(October '16) Prompt #1- "Following the trail upon the leaves"

[Kris]

October's 1st prompt is "Following the trail upon the leaves"



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[ArtisticVicu]

His breath curled before his face, visible in the cold fall air as he sighed. He watched it with tired eyes, body laden with more than just the pack on his back and the winter cloths keeping him warm. The sky above was barely turning from night to day without a cloud in the sky. Even the last few stars that he could see beyond the branches and remaining leaves seemed to wink goodbye at him as he turned his attention from the sky above.

As the last of his breath dissipated, he turned enough to look back at his companions. Two were standing about, patiently waiting with packs fully packed. Two were near the fire pit adjusting something on the younger of two’s pack. Another stood up from where one of the tents had been, slinging their pack onto a shoulder as they stood. He met their gaze briefly before looking over the others once more.

“Ready?” he called out cautiously.

There was a collection of nodded affirmations but the one still working on the pack spoke up. “Two seconds.”

He nodded in turn as the others started to move towards him.

A wind rustled the changing leaves and bare branches above their head. He looked up, watching as leaves were gently pulled from their branches and sent dancing towards the trodden path below.

“Alright, let’s go.”

He looked down at the last duo to see them joining the others before he turned and started down the path. Silence hung around them, filled only with the sound of crunching leaves beneath their feet and the wind playing with the treetops. The silenced stayed for quite some time as the sun crept higher into the sky till, at last, sleep had released them completely and a few in the group found topics to expand upon. He stayed at the front of the group, not feeling the need to converse with any of them.

It seemed that others had a different idea, though.

“How long have we been out here?” a soft voice asked from his left. He glanced over, finding himself looking at the girl that had been packing near one of the tent sites.

“I lost count,” he confessed, looking ahead again. “A couple of months, probably.”

She fell silent beside him, the chatter behind them as soft as their conversation had been. They had learned not to be too loud.

“Think we’ll come across more supplies soon?”

The weight on his shoulders seemed to grow. “I hope so.”

She slipped her arm around his, resting her head against his shoulder briefly as she sidled up against his side. “Me too.” She raised her head off his shoulder. She glanced back at the others, specifically to the one that had being aided with their pack. “You should talk to him.”

He chuckled, looking down at her with a tired expression. “Why should I do that?” He glanced back. “He’s perfectly ok not knowing.”

Her grip around his arm tightened as she glared at him. “But you’re not.” Her expression fell. “Please, Warrick. It would be nice to see something happy before this all ends.”

He looked down at her but his own expression showed nothing more than exhaustion. “I can’t, Viera. Jaden does not need that.” He couldn’t help glancing back. “Not now.”

He watched as Jaden laughed softly at something the older man walking beside him had said. He felt Viera slip from his arm before he looked at her. She was looking at him with a strange expression. He frowned. “What?”

“Warrick, I–”

The snap of a twig shot through the trees like a crack of thunder. The entire group froze, eyes wide and instantly turning to the surrounding trees. He reached out, slowly pressing Viera back towards the group that was huddling together on the center of the trail on the leaves. At first, there was nothing, and they stood packed together in the cold fall air for a long time without speaking.

He was the first to see it.

There, at the edge of his vision, a shape appeared: a mass of fog that vanished when he looked directly at it. He gave an involuntary shudder as he watched out the peripheral of his vision the creature getting closer, blipping in and out of existence and changing location as it got closer. At least, he hoped there was only one.

They all jumped when the thing suddenly appeared before them, pressed up against the edge of the trail in the leaves. None of them made a sound as they all stared in horror at the mass pressing against an invisible barrier protecting them from the creature’s touch.

It was a grayish white, like fog at the edge of morning. It had a shape that was ever changing, wisping away like fog does only for the main mass of fog to never change density. The thing’s eyes were like shaped onyx, black and shiny without really seeming like eyes.

For what felt like an eternity it stared at them, reaching for them only to fail. Eventually, the thing moved on as if it had either grown bored or had gotten distracted. He wasn’t sure but he felt his companions relax around him.

He knew better, could see the faint wisps of the other creatures now forming around them. The other creatures kept their distance, waiting.

Viera tugged on his arm, gaining his attention. He looked away for only an instant but it was all that was needed.

He woke with frost coating the fur of his hood. His breath was visible before his face in the freezing night air as he carefully pushed himself upright. He rubbed at his head, shaking away the lingering feeling that he was forgetting something.

He was used to it.

Pulling out a leather bound book, he opened to the bookmarked page and stared down at the list. Fifty-three names were scrawled there, all but five crossed out. He looked around.

He was alone.

