Out of the Dark

Out of the Dark

(A tale from long ago)

By Bella Takacs.

As my eyes open I groan from the pain of sleeping on the cold dirt floor. Tomorrow it will be my turn to rest on the mattress made of dried weeds. I sit up and look over longingly to the rest of our group sitting around the blazing fire pit. My hunger suddenly takes over making me realize that today I have to walk up the valley to bring back the sack full of the lord’s blessings, including grainy bread, fruits and small bits of meat, if the monastery might be generous enough to spare some satisfaction to the peasants.

I take one of my blistered hands and part away the tattered fabric that serves as an incomplete door. I grab the brown burlap bag that is hung over the doorway and swing it over my shoulder.

On the way out of the hut I pick a dry piece of grass to floss the dirt and grime out of my teeth. One of them falls out in the process of poking and prodding. I hardly even notice as in my teeth have broken and worn out from eating grainy bread and picking the last bits of savory meat from cold bones.

While strolling up the slightly slanted pasture my worn feet encounter moiling dung from the monk’s grazing cows. The cows are healthy and fat from plentiful feedings that the peasants on the countryside could only dream of.

When I reach the climax of the valley my feet roll under me in the soft slope that leads down to the Monastery. In the distance I can almost make out some monks singing droning tunes about praising the lord and how the life that he provides will not be filled with laughter because they would never try to disturb him by enjoying it. I scoff at their ignorance. You see, I believe that sorrow and regret shouldn’t fill our days. We should leave some time for curiosity and rejoicing. I would never suggest this or else I would certainly be publicly humiliated or possibly burned at the stake for convoluted ideas.

Chapter 2

The festivities have already begun when I arrive. The food pit is full of people eagerly grabbing at discarded food items. A few early arrivers are gobbling away at strange organs off to the side. I think to myself what greedy people not even saving the meat for the rest of their kin but shoving it down their throats like a bunch of wild boar.

I then realize that I will regret my slowness when I fall asleep with an empty stomach so I dive into the pile of my hungry peers there is little food left so I come out with a measly apple. It has a red spot on it surrounded in yellow skin. It won’t be enough for the others.

As I walk down the side of the valley, my eyes are pointed down to the ground. An apple, I think, I got them an apple. I prepare myself for the name calling and the cruel hisses that I very well deserve. When I reach our hut and walk in, Bartholomew strides up to me asking, “what’d you get, anything good?”

“Pete, did you get any hog liver? You know it’s my favorite,” Alice asks with a questioning grin on her face.

“Yeah, Peter, I’m hungry as a chipmunk who forgot to store up for the winter” William groans.

“Sorry, no” I answer, rolling the tiny apple in their direction, and as I do so slipping out the door, fleeing from the anger.

.Chapter 3

My feet take me on a well known route I force them to run nearly once a day. I Jump and leap over familiar stumps and stones that I can see without opening my eyes. So I close them, letting tears roll down my cheeks.

I reach the swampy pond that I know so closely. I wade out to the promontory that lies in the middle. I pull myself to the highest peak and sit up tall, raise my head, close my eyes, and let out a long solemn breath that brings itself around the world then ends twirling around my torso.

After what feels like days I come out from my tranquil mindset. I now am calm in my little area that is only mine, where I like to think no other human has ventured.

The wind makes eerie whistling sounds as it slips through the trees giving me forebodings that I choose to ignore, then, without thinking I jump into the water that surrounds my frail body. Under the shallow water I open my green eyes to the blurry tweeds under the muck. When I come to the marking stick that I placed in the bacteria many years ago, I stick my hand under, pulling out a woven, water-tight capsule that holds my treasures.

I swim to the surface, open it and reach in one of my hands. Its a tight fit, but I can manage to pull out my quill pen and hide journal that came from my father. As I run my fingers across the smooth surface I hum a little tune that I just scarcely remember my mother singing to me. I replay the stories about brave knights that my father would coo to me before I fell asleep. I hug the book close to me while I travel back across the pond to the place I always sit with my journal.

