend what the poet was saying. She looked out the window to the clamoring waves, and they answered, but she did not understand their language either. Her hands were shaking; the tea she was holding rippled and came near to sloshing over the side of the cup.
Breathing deeply, the girl looked to The Poet and asked, "Why are you here, alone by the sea?"
At this the man looked out toward the afore-mentioned sea, and he seemed to be holding a great sadness in his eyes, if only for a moment. He averted his gaze quickly, getting up to pace the room.
"Before, when I said you had come to visit here, I'm afraid it was the wrong choice of words."
He stopped and shook his head, as if thinking his mistake quite ridiculous.
"Those who find themselves in the Border World,
The lose themselves as well, they change.
You can't go back to who you are,
When you don't even remember your name."
Phantom chills shimmied their way down the girls spine. "But I know my name! Its----"
The Poet met her frightened stare, and his eyes were heavy with the same sadness she had glimpsed there before.
"There's nothing you can do now,
The Border World's decided who you'll be.
But tell me, little girl,"
The Poets thoughts were not in the house, or on the girls answer, for he already knew what it would be. They were out on the edge of the cliffs, looking down at the waves crashing slilently on the rocks of the shore.
"Do you hear the sea?"
The girl did not respond, only shook her head, and sipped her tea.
