The Time of Change

Take Your Time

In another time entirely, a dark-brunette-haired seventeen-year-old ambles across a busy road. The black and gray clothing she wears traps the heat shining down from the sun, making her rather warm despite the early March chill. Resolute, she ignores the feeling and continues walking. Music blasts loudly through her earbuds, which are connected to the cellphone resting in her pocket. She lets the song melt her anger, resentment, and discomfort into oblivion.

She strolls toward a thicket of trees that lies less than a mile or so from her home. Detour or shortcut? she considers inwardly. Logically, can't be both. Eh, I'll take my time; it's a nice day. Plus, Daniel won't be home for a while anyway, so there's really no point in going home yet. The thought of her younger brother brings a smile to her face. However, it disappears after a moment as she ventures deeper into the wood. The forest is quite a bit denser than she remembers, almost menacingly so. She shrugs off her hesitation, chalking it up to imagination.

If I'm getting scared of a bunch of trees, I definitely need to get out more.

She trudges onward, a new song playing deafeningly in her ears. She checks her phone: two-thirty exactly. She has one hour to herself, and then she must return home. A wind picks up abruptly and blows hair into her bright blue eyes and even behind her glasses by. She sweeps the strands back into place with a huff. Looking around, her nerves calm a little. The quiet that surrounds her is so peaceful. It's almost as if the trees block out all noise from the outside world. It feels like protection, not a cage to be feared or avoided.

Suddenly she is overcome by the desperate urge to turn around, but when she does, nothing is behind her. She shakes her head at her own paranoia and continues on the beaten path in the forest floor. Another premonition comes to her, but this time she completely denies it control of her. She tries to convince herself that it is nothing, that she is simply being a child and needs to grow up. After a few minutes the feeling leaves her, and she forgets all about it.

She forgets until a sound behind her is loud enough to be heard over her music, and she whips around.

A gray figure stands half-hidden by a tree trunk. Wave after wave of terror washes over her as she pauses the track playing, capturing her, locking her legs so that she cannot move away. Though she tells herself to calm down, her nerves get the better of her and cause her to call out, "Who's there?" She jerks her head all around, searching for help, and there is another noise that causes her to spin in a half-circle.

She stands face-to-face with a statue.

How is that possible? she wonders, staring, frightened, into the stone angel's eyes. This was definitely not here before. There's no way I could've missed it. Its mouth is frozen in a silent, permanent scream, its features sharp and evil-looking. This makes no sense to her, for are angels not supposed to be kind and good? A sense of unexplainable panic settles heavily on her chest, and she turns quickly, making to run. Directly behind her is another angel. Her mouth drops open in surprise, but no sound comes out. She raises her cellphone so that it is level with her eyes, and snaps a picture of the statue. It is very clear. She tells herself that when she gets home, she will show this to anyone who will look. Then they cannot conceivably tell her she is crazy. Just she moves to press the button again and take another photograph of it, a cold touch—colder than the deepest and darkest parts of the arctic—prods her in the back.

Her phone clatters to the leaf-strewn forest floor, and she is gone.