When I find an empty page, I practice the figures that I use to make words before I travel into a full trance of taking all my thoughts and transforming them into adventures and love tales that put a lump in my throat. When I am done I remember the day that the monks took my parents away to the stakes. I remember that empty feeling I had when they were gone. I remember that one last kiss my mother gave me and that one last laugh my father and I shared before he handed me his journal and was pushed away. I was eight then, just a wee boy and now, seven years later the presence of him looms around me, keeping me childish. When I was six I learned to read and write. My father was a wise man who always tried to make the best of things. Unlike most people I try to let his chipper spirit live on, but if anyone finds out that I enjoy life I will be sentenced to the same bitter fate that took him and my mother.

I finish my writing. I grab an unexpectant frog, quickly stabbing it with a sharp stick. I then wait for a while as little silhouettes of more frogs come to the surface, and I do the same to them. “Sorry little guys” I say, “But we need dinner.”

Chapter 4

I walk home. When I reach the cabin, to my surprise, no One yells or torments. Everyone is sitting staring blankly into the flames of our fire.

“I have a surprise” I announce, waiting for a reaction to come.

“Look,” William smiles, “looks like frog legs for dinner.” Everyone turns to me with excited faces.

“Oh, Peter, thank you,” Alice says, “can I roast them?”

“Please let her do it,” Bartholomew grins, “unless you want charcoal for dinner.” We all laugh.

Alice is eleven, William, twenty and Bartholomew, twenty seven. But based on their personalities you would have guessed anything but that. I couldn’t imagine a life without them.

When I fall asleep I have the succulent taste of frog in my mouth, the satisfying feeling of laughter in my thoughts and a scratchy mattress of weeds under my rump.

.

Chapter 5

I wake up to a dry song in my ears. I have ropes around my arms and legs, but they are loose enough for me to walk. I now know what I have done wrong. I feel a lump in my throat I left my journal out, someone must have found it. I want to scold myself for my carelessness but then a feeling surges up through me. These are my last hours, they’re taking me to the place they took my parents, the place they took them so that they never came back to love me or care for me again.

I start to cry, not like a solemn tear rolling down my cheek while I hold my head up with dignity, but a sob I can’t believe my getting emotional, but on the other hand I can’t help it.

The morning is young and the sun is just pulling itself through the cracks of the clay buildings that make up our town square, illuminating the path before us. It is breathtaking. I wish I could enjoy it.

As the monks push me along we pass the bakery. Opaque clouds of warm smells fill my nose. Then comes the butcher’s, freshly killed meat hangs over the doorway. I hear an animal’s groan for a split second, then a blade hitting wood. I grimace and turn my head. Lastly, we pass the barn house, a rooster crows and then hens start chatting away. I would like to join the conversation, but then, I see it.

.

Chapter 6

There is a tall frame with ropes tied up into nooses hanging from it. Four structures stand in the middle. One of them is occupied by a miserable-looking man whose head is so bald I swear if a shaft of light hit it, it would be blinding.

They shove my head and hands into one of the unoccupied stockades. I have to stand on my tip toes to reach a point where I can stand comfortably. The bald man turns his head to me and while doing so his neck cracks multiple times. He then looks right into my eyes, pulling me in with the look of pure empathy that he expresses. I would expect him to smirk at my wimpiness or chuckle at my misfortune, but no, he tells me that he is sincerely sorry without using words, and puts a warm cloak around me keeping out my frigid regrets.

I know I have felt this feeling before. I then know where I recognize it from. I see my father's presence in the man’s deep eyes and I suddenly want him to hold me tight and coo to me that everything is going to be alright. Like my father did when the plague was nearly wiping out our entire village, or when he was sending me to live with Alice, William and Bartholomew. And in a strange way the warm energy the man is targeting towards me does nearly just that. Then my thoughts are shattered by one of the more bulbous monks lonely voices that I can barely understand because of his drab tone, but this is what I make out:

“For your disgusting thoughts and for putting your ‘fantasies’ into writing, the lord will punish you by keeping you in the stockades for one week’s time, then hanging you publicly.” He spits at my feet and it hits the dusty ground, I hold in laughter. He tries again and hits the wooden frame holding me captive. This time I let out a giggle and am promptly answered by a blow to my nose followed by blackness.

Chapter 7

The next thing I know I am woken up by a wet splash in my face. It feels cool and nice on my dry skin and I open my mouth to let in the refreshing liquid. It tastes like tomato. I then remember what just happened and I open my eyes to see about twenty people standing in front of me and pummelling me with fruits and vegetables. I know it’s supposed to be torture, but after not eating for a while it’s just what I need.

