Here is the finished copy (yet who is to say I won't change it?)
_Merrie xox
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VELVET WOOD
“You can still hear that haunted
whistle from the old train,” my Grandmother told us, her eyes wide, her hands
making movements from left to right, up and down, in front of our dying
fireplace “my brothers and I would often follow its tracks when we were young
and adventurous.”
“But
Grandmother,” my little brother Oskari piped up “how would you have followed
the tracks if you cannot find them? You once told us, you had attempted to find
them, when you were older, yet could not.”
Grandmother smiled mysteriously, replying in a whisper “That
is because only those with the right intentions may find the tracks, the train,
the other world. You see children, as you get older sometimes you can become
selfish, which were my reasons for wanting to visit that realm. Those tracks
are magical, they carry a train unlike any other upon their moss-covered rails,
meaning, they cannot be fooled.”
Grandmother
spoke of how her and our uncles used to venture out, arms full from their
satchels brimming with their pic-nics, faces stained red from eating wild
berries in the woods they were exploring, feet squelching in their sodden
wellingtons and their breath forming white puffs in front of their faces,
obscuring the view before them.
“It was
one of these expeditions when my brothers had run off leaving me to follow,”
the fire was crackling as if in response to our Grandmother’s old, steady
voice, every time she wove a new web, the fire would flicker as if excited by
the magic hidden within her sentences. The fire along with Oskari and I was
controlled by the story. “I had not seen
the way those rascals ran off, yet I wasn’t concerned, being alone meant I was
free to wander. If my brothers lost me, it was their fault.” Again the fire
crackled, again the fire flickered.
“The
excitement of being alone had made me careless; I was ignoring the warning of
the birds and trees, the prickle of hair at the back of my neck, the shivers
and ripples of the creek. My mind was focused solely on finding adventure,” my
little brother’s eyes were huge, the firelight reflected in them, his tiny
hands were clasped together and his body was tensed ready for action.
“I was
quiet, as quiet as a mouse while I crept through the trees on light feet and as
I crossed the creek the wind changed, pulling me forwards, whispering about ancient
battles and of swords smeared with blood, it whispered about poison and of assassins,
yet still I was not afraid, still I walked on, back straight, feet sure, eyes
and mind determined.
After several minutes of walking
the trees dispersed and a large clearing opened. On the opposite side of me was
a stone wall, so high I needed to crane my neck to see the top, built into a
hill. The wall on its face held ancient carvings. Moss covered the ground
thickly,” My brother and I were holding our breath as if something were to jump
out at us. “I began to walk forwards, careful so as not to kick up the moss. I
changed my breath to a pattern slow and quiet as I crept forwards.
Human
instincts are interesting things children, they are fibres of our being planted
deep down to our most bare and animal selves. If something is wrong you feel it
like a breath of wind or a shadow being cast from a falling leaf, they are so
slight you can often miss them, miss the warnings before it is too late. My
instincts were screaming at me that day, telling me I did not belong. I still
felt no danger, just a strong sense I did not belong.
The change, when it came did not
surprise me, just the slightest twinge of a muscle and there it was an ancient
train, transparent, but fully visible chugging along the rails, somehow never
disturbing the moss. There must have been at least sixteen carriages, all of
which held other organisms, people, animals, plants, all transparent, all
hollow bodies whose souls had left them; All dead I realised.
I waited for the train to pass
before I began to run, as fast as my little legs could carry me, back across the
creek, down the valley and back home to my mother’s waiting arms, teardrops
plopping down my face in huge balls, my hands and knees muddy from falling, my
breath catching in huge hiccups from my sobs. I had seen the train from fairy
tales, the passage from the living world to the dead realm, I had seen the dead,
so hollow and empty and unemotional. It simply was not right.” Grandmother
looked sad as she told the next.
“I had wanted to find the train
again so I could make peace with my memories, now that I understood death
better, but my being in that clearing as a child had been a mistake of my own
determined stubbornness, when I see that train again I shall be ready because
it will be my time to ride one of those carriages.” The fire dimmed at these
words.
I wrapped my arms around the
shivering Oskari as I whispered “Do you think that will be soon?”
“I am not sure my dear, sometimes
I feel my instincts telling me one thing and then another. When the day comes
it will be a time to celebrate, not for mourning, my soul will have departed
long before my body and I will see you again when you ride that train and we
jump into our next lives together.” Grandmother cradled us both in her strong
arms in front of the dying fireplace, and as we fell asleep the last of the
embers died away, the last of our Grandmother’s breath was released and in our
dreams Oskari and I realised the lie she had told us to allow her passing was filled
with love. Neither my brother nor I cried the morning after. We smiled and
listened to that haunted whistle of the old train as our Grandmother stepped
onto it and was carried away. We smiled; hugged each other and we knew peace
would come into our lives now we knew the story; the story of death and life
and how all is tied into one.
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