Escape from camp 8

 

 Escape from camp eight

   Eons past the point where time ceases to exist is the realm of Nashuena. The sun is just beginning to set and as the fiery queen began to seep beneath an evergreen forest; prickly pine and jagged limbs reach up and pierce the day’s star. The sky bleeds; a true crimson blush fills the heavens as farewell rays like purest gold shoot across the horizon to dance in tune with scarlet light. Until at last the sun takes her final bow and sinks into the dark clutches of the forest below. Only a dim violet twilight lingers and this too slowly fades to blackness. The night reigns as father Moon takes his throne high above the trees with snow glistening in the failing light as far as the eye can see. The pale blue haze makes a new flurry of snowflakes just visible. They twinkle like so many diamonds as they fall to the earth.

           

Now if one were to follow the brightest path the moon had to offer they would find the sparkling flakes fell onto the thatched roof of what is loosely described as a cottage. It is dilapidated to say the least and poorly suited for the elements. Yet in this cottage our hero is found. Though sadly the fellow isn’t feeling very heroic at the moment, in fact he is just waking.

His eyes open to darkness so bleak he fears waking from his slumber had catapulted him into a waking nightmare. Our hero looks to and fro trying desperately to grasp his surroundings. It’s pointless for he's swathed in the sort of darkness man has not known for many a century.  Only our hero is a practical sort so he attempts a small movement. The result is pain rippling through his body in deep crashing waves until a haggard roar is retched from his gut. In shock he shoots forward to a sitting position but this is not a wise move.

His blood-curdling screams fill the shadows echoing back to his ears as his agony doubles then triples. Clenching his teeth, his eyes roll into the back of his head. In the dead quiet each tortured breath held a rhythmic pace. His chest heaves as he began to pant uncontrollably. But our hero was mighty so with much effort he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Now walking turns out to be more trying than he can recall. His legs don’t seem to agree with his concession to master the pain and respond with blunt defiance.

            Marching onward still, he puts one foot in front of the other while stumbling along. He staggers then he trips. His hands fly out to break his fall and his fingers close upon a thick velvety material. All he hears is a loud ripping noise then he is suddenly tangled on the floor in plush dark curtains and pale light fills the small space. The meagerly furnished room is revealed amidst menacing shadows cast by the blue rays of the moon streaming through the window. There was a rickety old rocking chair that gave off a distinct squeak in the silence while it rocked back and forth from the gust of his fall. Then the plain straw mattress our hero woke upon now drenched in his sweat. Across from it was a worn writing desk and chair. Above the desk hung a mirror cracked nearly through its middle; amazingly it still clung to the wall.

Taking this in with apathetic abandon he turned towards the legs of the writing chair and pulled upward. In time he stood, bracing himself on the desk. He takes a moment to catch his breath and then he looked up.

This is the moment, you see until now our hero had been enjoying those blissfully ignorant moments of waking. Well those moments were certainly over for our hero now. As he peered at his reflection a pure horror was revealed and like a cascade of icy water to the pit of his bowels bitter recollection struck him. Junipher and the others were gone.

 

For the image in the cracked and miraculously hanging mirror was not the face of the young black male he’d come to know the past eighteen years of his life. The very one  he’d looked upon just the day before. Instead what stared back at him was a figure withered with folds of sagging flesh that distorted his features. A toothless grin leered back at him and sparse strands of shock white hair revealed a scalp all but covered in liver spots. A silent scream escaped him, choking him. He fell back into the rocking chair gasping for breath. His hands came up to cradle the wrinkled face, and for a single moment he was completely lost. Perhaps if he were the usual sort of person he would have done the reasonable thing-resign to apparent insanity and then cry himself to sleep. Yet it is here that our hero earned his merit. With a strength that surpassed his years he quickly composed himself. He shook his head as if that would clear it then stood to look in the mirror again. The same old man remained

Only now the snarled features were set with grim resolve. It didn’t matter that he had no idea what he should do or how the hell he’d do it once he figured it out. The only thing he was sure of was that he could not just sit in this cottage until this old body withered and died. He would form some sort of plan and find the others. If he was here then surely, hopefully the others and Juni, were as well. Junipher could figure this all out.

He felt ashamed for thinking that way. For having to depend on his younger brother who was probably out there somewhere petrified. But Junipher was in fact the smart one even when he was a complete idiot; like how he’d gotten them all into this mess. So as he stood staring at someone else’s reflection, listening to howl of the wind and or some ferocious animal, he knew it was time for immediate action.  Just as soon as he figured out what that would be.