The Dragonfly Arrow

The dragonflies circling her head formed a halo. Chayil imagined herself as a painting from one of the religious books in her father’s attic. Chayil couldn’t recall walking to the pond, removing their clothing, rubbing mud over their entire body, or falling asleep on their back under a fig tree. But then, things did oftentimes occur in the most curious ways. Being accustomed to curious things, when the dragonflies flew off and coalesced into the shape of an arrow in the distance, Chayil remained unimpressed.

Nevertheless, once she stood and began making her way toward the dragonfly arrow, a sense of urgency overcame her; Chayil’s heart began to race. For reasons they didn’t understand, they knew it was imperative that they make it to the arrow as quickly as possible.

Chayil felt like she was walking without moving. “Going nowhere fast,” she said to no one in particular. The dragonfly arrow appeared as distant as ever, pointing upward. It loomed before her like a mirage, shimmering with promise. They released their breath, inhaled deeply, recentered, exhaled, and began again. The ground appeared to be moving underfoot. It reminded Chayil of an interactive art exhibit they’d seen once, somewhere. Somewhen. Stepping on the floor of the exhibit caused different colors of light to ripple across it, much like a stone thrown into a placid pond. Where when that occurred, they couldn’t say: There was only here now and the dragonfly arrow.

After much travail, Chayil reached the arrow. As they stepped underneath it, Chayil was rendered immediately unconscious.

Sometime before or after, Chayil awoke on a train. It took them a minute to process their surroundings; the swaying motion was ambiguous, but the sound of the rails was hauntingly familiar. It was a sound deeply rooted within Chayil, almost as if it were encoded in their DNA. They remembered the dragonfly arrow vividly, although the where and when of it was blurry. Chayil recalled the pond and was filled with yearning. She longed to return. There had been an up arrow, so certainly there would be a down. That stood to reason. She surveyed her surroundings.

Chayil could see a mountain range speeding past the train to their left. To their right, they saw a wide rapid river. On the horizon, Chayil could see where the two merged, forming a sharp point. She turned and could see that the mountains and river came to a nearly identical point at roughly the same distance in the opposite direction. Chayil turned around once more, then back again. They couldn’t discern in which direction the train was moving. They turned several times in both yet, with each turn, the train appeared to be moving in whichever direction they were facing. Still, one of these train cars must contain a downward arrow, she concluded. Perhaps it wasn’t the direction of the train’s movement that mattered, but the direction she chose to move within it.

Quite unexpectedly, a dragonfly zoomed past her face. It flew in the direction previously known as forward. Chayil knew neither here nor there in the some where or when, but she did know that one ought to always follow dragonflies. She trailed it to the car door, where it hovered mockingly. Chayil recalled a door such as this from some where when, so knew to press the lever while pulling. It was an inexplicable muscle memory more than anything. They might be sleepwalking, Chayil considered. Perhaps they’d been sleepwalking for some time.

Was she dreaming? She wondered. The detailed textiles, their tactile quality, the richness of the fabrics, the sounds, the vibrations, even the odors were rather convincing. She opened the first car door and could smell the river. All their senses in overload, Chayil stepped through the second door, allowing it to crash shut behind her. An oppressive feeling of disorientation washed over her: she was now entirely uncertain where or when she’d begun. Was the pond her destination? Or were they trying to get the train home from the pond? What or where was home? In some unknown where when, were people expecting her?

From the darkness of the second car a voice bellowed, “And what anchors have you thrown down then? Expecting you can dock any where when?”

Then, Chayil saw a figure in the center of the car, indistinct yet vaguely menacing.

“That’s on target with you jumpers: entitlement!”

Chayil shook her head and held out her hands in a gesture of peace, “That’s not me. I’m not. I’m not - a jumper. Honestly, I’m not even sure what that is. I’m just. Looking for something.”

The figure appeared to be amassing into something person-esque.

Chayil continued, “I’m looking for a dragonfly arrow. To get back to the pond. I’m half certain that’s where I ought to be.”

“I suppose half certain is better than uncertain. And if you said you were completely certain, I’d know you were lying. I will help you. Let’s go, back the way you came.”

“Back?” Chayil questioned, “Are you positive? I’m not sure that’s correct. I saw a dragonfly head this way.”

