Authors: L.M. McCleary
No one
knew who did it. Kay and I were only fourteen at the time and too scared to
come forward. While I didn’t trust the memoir, I knew how much Kay was
intrigued by it and it was the only book I managed to save from the fire; I
never did manage to give it back to him, though…I was always too absorbed in my
own books and his stories. My backpack was tossed aside in my room and never
thought of again, which kind of ruined the whole point of salvaging it to begin
with. But I have it now; that’s all that matters…Kay
will
get it back.
I sat
for a while, thinking on people and things that I wish I didn’t. The journal
felt cold and heavy in my hands, its cover a sleek design with golden letters
stretched out across it. My fingers traced the title over and over; it was
mostly intact, although a few strands had come unglued in my journey. It still
looked brand new; just like the day my father had brought it home to me. I
didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it – my father’s face blazed across my
mind’s eye, his laughing face and bright blue eyes gazing out into the
wasteland with me. He often laughed – maybe that’s why people loved him so
much. Nothing ever brought my father down and people came to him for advice
more than I ever had. He was a staple of our little community – so why did no
one look for him? Did they really resent him in the end?
I held
my journal close to my chest, hugging it tightly as I thought about the man
that was friend
and
father through all my years; someone I loved more
than words could ever say.
“You
always cherished the written word, Dad…a trait that you’ve instilled in me.” I hugged
my journal tighter. “You did that for me, somehow…you gave up your own personal
request at the Provisioning to get this for me and I’ll never forget the day
you brought this book home.”
Dad…I
remember that I was sitting on the fountain’s edges in town once again, like I
always did with Kay. He had chores to do that morning and I waited patiently
for him at the town square when you arrived out of nowhere, a bright smile on
your face like you always had.
“I have something for you.” You seemed more excited about the gift than I was,
hiding it behind your back with both hands.
“Oh?” I could barely even finish my sentence when you whipped the journal out
and waved it in front of me; you appeared almost giddy at its reveal.
“It’s a diary!” You had exclaimed as I looked at it skeptically, “you can keep
all your thoughts and adventures in here.” He flipped the pages open and
scanned them before me, knowing the empty pages would pique my curiosity.
“Adventures?”
I raised an eyebrow at the word and
glanced up at him.
“Well, someday…” my father started, calming in his enthusiasm, “who knows what
the future holds. I can’t imagine you wanting to stay around here the rest of
your life.” He had sat next to me on the fountain then, putting the navy blue
journal on my lap.
‘Leave?’
I had thought,
‘Why would I leave? No one ever has before.
There’s nothing but the wasteland out there…right?’
I turned my head
sharply to look at my father, my eyes widening in thought.
‘He’s been out
there…’
My
father, misreading my expression, grinned and said, “Exciting, isn’t it? I know
how much you love reading and sharing stories with Kay, so I thought you would
really enjoy this; surely you would love to write as well. Let your creativity
flow.” He managed to peel his eyes away from the diary just long enough to give
me a hopeful smile. “Who knows; maybe someday people will read your own work
and cherish the knowledge the same way you do yourself.”
I
couldn’t help but smile when he had said that. The thought of someone reading
this journal with awe was an exciting one…but I didn’t put much stock into it;
no one else in town seemed to care about the books available to us, not to
mention that we were convinced we were the only survivors of the Reckoning.
Whether I believe that now, though…I’m not so sure.
I had a
hard time calming my racing heart all the same though, and my mind reeled with
all the stories Kay and I could actually put on paper now. I smiled and said, “Thank
you Dad,” as I ran my fingers over the hard cover of a journal I would
eventually forget I even had. After the events of the library, I always felt a
pang of guilt when I looked upon the navy hues of my father’s gift. I tucked it
away in my room and eventually forgot all about it. What would I have to write
in it, anyway? My life has always been so uneventful. Looking back on those
days, though, I can’t help but wonder if my father ever noticed how little I
used it…was he disappointed?
Thinking
back to my father and the days we had together is getting harder and harder as
the days go on; I miss him more and more with every sunset. I had closed my
journal and sighed. I still couldn’t wrap my head around why he would have left
us. Was it something I did? What went wrong? What did I not know about? As much
as this journal has been my sanity out here, every day I open it I’m greeted
with the voice of my father as my eyes briefly trace the outline of his
handwritten message on the inside cover:
‘To my little girl,
May your imagination always soar through the
pages of
life.
Love, dad’
I still
cherish those words, even if they hurt. This was the last gift I ever received
from him and seeing his scrawl is rather bittersweet, but it makes me feel like
wherever he is, a part of him is still with me. When the heartache subsides, I
find his words give me hope.
Dad, if
you’re reading this…I love you and I’m sorry; sorry for everything. I truly am.
Journal Entry #2,
The storm was still raging hard against the stone entrance, which caused the
wooden awning to creak and sway incessantly.
Ponika
sat comfortably next to the wall opposite me as he kept a vigilant eye on the
crazed sand; his eyes darted back and forth and his ears shifted wildly as he
seemed to watch invisible creatures drifting through the dunes. As I had sat
there and watched my horse relax I had started to hear a sound in the
distance…a wet, dripping sound.
“Is that…water,
Ponika
?” I had said to him, straining
to hear the quiet sound in the roaring wind.
It was faint but it was definitely there: dripping water and it seemed to be
coming from the back of the mine. I had looked towards the source of the sound
but the tunnel that lead further inside was blocked by rubble and shrouded in
darkness. I had stood up and pressed my ear to the cold stone that had caved in
the corridor and heard it clearly this time; there was definitely water
somewhere behind these rocks. I felt around, looking for way in and found a
slight gap in the side of the wall that I could squeeze through if I inhaled
just right.
