The Savior

The end of her story began in the god-forsaken village of Sunfall. The isolated land was centered with a cobblestone road and lined with small, run-down houses. Each one was characterized by missing roof shingles; tattered curtains; cracked porch steps; broken fence posts; and garbage lining the outside of the fences. Behind the houses was a dense wood littered with dark, tall, menacing trees. That night, though, the village was especially dark. The full clouds that encompassed the sky would soon give way to rain. Wind swept hastily in between rugged fence posts, howling as it threw garbage onto the road.

There was a connecting gravel path at the end of the lightly populated village that led into the wood's depths. It wound through the trees and opened to a small house, much like the ones lining the main road. The front door was on the right side of the house with a square window to its left. A small lunette window sat slightly above the doorframe. The square window’s frayed curtains were pulled to the sides revealing a flickering taper candle on the windowsill. Inside this simple house surrounded by chaotic wood, Winter sat hunched over on her knees on a thin, worn rug. Her big, sage green sweater was drooping off her left shoulder; her over-sized, light brown pants were tucked into her favorite white wool socks.

That night began as any other typical night, but that’s relative, isn’t it? She’s far from a typical girl, so they said. They—the people in town—gave her looks that could burn straight through her long, dense, strawberry hair and set fire to the freckles on her soft, blushed cheeks. She never asked for that, or any of this for that matter. She sat on that typical night with her hands laying on her thighs and clasping a straight razor. Her body was heaving violently as she shook from each sob.

“This go-goddamn m-melody, fuck! Th-this wretched, in-infernal mind of m-mine!"

The deep tune rang in her ears as loud as ever as she took her right hand off of the razor and yanked up the left sleeve of her sweater to reveal a multitude of scars on her forearm in various stages of healing. The tears streaming down her face splashed onto the shades of pink and red. She slowly stood, straight razor still in hand, and drug her weak body to the candle-lit desk by the front window. All the while the deep voice in her head drudged on. Throwing her hand down, she grabbed her tattered journal and began to flip through the blood-stained book. Reaching the next blank page she sat in the worn desk chair, dipped her pen, and filled out the top line:

17/10/1847

She transferred the razor to her right hand and pressed it against her left forearm. She watched the guided blade break through her fair skin giving way to contrasting red. She would slice just enough to feel something being taken from her. The heaviness of her mind always seemed to lift with this small act. She had documented this release every time it had taken place since 1840, when her 13-year-old mind was riddled with the impulse to take away the mental pain. She sighed heavily as she let the blood flow down her forearm, no warmer or cooler than her own skin. The sound of the liquid splatting onto the page was almost as satisfying as the act of the cut itself. With each drop of blood her mind wandered further back, opening to a time where the rain had been heavy for months.

“Winter! Fucking christ, Winter!” His booming voice echoed through their numerous hallways, piercing her ears, “I’ve told you time after time, you must gather yourself!”

Michael stomped with feet as heavy as his tone towards their room. He came up behind her as she lay in bed facing the rain that pounded on the windowpane. He placed his hand too firmly on her left shoulder. His voice clashed with the thunder as he threw her journal on the bed, the page flew open, freshly stained:

23/05/1845

“It would be an absolute disgrace if the local gentry, not to mention my mother and father, found out about your—your mental ailments!”

Although he made sure his voice got to her, all she could really hear was a heavy melody that had been ringing in her ears off and on for weeks by this time. Not caring to muster up the strength to face his direction she retorted,

“Leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone? Leave you alone?! I rescued you from your disgusting, poverty-stricken family! I let you into my home, my name, gave you an opportunity to actually be something, and you tell me to leave you alone?! You’d be goddamned dead without me, Winter!"

She turned to face him, her eyes were as penetrative as his words, yet her features hung in defeat,

“I’m. Tired. Leave. Me. Alone.”

She let out a howling cry as Michael yanked her up by her left forearm, plunging his burly fingers into her healing wound.

“You ungrateful bitch!” He bellowed as he tossed her onto the floor.

“Fuck you!” She retorted loudly, “Fuck you, your home, and your name!” Her face now as piercing as her eyes, she ran to the bed to grab her journal. Michael’s sudden grip around her throat stopped her in her tracks. Her vision began to blur and the only thing left for her to register was that resonant, repetitive tune.

She shook her head violently, ridding her mind of the remnants of the time she'd spent with Michael. She looked down and realized the page was drowned in her red hues. She began to bring a rag to her arm when she felt a chill of cold air run up her spine. The lightly colored hair on her arms were standing on end and her blue, doe eyes became even larger. She tried to calm herself, assuming it was leftover anxiety from hearing Michael's voice again. But as suddenly as she was drawn back in time, the window above the desk burst open. The flame atop the candle was quickly extinguished and the blood-spattered pages of her journal flew out into the night.

