Decisions
When I was 12 years old, I would visit a hidden village. I say village due to its location. The houses were modern enough, but they just happened to be surrounded by trees and over-growth. It reminded me of a post-apocalyptic movie “the town that time forgot” or something like that. On one such trip to this destitute place I happened upon a little black book. It was in a pile of soot caked debris. I picked it up brushing the dirt and grime from the cover turning it over in my hands. It appeared to be in fair condition given that I found it amongst the debris of an old house that burned down long ago. I flipped the pages with my thumb thinking that it may crumble and blow away like dust in an anime. I tossed it backed in the rubble not finding anything interesting about the book other than it survived the fire remarkably well. I began looking through the other piles of charred remains that once were the house. I really couldn’t tell you if I was searching for anything in particular. I only knew I wanted to find something. Through the other piles I found a spoon, tarnished, and blackened, an oddly shaped key, and small bag made of leather. These visits could be all day affairs and I quickly learned to bring food. After what felt like hours of rummaging, I placed the four items in a line in front of me while I sat down against a tree and ate the lunch.