The figure had now materialized into a child-sized man in a tweed suit, blackened from soot; coal rouged his cheeks. “But only the head of it?” They gasped. “How dreadful!”

Ignoring the figure’s nonsense, Chayil snapped, “If the dragonfly went this way, so should we all!”

The manchild complied begrudgingly and, just as the pair neared the car door, they heard as much as felt a deep tremor. This was more than the train skipping the tracks, friction, or poor conducting. This was a mighty wave from the center of the earth; an attempt to shake them off its back like a dog shaking off water. They were trespassers, Chayil and the manchild both. She could see it rather clearly: The train was a coconspirator abetting her escape. To where or when Chayil could only guess.

There came another rumbling, and the train lurched for or backward as if pushing them in the direction of the dragonfly, despite the manschild’s insistence they proceed in the opposite. What did he know anyway? Chayil wondered. After all, he seemed to be stuck here in less than corporeal form. The train lurched a third time, and Chayil knew it was time to move. She pushed down the lever of the door while pulling it open. It was like pulling a cork from a bottle; a valve released in a previously unrecognized vacuum, sucking the air from their lungs.

Chayil had to exert a tremendous amount of force to step into the third car. They leaned into it with their head down, like a mime walking against the wind. Once inside, she looked back to see how the manchild was getting on, but he remained in the second car, far more cowardly in deed than word. Predictable. Chayil winced at the cowardice of men. It made no difference to her whether he come or stay. He watched her through the door window as she started down the aisle. Chayil knew they had to move quickly while remaining astute. There would be smaller signs leading to bigger revelations.

The dragonfly whizzed past their face again, then hovered near the middle of the car before disappearing. Chayil became increasingly mindful of signs. Signs are commonly right in the middle of things, she knew. That’s why destination-oriented people often missed them.

Chayil heard a sound that was something between a groan and suppressed laughter. They called out, “Hello? Is someone there?”

“Some one is presumptuous, wouldn’t you agree, dear?”

“Dear is presumptuous, wouldn’t you agree?”

A chuckle, then, “Touché. It’s all relative, I suppose. But then, isn’t that the problem precisely?”

Impatiently, Chayil replied, “Perhaps. At any rate, I’m looking for a dragonfly arrow. Will you help me or not?”

“Demands, demands, straightaway, I see! You assume that I can? That interests me.”

“I do. You must know the place where you are.”

“I see. Do you know the place where you are?”

“I don’t. Because this isn’t my place.”

“Presumptuous to presume that it’s mine.”

“I suppose so. Still, I believe you can help me. So, will you?”

“To the point, I have never seen this dragonfly arrow. There has been talk, as of late, of a dragonfly head. Only the head - fancy that! Might they be related?”

“In an abstract way, I suppose. But not in a way that is particularly useful.”

“Isn’t it? Queer, that! Could be you’re headed the wrong way. Is your head on the right way?”

Chayil considered this and answered, “It’s on the normal way I suppose. The dragonfly and train are both compelling me in this direction. So, you see, I must carry on this way, and bid you good day!”

“I do see. One must always pay strict attention to dragonflies. Especially their heads! Even at the peril of missing signs.”

“The dragonfly itself is a sign.”

“As you see it.”

“As I see it, indeed. Now I bid you adieu.”

“Fare thee well, sign seeker. I pray you find your place.”

With that, Chayil proceeded. They should continue to the fourth car. Shouldn’t they? Chayil stood for a moment, lost in thought. So far, a manchild and a disembodied voice had encouraged her to head in the opposite direction. And where was the dragonfly? It wasn’t hovering near the door like before. Dragonflies had led them here, so it followed a certain kind of logic that dragonflies would lead them back. Back to the pond in the where when? Chayil was turned around, lost in her head. Only the head! Where when had the voice heard that?

The fact that it didn’t make sense made a terrible kind of sense. Chayil attempted to piece together what they’d learned thus far: They were on a directionless train that didn’t appear to be stopping. They were looking for a downward dragonfly arrow, which they hoped would transport them back to a pond in the vast unknown of where whens. Yep, that checked out. Still, the absence of the dragonfly unsettled her. Smaller signs would lead to bigger revelations, Chayil said aloud.