Her body, no longer feeling as weak as she did just moments ago, threw itself out of the chair, pushing it backwards onto the floor. Without looking to see if her shabby seat had broken as it crashed, she shoved the rag to her wound and bolted towards the door, flinging it open. As her eyes adjusted to the abyss of night before her, her red and brown spotted papers came into view. Despite the vigorous wind, they were floating two and a half meters high and just six meters from her doorstep. The deep melody began to dance loudly in her ears. But this time, it came from outside of her mind. Her heart skipped a beat as the tune stayed on its rhythmic track. She grew cynical of what she surveyed as she began to make out thin, black fingers clutching her work. The melody grew stronger. Right along the edge of the condensed wood stood a tall, dark creature that could easily have been mistaken for a tree if it weren’t for his subtle eyes and large, slender feet. The slits in the creature's face gave way to the scenery behind it. His feet were planted firm on the ground as if he had been there for millennia. She couldn’t make out any other features; he seemed to blend in with the dark of the night. Her body was frozen as she attempted to decode the scene before her. That’s when the tune abruptly stopped, and he spoke. With nothing but eyes, he spoke.

“I have sensed this suffering for quite a while; I’ve heard your calls from the Emerald Isle,” His deep, rhythmic voice began, “I live betwixt dense valleys and trees; my essence sewn within the leaves. For so long I’ve heard the cries of those who beg for newfound life.”

He clutched her papers tighter in his elongated fingers.

“Your blood-stained papers will serve me well; I’ve come to release you from your cell.”

Hesitantly she began to walk towards him. Her fear had slightly dissipated as she came closer to the mysterious, rhyming creature.

“You can free me?” Her voice was soft and wobbly, but he heard her well.

“You’ve sent this offering, these many years of calling, and I have come to set you free. Understand one thing: we must not keep stalling—take a walk with me.”

By this point she was a meter away from him. She shook her head, refusing any thoughts that told her to turn back. All she had ever wanted was what the creature offered: freedom from her inner monologue, the thoughts that had held her captive for years. Her emotions wreaked havoc on her life and the lives of those that had been close to her. She had torn down the walls of others and built hers up, allowing no one to pass and firing poison-coated arrows at those who dared to enter. She felt she was more of a monster than this creature could ever be. His deep rhythmic melody was identical to the one she had been hearing for the past two years. It had grown louder and more frequent as time went on. He must know something. He must be her key, her savior.

“Let’s walk.” The words from her mouth were muffled but strong as she tied the rag on her left forearm using her right hand and her teeth.

“You are lifted to the sky,” he stated, “just to fall as the rain. Come, I shall take away your pain.”

The creature advanced past her towards the thick woods behind her home. He moved so delicately that his body appeared to float although his feet planted into the ground with each step he took. She looked to the sky as she felt a few drops of rain hit her face and felt a slight smile appear on it for the first time in months. Not wanting to fall behind, she hurried after him.

He slunk easily between the trees with Winter close behind. She knew these woods like the back of her hand. The townspeople never dared to make their way past the gravel trail, much less brave the wood’s depths. Winter, though? She longed so deeply for a connection with something she couldn’t hurt or couldn’t be hurt by; nature’s embrace offered her this. She would spend full days and nights exploring, remembering, and simply being within the confines of the dense trees. Her favorite socks were taking the brunt of it, though. However, she didn’t want to risk stopping long enough to take them off. She knew these woods well enough, but he was a part of them. If it weren’t for his persistent humming, she may very well have lost him on their trek. She admired the way he moved; the way he spoke in his deep, rhyming voice; the way his melody felt coming from outside of her. She would do her best to follow him to the ends of the Earth if it meant her freedom.

The familiar treetops offered necessary shelter from the now pouring rain. The sharp aching that was tearing into the soles of her feet was begging her to stop, but she kept her sights on her work—the blood to her current sweat and tears—and her ears on his tune. The papers had never left his hand and he hadn’t loosened his grip on them; his deep melody not skipping a beat. He never turned to see if she was keeping up; he never once slowed. His pace was as swift as it was steady, and his expectations of her socked, human feet were high. She lived up to them, though, because otherwise she didn’t have anything to live for. She wiped her tear-stricken eyes as she struggled to keep up. Suddenly, he and his music stopped.

The rain began pelting down on her worn body. It was enough to push her to her knees. Within moments her sun-kissed hair was plastered to her freckled face. She looked up through the strands toward her newfound liberator; he was finally facing her, silent, staring. As she placed her focus more on her surroundings, she realized she had no idea where she was. They had come to a clearing in the woods, a perfect circle. She looked behind her and there was no indication they had come from that direction. The trees seemed to be tethered to one another. Nothing but soaked grass and dirt at her knees; endless clouds above her head; and wood circling her in. She turned her eyes back to him. He spoke again.

“This is the spot no human can see, unless I let you in. It holds the key among the trees to free you from within.” His lyrical, emotionless voice went on, “You gave to me an offering, I’ve heard your crying plea; Now to you, small, frail thing, I’ll grant you wishes three. You must express your deepest needs before this fall moon sets, lest this night be all for naught and leave you with regret. Place your hands upon the Earth, soul and soil merge. Wish now for your life’s rebirth, your dire need to purge.”