I try to give them a show so that they’ll continue, but I suppose that after some time they just lose interest because it’s dusk by now and the mob slowly subsides leaving behind a bony girl who I recognise as no other but Alice.

She stands on the cobblestones around me and fidgets with her toes. In her arm she carries a basket that holds a wet cloth a curved piece of bark that is filled with water, and an apple.

Her auburn hair is tangled. Her eyes, which remind me of a crisp blue sky, avoid mine. I want her to come but she waits there examining her feet like they are speaking to her and she can’t miss a word of what they are saying.

Finally she walks over to me and places the piece of bark below my head. I look hard into the water and see that the vast night sky is reflected in it. I try turning my head to the real sky but it can’t, due to the stockade. She then takes the cloth and wipes my nose it leaves behind an oily feel that is very soothing and helps the unbelievable pain that I just realize. I know that she somehow found some animal fat and I feel a great gratitude for her.

Lastly she flips the basket over and sits on it. She out stretches her hand that holds the apple so I can take a bite. It’s skin is thin and the inside is crispy. I see it has a little red dot on it surrounded in yellow skin. I stall with my eating so that I can have her company.

When I finish she gets up and takes her basket. She then whispers in my ear, “We’ll find a way,” before disappearing into the dark.

Chapter 8

The next morning the bald man finally speaks to me. So who’s the girl,” he grins.

“Um,” I don’t know what to say. Can I trust this man? Will he get Alice into trouble? But then he looks at me again doing the same thing he did before. I tell him everything.

I am crying when I finish.

“Wow,” he is also crying, “I’m sorry,” He says. “A long time ago my brother was burned alongside his wife,” he pauses, “and figured they had done the same to their poor son,” he looks up into my eyes “Peter”

I rack my mind trying to find a word to describe this feeling but none come to me. “Uncle Samuel?” I ask. He nods.

Later that afternoon, Uncle Samuel gets released and I realize that I never got to ask him why he was being punished. Now I don't care. All that I care about is that I have about a day left in my whole life. I cry. I cry till no more tears come. I'm left making groaning noises. I'm alone in a sea of food but I don't bother to eat as more gets tossed my way. I just cry, and cry.

That night I don't bother sleeping or crying. I just look at the stars in my little bark bowl. I want to join them. I want to fall deep into the water and never come back. I know my mama always said that when anyone dies their soul floats up into the stars and simply is, but I don't think I'll be so lucky as to do that. I will, most likely, just, stop.

Chapter 9

"Peter," I hear in my ear. "Peter," I hear again. I open my eyes and see Alice, Bartholomew, William, and Uncle Samuel standing above me.

“Come on, we’re gonna get you out of here,” William explains urgently.

“We’re going to use this sharp rock to cut through the thick ropes holding the two pieces of the chamber together,” Bartholomew seconds, holding the slate up to the candle that Alice is carrying.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Uncle Samuel chimes in, showing a nervous smile.

“It really is,” Alice says more reassuringly, while giving me a little kiss on the forehead before getting all wrapped up in her work of holding the candle.

By the time the rope is nearly all of the way cut through, the sun peeks its first luminescent rays over the mountain top. ‘Faster, faster I hear from the boys, and I can tell because of their raspy tones, they don’t know if we’re gonna make it. Thread by thread the rope gets thinner and thinner. Little pieces of it fall on my bare neck making me itch but I can’t reach it so I choose to forget it and focus on the feeling of anticipation that’s bubbling up inside of me. It’s so incredibly satisfying that I want to shout in excitement.

Then it happens. I hear a snap and Uncle Samuel lifts the top of the structure into the air and drops it in the dust.

“Let’s go,” William sighs.

“Yes,” Bartholomew agrees.

“Quickly,” Uncle Samuel says.

I stand up straight and hug all of them, ending with little Alice who I lift on to my back and who starts sleeping instantly.

We start to walk out into the sunrise, not knowing why, and not having a destination, but simply going. After a while Alice wakes up and walks with solemn steps behind us. The adrenaline surging up inside of us is incredible. We just keep thinking to ourselves, we are free. And now, to this day, we still are. We have traveled to a place where an endless moving abundance of blue waves travels out, farther than the eye can see, and have decided to stay here, where every morning we can wake up to the soothing lapping that the ocean provides, and where we can look out over that never-ending beauty and know that we couldn’t have a better life.

.

Bella and one of her wonderful cats!