Chayil turned back to see the manchild still watching raptly through the door window. As they made eye contact with him, he slowly shook his head no, but Chayil ignored him and continued toward the fourth car. About halfway down the corridor, she noticed what appeared to be a small blueish light on the floor; a luminescent pool. Quite without thinking, she approached it. Chayil gazed down into the pool of light, half expecting to see her own reflection. She saw, instead:

A bucolic landscape punctuated by dreams. They could see the dreams half formed in twilight hues, ascending toward the heavens. Incandescent globes wavering briefly overhead before wafting off into the ethers, like plumes of smoke from a hookah. Slowly exhaled.

Softly, a disembodied voice cooed:

One of these dreams belongs to you. Do you recognize it here now? In the before after of where when? Moments either become lost, or they become memories; it’s up to you. It’s time for you to choose: Will you take the dream?

The father watched his daughter playing near the pond, the banks of which were thick, muddy tar pits, the dinosaur killing variety; the quicksand terror of youth never encountered in adulthood. The child sat near the edge of the embankment, on a narrow patch of damp grass, oblivious to the dreams they released; the entrapments of adulthood yet unknown, lost in the imperviousness of youth. Dreams emanated from the child in rapid succession. Four incandescent orbs hovered above her head, forming a halo. As the father watched from a distance, they were struck by the religious iconography. For all the world, he might have been viewing a renaissance painting: The vestal virgin. The eternal flame.

Life happens slowly at first. There are more hours to replace self-doubt with self-discovery than one supposes. Endless hours waiting for life to begin, not realizing it has long since begun. Funny how the countless hours between one thing and the next rushed together in the end, so that the here now was indistinguishable from the there then. And, quite secretly, life happened during the in betweens, exactly when you weren’t paying attention, the father contemplated.

He’d constructed a small platform for the trainset outside the cabin so he could watch Chayil while conducting. At his house, they had an entire room dedicated to the town of Trainsville. A woefully banal name that he’d developed an affinity for over the years as it had been Chayil’s choosing. The citizens of Trainsville had proper names, families, businesses, lovers. Lives. Over the weekend, he and Chayil lost themselves; hours crashed upon hours, consumed by the construction and maintenance of their beloved town. The train would run nonstop, even whilst they slept. Trainsville clipped at a breakneck pace. They could scarcely keep up.

Dusk settled in like it longed to retreat, yet it gave up the ghost all the same. The father admired the sandcastle they’d constructed earlier. Even the sandcastle had a backstory rooted in Trainsville. He realized that Trainsville was quite literally the life he’d built with his daughter; it was theirs alone. He only got to spend time with Chayil on the weekends, a bitter point of contention between he and his ex-partner. No matter that he was the biological parent, Thomas had a bigger house and was ‘gainfully employed’, as the courts put it. Apparently, steady incomes won the race. The father could make hundreds of thousands of dollars from a single train installation, but Thomas was able to set his bills to autopay: the modern-day marker of success. The father wondered how the world had gotten here.

All Chayil’s dreams were buoyant, they floated upward with mirth; free of doubt, free of judgment. The father’s dreams bobbed with the weight of knowing. He’d always believed that knowledge was power, that knowing, no matter the cost, was preferable to not. Watching Chayil’s dreams ascend, he wondered if this were so. His child’s dreams continued to dance as they soared upward, untethered. It was as enviable as he was pitiable. Creating Chayil was the finest thing he’d ever accomplished. Not because he could see himself in Chayil. But because he could see in Chayil all that he’d never be. That was the beauty of love, he supposed.

Without warning, a mighty bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half, the subsequent crash of thunder fast behind it. The day had moments ago been idyllic; fashioned from one of Chayil’s dreams. The rapidity with which the sky darkened was in stark juxtaposition. The clouds overtook the sky with an ominous grace, the waning sunlight relinquished as if awed by their heroism. There was no combating the overtake of clouds. The father began dismantling Trainsville with far less grace than usual. Chayil looked up from her daisy chain at the sky, then at her father. There was something unfamiliar in her eyes.

Chayil was afraid.

Taking their cue from the look in their child’s eyes, the father quickened their pace. There would be no ice cream on the ride back to Thomas’ today. It was now a race between them and the indomitable storm. Except, this was more than an atmospheric anomaly; this was a cosmic disturbance of legendary proportion. Birds flew, screaming into the abyss. Ground creatures scurried, water creatures – did whatever water creatures did in a hurry. There was no time.