[m139]

I am following the trail upon the leaves. Now you may ask, where does this trail go? I do not know, I do not know, for the leaves are as fickle as I. Look as they are blown, this was and that, by the irresolute wind. Look as they slowly, slowly, die, detached from their source of life. I am following the trail upon the leaves, reminding myself of my own mortality, reminding myself of the fickleness of life.

Once, long ago, it was spring. In that season, these leaves did burst forth it curved splendor from the barren branches. I read once, in a poem, that nature's first green was colored gold, but I have never believed it. When I saw these new formed leaves, I knew it was not true. Nature's first green is neither green nor gold, but a sunrise of colors, filled with hope, unblemished by day. These budding leaves, the start of life, slowly unfurl, like glorious banners that announce the coming of the king. Perhaps they think a king shall come to them. Or maybe they think, it their youth, that they are the king.

Such simplicity have they, then. such beautiful simplicity. If I lived as a leaf on that newly-flowering tree, how happy I might be. If I did not know of the death that came before, of the sacrifice made for my life, how happy I might be. I would be free- or at least, that would be the illusion. For who in those first moments of life dream of an end? Who can imagine the sadness and pain yet to come. No, in the springtime, all is green and growing, and even the bees do not sting, but bring nourishing pollen instead. But alas, what is golden, what is so good, cannot stay...

I am following the trail upon the leaves. Now you may ask, where does this trail go? I do not know, I do not know, for the leaves are as fickle as I. Look as they are blown, this was and that, by the irresolute wind. Look as they slowly, slowly, die, detached from their source of life. I am following the trail upon the leaves, reminding myself of my own mortality, reminding myself of the fickleness of life.

And following that spring time comes the summer. Ah, those lazy days of summer. The days of youth are over, but what has replaced them is still somewhat peaceful. True, from time to time, a storm shakes the branches. And yes, from time to time, some leaves fall. But most- well, most hang on, content to simply be. After all, what matters if one falls? It will only be missed by a few, and which, in the grand scheme of things, is really all that important? Most stay on, and the tree sits still in those lazy times, it and the leaves content to be.

But content to be what? A fat, lazy leaf upon a fat lazy tree? One in a million leaves, where each looks just like the other? Is this what it means to be, to stagnate, stuck in the mire of doing nothing? Of lazing around to death? Life ceases to be an adventure, and is replaced by smiles without happiness, laughter without joy, words without meaning. To survive the summer, to die in the summer. Does it matter? Is it all the same? The sun has risen, and reveals the lie.

I am following the trail upon the leaves. Now you may ask, where does this trail go? I do not know, I do not know, for the leaves are as fickle as I. Look as they are blown, this was and that, by the irresolute wind. Look as they slowly, slowly, die, detached from their source of life. I am following the trail upon the leaves, reminding myself of my own mortality, reminding myself of the fickleness of life.

And then, why not fall down and die? Autumn comes. With it, the leaves change color. Slowly, slowly, they are cut off from life. And as the moments pass, they become more beautiful, taking on vibrant colors: red orange, yellow. The colors of the sunrise, once again appearing, but only now, at death. Slowly they fall, slowly, slowly, tossed about by the wind. Then they lay on the floor, close by to that tree that brought them forth into life and nourished them up until this point. For a while, they can stare at this tree-god. And then, they are covered up by others, sharing the same fate, until they can see no more.

Crunch, crunch. The leaves crunch underneath my feet, their saga over. I see children dance in the leaves, but can I? Can I dance in the presence of death? I see others who rake the leaves, and I see others who burn them. As for me, I cannot bear to do either, but almost feel as if I must make a salute each time I pass, a salute to the dying leaves. For who am I but someone following their own journey? I, too, am coloring as I die, and only in growing older to I realize the meaning of life.

I am following the trail upon the leaves. Now you may ask, where does this trail go? I do not know, I do not know, for the leaves are as fickle as I. Look as they are blown, this was and that, by the irresolute wind. Look as they slowly, slowly, die, detached from their source of life. I am following the trail upon the leaves, reminding myself of my own mortality, reminding myself of the fickleness of life.

Winter comes next. The snow covers the remaining leaves upon the ground. And when the whiteness is gone, I know what will remain: nothing. The leaves will be gone. None will remember them, and new life will flourish without them, before it, too, will disappear. And I, too, shall pass away some day, and shall lay buried under the earth, forgotten in the morning.

And so, for a moment, I will remember these leaves for a moment more, while they are yet present. For in a moment, we both shall be gone.

Yes, I follow the trail upon the leaves.
I must follow the trail upon the leaves...