A Stranger comes to Town

Dawn. It’s always dawn when I reach a new town. I make my way up a steep road into the quiet. Somehow it's always at dawn. The gravel crunches underneath my rubber soled rain boots. The pavement still wet from the drizzle that has yet to stop.The chill air I gulp is wet, and clouding with every exhale. The pavement begins to level off and my knees sing in relief. My raincoat is tied to my waist, my backpack damp, stuffed and hanging from my body as my shoulders ache. My white t-shirt is now see through a quarter ways down from my shoulders and my hair is matted to my face. I’ve been in rough shape before, much worse than this but it's why I left. The town that is now laid out before me is a straight shot through to the open plains I am heading to. The place they told me awaits our salvation. Where no one is a prisoner.

The town sits high up on the tip of a hill. Rusted and busted cars sprinkle the edges of the streets. Overgrown weeds and dried up grass line the curb sides. The homes are in no better shape; boarded up windows and splintered porches creek against the gust of wind, picking up litter along the way. I can see them. The way they peak behind tattered curtains, and through the gaps in the plywood. The way they whisper curses. The scurrying feet, as they race in their homes from window to window to get a glance at me. I bet you they’ve never seen it before, at least some of them, at least this combination. I bet you they don't remember anything outside this town. Each place I trudge through is stuck, rotting away, has something festering, eating away everyone's soul!

It’s the colors on me that give it away. That I’m not one of them. They cover their eyes because it's too bright, staring for only seconds at a time. The yellow raincoat, the green rain boots, the brown backpack, my white t-shirt, my tanned skin, my jet black hair, the red bracelet my mother gave me before I decided to leave. The one she entrusted me with. The last of our town's hopes.

The colors give away that I’m not from the gray. He does this, everywhere he goes, it’s the same; plaguing the people with sickness. He could be here too, watching me. Thinking of new evils he could conjure up to get me, like he got them.

I’m more than half way through now. My skin crawls and I can feel my pulse quicken. 72 towns. I made it through 72. They warned me that the gray is the hardest town to get through. The whispers and rumors that traveled back to town 1. How to survive = do not enter the gray.

Just a little further. I can’t run and I can’t show I am aware of them, terrified of them, feel for them. I can set us all free. All the towns, from all the sickness.

One more block. I can see the edges, the tear in the veil, I can feel the breeze of the open plains seeping through the seams of the veil. Pushing against it, fighting against it, wanting to break free, but I can hear them as well. The scurrying is so much louder than I remember.

I reach the veil and begin to pull the seams one by one the way mother taught me. Up across the hill, down under, make a left and then a right, twirl along, tug and it’s undone. Again, Up across the hill, down under, make a left and then a right, twirl along, tug and it’s undone.

What was that? A snap, a crunch, the scurrying hasn’t stopped, but I need to keep going, I can’t be distracted.

I can’t be like dad or uncle, I can’t be like Jimmy’s father or Ryan’s aunt. I can’t be like my sister Julie or my best friend Hunter. I can’t-.

I have my hand on the next seam, I-.

I have my hand on the next seam and I’m suppose to-.

The scurrying stops. I turn around and look and they aren’t inside anymore. There on the porch. Stretched tall, thin. Mouths sewn together, eyes bulging. Gray. Each family holding hands, waiting.

Waiting for what?

I came to-.

What the hell did I come here to do?

I feel my hands grasping seams. Silver soft seams. A gust of wind so strong hits my legs, where the lowest part of the veil was previously undone. Exactly six seams undone out of 100. I count: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. I added 3 more. Good!

I need to open the next one to-.

TO DO WHAT?

I grab my face, and a wave of tears, no no no no no, NO! I trained for this, I prepared for this, but what is it? WHY AM I HERE?

I felt it just then. The cold, the fuzziness in my head. The unbearable ringing!

My hands, my face, the gray, it’s everywhere!

The silver seam is blowing in the wind. I reach out, for some reason, I reach out and tug. 10.