There was no time, the father said aloud. Chayil knew that the careless dismantling of the train set meant serious business. Everything that followed, did so in slow motion. At least, that’s how both father and child would describe it if given the chance. Strange, how quickly things can change. In the blink of an eye, one can find themselves completely at odds with all they’ve ever thought they’ve known.

Chayil’s memories were fragmented with the passing of time, regardless of the direction in which it passed. They heard their father calling out to them urgently. She ran over to help him pack up Trainsville, beginning with the landscape pieces, trees and mountains, then moving on to the buildings. Just as father taught her. She watched her father fumble with the controls of the train.

Chayil watched the train race around the track faster and faster as father smashed the power button repeatedly with his palm. When it was apparent the control was jammed, he ran inside to cut the power at the source. Chayil was nearly amused by the train’s reckless course. Nearly, except for the inexplicable feeling of rising dread. It began in the pit of her stomach and raced up her spine, causing the base of her skull to tingle. The hypnotic motion of the toy train transfixed Chayil. They couldn’t look away, even when they heard the scream from inside the cabin.

Traumatic memories are oftentimes anachronistically recalled, they’d been reassured some where when. Still, Chayil couldn’t shake the feeling that their father’s scream had nothing whatsoever to do with the lightning bolt that struck the cabin. Something altogether more sinister transpired, of that she was certain. Even so, the thing that Chayil recalled most vividly was the sound of the train as it zipped around frantically, occasionally skipping off the tracks.

Chayil came to: The train was rushing for or backwards perilously, occasionally skipping off the tracks. The strange pool of light that had previously beckoned was now gone. Chayil was met with a depth of darkness that defied them.

“Hello, who is there now?”

She wasn’t quite certain why she thought someone was there since she was able to hear about as much as she was able to see. The absence of sensation was profoundly disturbing.

“Hello! Answer me!”

There was no response for some moments, then another ostensibly disembodied voice called out, “Well, then. You again? No, you’re not a jumper at all. Hmmpf! Such entitlement!”

The manchild! So, he had made it to the third car after all. What had prompted this? Chayil had to know, “So, you worked up the nerve to leave your train car, finally?”

The manchild laughed, “Oh you are turned around, aren’t ya? Don’t even know where when you’re docked. A proper mess, you are!”

“I’ll beg your pardon! Who are you to call me a mess, you coward!”

“Coward, eh? I’m not the one who’s running away from myself in the wrong direction!”

“Explain yourself or leave me be!”

“Nothing to explain. Now that you’ve found your way back here, you’re gonna have to make another decision. Keep trying to find yourself in the wrong direction or go back the way you came.”

The realization ran through Chayil’s veins like ice water: the manchild hadn’t moved in the direction previously known as 'forward'. Rather, Chayil had moved in the direction previously known as 'backward'. And where were the dragonflies? Slowly, the train car became illuminated enough for her to make out the manchild’s silhouette. He was closer than they’d imagined. Chayil took a step away from him, uncertain how to name their conflicting emotions. Mostly, they were incredulous. They also felt something like fear, which could certainly mount to terror if left unchecked.

But the base emotion was rage. How dare he?

“Listen you, manchild. I’m sick of your mind games and double speak. You said you would help me, yet you’ve done nothing but talk in riddles and twist everything around. I don’t appreciate you trying to lead me astray. I’m growing rather impatient with you and have half a mind to swat you down like the annoying gnat you are!”

The manchild laughed heartily. It wasn’t a sarcastic laugh, rather one born of genuine amusement. Naturally, this enraged Chayil further.

She was about to push past him when he stopped laughing and said, “A gnat? Oh, that’s rich. Take your shots at me if you will. I am laughing because, quite honestly, you are a stray.”

Perplexed and increasingly irritated, Chayil insisted they were no such thing.

The manchild chortled and replied, “Ah, I see the problem. A stray can’t see when they’re astray. It’s like you said before, friend: this is not your place. Believe me or not, it’s your choice. I am telling you for the last time that you want to go that way,” he nodded and gestured in the direction previously known as backward. “That is, if you want to get back to the place you believe is yours.”

“Friend, indeed!” Chayil snapped. But then, she considered her tendency to ignore signs. Some where when in the before after, Chayil had struggled with this lesson. Signs would lead to bigger revelations. Where had they heard that? Had they been following the dragonflies with such singlemindedness that they’d missed other signs? Maybe even signs that were here now berating them? Or was the manchild merely another obstacle to hurdle past?