I
grabbed my backpack, expecting to be able to salvage some supplies and I
stuffed my journal quickly inside the front pouch, afraid it may blow away in
the wind once again if left unattended. “I’ll be right back,
Ponika
; I might be able to find something for us.”
Ponika
cocked his ear back at his name but otherwise
ignored me as I ventured into the darkness that encompassed the other side of
the corridor.
I
tangled my fingers around the uneven stones that poked out at me from the walls
and carefully made my way forward, testing the ground cautiously for any cracks
or weak foundation. As I inched along I started to see a faded and shaky light in
the distance; it would illuminate the damp walls around it and then disappear,
only to reappear moments later. I crept forward, a new destination in mind and
the source of the light finally came into view; a blue metallic lantern that
swung wildly in a cool breeze that seemed to escape through a few stray holes
in the tunnels around it. The lantern lay at a fork in the road; winds from two
different directions battered its frame and tickled my face as I now had an
option of paths. The route straight ahead appeared vast and empty and it was
shrouded in darkness, while the tunnel to my right was much brighter; I could
see the path that meandered through the earth in a dusty and dim haze. I
decided to take the new route; not only could I see what was ahead of me but
the breeze that whispered past my face was a consistent presence, which made me
assume there would be an easy way out should I have need of it. Well, turns out
I was partially right.
The
tunnel was sporadically lit with metal lanterns and small streams of light had
peeked through the crevices on the walls. There had been a few small pieces of
debris along the way and an overturned cart or two as I went but otherwise the
tunnel had been in pretty good shape; its wooden frames looked sturdy and untouched
in the pale light. I had eventually come across mine tracks hidden in the dirt
beneath me – I wouldn’t have even known they were there if I hadn’t tripped
over them. It forced me to grab onto the wall next to me to steady myself but
in my haste I had latched on too hard, causing pieces of earth to crumble at my
fingertips and expose a dark corridor beyond it. I had thought that I heard
something skittering away at the sight of falling earth but I saw no sign of
life anywhere as I had quickly scanned the darkness. The sound of dripping
water could still be heard somewhere in the distance, however, so I had pressed
onwards, foolishly allowing the gap in the wall to stay exposed. I don’t know
how long I travelled for but it felt like an eternity, the corridor never
changing in appearance as it zigged and zagged along its predetermined route.
The sound of water was constantly getting closer, urging me onwards as I grew
farther and farther away from
Ponika
. I should have
felt uneasy but the promise of hydration was overpowering.
Then
there it was: water dripping from the muddy roof above me. I had found myself
in a small, angular room with a rotted architectural table in one corner and an
overturned cart before me that signaled the end of the track. Multiple pickaxes
lined the walls and a few dirt-covered overalls were strewn about the uneven
floor around me. There was a small corridor on the other side that must have
continued the track but it was pitch black, although I assumed it wasn’t always
that way. At the entrance to the darkened tunnel ahead was a broken lantern,
its shards of glass embedded in the thick, muddy ground about the room. I
may have been nervous if I had spent the time to scrutinize the path a bit more
but I had ended up shrugging off the darkness near me as I had found what I was
looking for. I whipped out my canister and allowed the water to stream
into it, knowing it would take some time but time is something I had plenty of.
I could still hear the howling winds blowing outside through the small cracks
in the walls around me and knowing that I must not be far into the earth calmed
me.
As I
waited for my flask to fill, I couldn’t help but wonder what had lied above me;
the ceiling was quite wet and the smell of must permeated the atmosphere. Could
there have been a lake above? How perfect would that have been if I could have
only found a way to get above the
mine.
As I pondered
the source of the dripping water I was suddenly alerted to red eyes watching me
from the shadows; a small figure that sat unmoving in the tunnel ahead. It
blinked unevenly at me but did little else. My heart had started to beat faster
and my mouth felt dry as I stared at the creature for a few minutes, bracing
myself for an attack. We stood there that way as the water slowly continued
into my canister and as the minutes ticked by my heart slowed and my nerves
calmed; surely it would have done something by now, right? I had now assumed it
must have meant no harm and I continued to fill my canister, silently wishing it
would start dripping a little bit faster all the same. I continued to stand
there, one hand on the canister and one now primed on the hilt of my dagger,
and yet the creature was still there, watching me with silent fascination; what
did it want? Could it have been just as scared of me? Well, if it had stayed by
itself
then it might have been afraid, sure, but by
the time my canteen had been half filled I had started to see multiple pairs of
eyes materialize in the darkness around it. My stomach dropped and I swallowed
hard as I tried to casually glance in their direction. They were still staring
at me and didn’t move; whatever those things are, I had thought that they may
not be hostile but simply curious. Either way, I didn’t want to find out. I
exhaled deeply as I tried to calm my shaking hands and I proceeded to gradually
and meticulously put the lid back on my flask, not wanting any sudden movement
to cause a fuss. Once the lid was fully secured it made a squeaking noise in my
hand and while the sound was slight, it seemed to reverberate across the room
in the silence of the mineshaft. As if on cue they suddenly started running; I
heard the skittering of their feet on the stone and mud beneath us and their
eyes bounced in the darkness. I barely had time to turn around when a scaled,
charred hand reached out of the shadows towards me, its fingers twisted and
contoured into the shape of a three-pronged claw. I abandoned my previous fear
of sudden movements; I took off towards
Ponika
and
the sound of pounding feet quickly followed after. I ran as fast as I could,
hearing the lanterns that lit the path fall and shatter after each light I had
passed. It had been getting harder and harder to see but I knew
Ponika
could not be far; I would reach the entrance and we
would leave together, sandstorm or not.