He looked vacantly at her through shadowed slits as she pushed her hair from her face. Still on her knees she sat with her eyes fixated on the forest creature of yore. She placed her palms firmly on the grass and grabbed the wet Earth beneath her. Feeling her fingers within the dirt she started to wish:

“I’ve been enveloped in chaos for so long; please lessen my emotions.”

Once again tears began to form in her eyes, but her thoughts were no longer focused on the physical pain of her raw, throbbing feet.

“My days blend into my nights; I’m either up for hours on end or ceaselessly drifting in and out of sleep. Please give me structure.”

Her thoughts were racing, stumbling, as the creature maintained his blank stare.

“Please, bring me peace.”

Her stare remained on his, but hers was riddled with intense emotion, begging him to make it happen. Her patience was wearing thin. She tore her eyes away from him and up towards the heavy clouds. Her fingers tore deeper into the ground and the rain intertwined with her tears as she screamed into the night,

“There, there’s my three! Keep your word! Release me!”

As suddenly as he had stopped walking, he rose from the ground. The Earth trembled as his feet disconnected. The wind began to cyclone and the clouds parted causing the rain to abruptly cease. The moon placed herself above the perfect circle and her light covered all that dwelled within. He raised the hand that held the blood-stained pages and lifted his head to the sky. The moon animated the creature as her light shone through the slits on his face. For the first time he loosened his grip on Winter’s work. The pages floated steadily from his hand and stopped above his lifted head. The blood-ridden papers began to shift from shades of brown and red to a brilliant gold. They became brighter and brighter, forcing Winter to shield her eyes. The blinding gold pages shattered into fragments but stayed floating above the creature’s still lifted head. What were once slits on his face had then turned into gaping, moonlit holes. The shards of golden light poured into them causing his body to slowly brighten. His voice, no longer deep, but ethereal, spoke to Winter in a new, free rhythm,

“Keep your eyes sealed, human, and so shall it be. As I fade into light, you will wake free.”

The luminated creature soared into the sky, leaving but a twinkle among the stars to mark his once rooted presence.

Winter opened her eyes and sat up in her bed. She looked down at her soaked, dirt-ridden clothes. Her head pounded as she slipped off her socks and began rubbing her feet. She looked around her room. Daylight poured in through the open window; the candle had fallen from the sill. Her desk chair lay broken on the floor, and the front door was sitting wide open. The front of her home was soaked with the night’s rain and littered with nature’s debris pushed in by the storm’s wind. Normally this would overwhelm her and push her to pull the covers above her head and remain in bed until the moon shone. Instead, she sat emotionless as she stared at the mess before her, then moved from her bed to her door, shutting it along with the window. As she picked up the pieces of the chair, she caught sight of her straight razor lying on floor. She bent down with vacant eyes, removed it from her home, and discarded it with the rest of the garbage along her worn fence. Unprovoked, she turned, walked back inside, and began to clean.

The day lingered, but she never once laid her head on her pillow; nor did she drop heavily to the floor. When night came, she slept. The new day followed, and she woke. Day in and day out her schedule remained stable, consistent, and impassive. Her emotions never showed their faces: no anger in her eyes; no hopelessness in her veins; no surges of energy; no feelings of grandiosity. In the same breath, there was no urge to smile; no hope in her soul; no contentment; no desires or interests. She was controlled, but she was numb.

Her perceived savior had not just stripped her of her emotions but planted a seed in her thoughts. Nothing but his deep melody ran laps in her nearly vacant mind. Every night she would light a single taper candle and carry it with her into the perfect circle within the depths of the woods. Sitting on her knees on the grass and dirt of the Earth, her self-restrained vocals would fill Sunfall’s woods with the same resonating melody that led her to her newfound life:

“He took the highest parts of me

and rid me of my lows

Led me in the dark and he

showed me where to go

Spun the loveliest of words

through the thickest trees

Stole it all but my soul

right away from me

Wholeheartedly I cast away

everything I knew

To live a life where now my

thoughts are very few

This melody the only thing

My mind can unfurl

I gave up every ounce of me

No longer the same girl.”

One night, she sat on her knees long after her song had been sung. The candle melted down to a wax puddle in her hands and ran down her thighs. She stood to her feet but they did not move her body towards her home. She was home. She slowly began to stretch and darken, blending in with the surrounding trees in the wood's depths. Her eyes formed into slight incisions. Her mind's song emitted from these holes that gave way to nothing but the trees at her back. Apart from her now all too familiar melody, the cries of desparate people begging for a new start rang in her consciousness. She no longer felt anything like them, but she was compelled to listen. She was still. She listened. Her body--lanky, dark, and rooted--stood in that perfect circle and listened as if it had been there for millennia.