Home Away from Home
No one looked for him because no one cared, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Sitting with his back against the cold painted steel of his Sprinter nestled deep in a copse of pine he pondered as the dim orange firelight cast his shadow up and over the high walls of the van and into the needles above, rising like a ghost of his old self to disappear amongst the stars. A thin blue whisp of smoke rose from his parted lips as he took the crudely rolled cigarette from his mouth and flicked the end into the flames. Somewhere in the distance an owl sounded, soft hooting drowned out by the crackling firewood as tiny moths danced about the blaze, occasionally disappearing in a puff of smoke where they'd flown too close and were licked by the flame. He sipped from a can of cheap domestic lager and crossed his legs at the ankle and turned his eyes skyward, watching the stars twinkle against the silken blue-black expanse of space. He thought he saw a shooting star, or perhaps it was a satellite. He didn't know and didn't care for he was far beyond the childish innocence that is wishing.
He'd left behind a life that could have been considered enviable by the destitute but pitiful by the more fortunate. A small apartment in an up-and-coming city. A trivial office job that more than paid the rent but drained soul from body with the monotony of flourescent lighting and water cooler conversation and burnt coffee. A turbulent but long-standing relationship grown stale with a good-enough looking woman whom he claimed to love but grew less and less certain with each unresolved dispute. A little sports coupe that was fun and reliable but rusting at its corners and leaking oil. A meager collection of books and tools and appliances symbolic of the civilized world for which he held such disdain. A family he hadn't called in years.
When the lease was up he told his beloved that they were to go their separate ways, sold most of his belongings, and bought a used van from a grey and balding contractor from a newspaper classified. In it he arranged rudimentary cabinetry, a military-style cot, and a gas camping stove. He never quit his job, simply stopped showing up. He never told his family, just continued his radio silence. Within the space of a few weeks, he simply vanished into the wooded veil of the great Pacific Northwest and lived campsite to campsite. He kept with him few possessions save for the necessities - a handful of ornately-bound classic literature, a six-shot pistol starting to patina along its chromed barrel, a brass pocket compass, and an old Minolta 35mm camera. A thousand dollars or so he had left over. A blue Igloo cooler that was three-quarters full of beer and filled out with a couple cheap cuts of beef. A cast iron frying pan. A pocketknife with a broken lock.
Living in isolation from the world he found comfort in his solitude for he was no longer reliant on love or affection or even a paycheck to get by. Self-reliance and grim determination had taken the place of community and belonging and society. He held on to his cracked and grimy cellphone but it sat in the van's center console, untouched and unused with no new messages and no missed calls. Nobody was looking for him, nobody desparate to get in touch, and that suited him just fine for what had they ever done for him besides hold him to the ever-climbing standards of civilized living?
Was he lonely? Perhaps on one or three shivering and rain-soaked nights confined to the rough canvas cot, but these times were long since passed. Was he afraid? Never, for the only things that had ever given him reason to fear were pains brought forth by man - and woman. The forest provided for him and the forest understood and the forest gave him no cause for concern so long as he kept his wit which was never in short supply. Here, amongst his scarce belongings, he was more content than he had ever been. His loneliness reframed itself as a serene self-determination. Though he possessed few he possessed all, ashe was no longer confined by walls, by lines, by expectations. He had a carpet of pine needles, a ceiling of stars. A faucet of fresh-fallen mountain water and a fireplace wherever he found flat ground. He had the company of the deer, the foxes, the birds.
The world was his home, and to the world along he belonged.
The War
Avalar
"No one looked for him because no one cared." Cloud Dancer said as she looked at Master Zoltar and paced the room.
"That is true. He was extremely important to us." Master Zoltar said as he put his armor on.
'Who is he? Who is him?' I thought to myself.
"Ugh... Let us go before they attack us!" Heather said as she grabbed her belt and tied her scabbard with her sword in it, to her side.
All three of them walked out of a tent to a dark red sky and to the army they had built together. Cloud Dancer put her hair into a ponytail and tied her empty scabbard to her side. Heather ran toward the right and kept a look out for those to attack.
"AVALAR!! Lead the troops forward. Keep your Shelldor form and keep a sharp eye out for anyone that will attack." Master Zoltar said as he saluted to me.
"Yes sir." I said as I saluted back to him.
I took off and gathered up Sergeant White Feather and her troops. I put my arms in the shape of an X and quickly brought one arm down. I grabbed my sword and held it along with my shield.
"Let’s go before daylight ends!" I said as I watched them all salute to me.
We took off and they followed me. We walked out onto the field of green clovers and I, followed by White Feather and her army, across the field, slowly. We were looked each way to make sure no one was coming toward us. I heard a branch snap toward the right.
“Lay low!” I whispered and knelt down.
The rest of my crew did the same. I heard grass moving toward us to the left of me. I clicked and a group of Moon Howlers took off silently toward the left. I motioned for White Feather to lead ten others to the right. She nodded and took off with ten others. I heard her battle cry and I motioned for us to split and fight. They did so as I ran toward the fight on my right. I heard them screeching and howling as we fought. They were coming from above and I blocked a spear attack and shielded White Feather from a blow. I backed up to White Feather’s back and we fought together.
“Thanks for the save, brother!” White Feather said as she swung her sword and killed a few of the weird creatures.
“Where are they?” I asked as I killed a few of the weird creatures coming toward us.
Who is they? Will they be there to help fight in the war?
On a little hill
Though it had been years, a great many in fact, he still fretted about how Viviane betrayed him. It had been the early morning when she had woken him up and said she had spotted a whale off the coast, as he finished getting ready for the ride he noticed that she seemed kind of distant. He also noticed that she was carrying her new travel case that he had given her. “Oh” he thought to himself as she led the way. “She must be wanting to do some studying today. Why does she never just take a break”. If only he decided to stay in, or pretend he was sick or something. Then he would not have been stuck here on this stupid hill for so many years. They had not even been going for an hour before her backers had them surrounded. Before he even realized they were working together, she had cast her spell on him. While it seemed pretty reversible at the time, he knew he was stuck for good after no one went looking for him. They were too focused on the fight’s aftermath. Now no one looked for him because no one cared. Not only that, but his type of work had died out years ago and there was no one alive anymore that could fix him. Even worse, he had started to hear that people no longer thought he was real anymore. He had heard people talking about his hand work like it was just common folk tales. Having lost the ability to speak, he could not correct them or tell them his thoughts. So he just listened, and listened. When he heard sad news, he could only cry his sticky tears. As when he heard that Artie’s fight did not end well for him, while this was expected it still brought tears. Artie did not heed his warnings and had gotten pretty fat over the years, common after marriage troubles, but his loss was supposed to happen. After his loss, He was going to lose and then come back at some time later, but Artie was taking a lot longer than expected. Now he would not have his best man at his side.
“We’re sorry about the park, little missy, but all this land has been brought to be turned into apartment buildings and there is nothing that can stop that. At least you have your pictures of the park, those would last a while.” said the service man. The angry six year old did not like that answer and ran off crying to her mom. “Filthy little tree hugger” the service man muttered as he dropped his cigarette on the ground and squashed it with his feet. With that, he set to work. Merlin, the yew tree, cried tears of sap as he was cut down.