What was in her heart?

Astonishingly, the train began to slow, albeit only slightly. Something in the direction previously known as backward caught their eye. Chayil turned, and thought they saw a small greenish light flit across the car. No sooner had she spotted it than did it disappear. Shrugging her shoulders, she decided to go in the direction the manchild suggested, even if only to spite him. She would prove how woefully wrong he was. She took a few tentative steps and could feel a shift in the atmosphere; the temperature dipped in places, spiked in others.

The air surrounding the row of seats closest to the car door was icy. Chayil extended their arm and felt the air immediately surrounding the door; it was humid and sticky, more of a liquid than a gas. It was thoroughly unpleasant. What possible reason could one have for entering this primordial ooze? Then, Chayil reflected: primordial ooze? If she went back the way she came, as the manchild phrased it, how far back, exactly, would she go?

Chayil loathed the idea of stepping into the muggy airsoup. Still, they had to try. The other direction had yielded nothing, and they could always double back if it was either too risky or fruitless. Couldn’t they? Chayil supposed there was no certitude to anything anymore.

Chayil stepped into the airsoup and instantaneously felt faint and nauseated. The airsoup punched her in the gut, assaulting her viciously. It was all she could do to not immediately abort her mission. They’d almost rather be reprimand by the manchild. Whether due to pride or stubbornness, Chayil doubled down on her decision and pulled open the car door, only to be blasted with scorching air. Chayil again considered retreat but was arrested by a wall of sound.

She could hear the sound of the train screeching along the tracks, a metal-on-metal grinding that could likely be heard from some distance. She could hear the sounds of the wind howling and the train cars rattling as they swayed to and fro. But there was another sound that dominated; ear piercing, visceral. It was eerily familiar. Chayil stood at the portal between cars, struggling to identify the sound. The train lurched unexpectedly, throwing them off balance. They knew they had to keep moving.

Chayil moved without incident through one car to the next. Miraculously, this trend continued for some time. Throughout the next several cars, she met neither menchildren nor disembodied voices, neither flittering green lights, nor luminescent pools of blueish light. On and on they traveled until they nearly lost count. Chayil stopped, her hand upon the door, and re-counted: 32. They were about to enter the 33rd car. There was another shift in the atmosphere. Something felt. Odd. The air wasn’t as muggy or syrupy.

She realized she hadn’t seen a dragonfly in this direction. Not even one. Chayil steadied herself and pulled open the door. They were met with the same sounds: the metal-on-metal grinding, the rattling of the cars, the wind. She also heard the same unidentifiable yet familiar sound. She lingered. Chayil was on the precipice of something: a greater revelation.

Finally, it occurred to Chayil what the other sound was: it was the comingling of lighting striking the wood cabin and her father’s scream.

Chayil stood, straddling the gap between cars, watching the graveled ground pass sluggishly beneath the train. The train was moving at a seemingly glacial pace. At least, that’s how she would describe it if anyone asked. Chayil recalled hearing that the train was an ally, a coconspirator abetting their escape. To where when they could only speculate. Then, Chayil understood what they needed to do. Still straddling the gap, they inched their way to the train's edge, one hand upon each car. Chayil counted to three, yelled, “I regret nothing!", closed her eyes.

And leapt.

She hit the ground harder than she would’ve imagined, striking it first with her right shoulder. Despite having done her best to tuck and roll, she could feel the blade of her shoulder dislocate upon impact. Chayil made four full barrel rolls across the dusty terrain before a large boulder broke their motion. The boulder struck them in the back of the head, causing them to lose consciousness.

Everything went black.

Chayil awoke on the banks of a pond. They couldn’t recall walking to the pond, removing their clothing, rubbing mud over their entire body, or falling asleep on their back under a fig tree. But then, things did oftentimes occur in the most curious ways. Being accustomed to curious things, when the dragonflies flew off and coalesced into the shape of an arrow in the distance, Chayil remained unimpressed.

Nevertheless, once she stood and began making her way toward the dragonfly arrow, a sense of urgency overcame her; Chayil’s heart began to race. For reasons they didn’t understand, they knew it was imperative that they make it to the arrow as quickly as possible.