The Town Whispers: Season 1

Chapter 7: The Shadow of Tomorrow

Perception is abstract, and not at all absolute. While sunrise can fill the hearts of some, it can illuminate the troubles of others. So while Albit lay in bed, fighting, and struggling, and becoming more then he had ever dreamt of being, and all the while thinking of her, Mildred on the other hand, wasn't thinking about Albit at all.

She had, of course, felt a shroud of melancholy on her way home from Riverside Sanatorium, and yes, it had a bit to do with the sorry state of that boy who looked as if his skin was turning purple and black, ready to fall off his bones at any moment, but she really felt morose  about the way Mother Cyprian had treated her.

That dour mood of hers quickly turned though... she had arrived home to find Mark waiting for her.

They shyly spoke about their kiss, using other words of course, talking about "the moment", "The well", "that night", anything to avoid saying those words out loud, as if by speaking them they would find out the other had no recollection of it, as if they'd dreamt it. That would be beyond embarrassing and so they used euphemisms, and spoke around the topic.

And what brightened her mood further, was the surprise Mark had for her.

The weather had cleared up, or at least it wasn't raining, and Mark coyly asked if Mildred wanted to go for a walk, of course she said, so the two walked away from her home, away from her front door where Mark had patiently waited for her, and off towards the woods.

The road at the end of her driveway was lined with muddy ditches filled with pitch like water, and on the other side of the ditch, weeds had grown tall, and died... grown tall, and died, weeds over weeds pilling in ridges that had been untended for long enough for those ridges of molding wet and dead weeds to hide the fields and homes behind them.

Those weeds guided them, they were dead and they were fetid, but those weeds guided Mildred and Mark, those weeds had a purpose. Their purpose all along was to grow, and die, grow and die, and pilling up on top of each row of spring and summer weeds, that had died before. Their purpose was to block out the world, blind those walking their path to any escape, to blind those walking their path to the warning signs.

And had those weeds not been there, Mark and Mildred might have seen them... the wind whipping at trees,

The whispers of those who had walked that path before Mark and Mildred, each to their own destination and their own end.

The specters spilt into the clouds in the distance darkening them and showing their swirling faces, and shouting for the two to stop, to turn back, to never speak to one another again.

But those years of dead weeds that to those unwilling to look, those not sure there are things to look for, seemed to just be dead weeds, with no other purpose but to have been to spit pollen, and wilt.

They hadn't been holding hands they'd only been walking close enough that their fingers would brush against one another, but something possessed Mark, filled him with fiery courage and he grabbed her hand, and led her to what they had been herded towards, led oddly enough by dead weeds. Mark guided her by the hand down a trail where the road they'd been led down came to an abrupt dead end, a trail that Mildred had never seen before, despite living in the same house, and walking the same streets, and knowing all the trails worn by deer and mischievous children alike..... That trail, that was a trail she'd never seen before.

And Mark was just happy that the trail was there after all, that the trail was exactly where the man who'd stood in the shadow of a tree had said so.

THE MAN: Oh hello, off to see a girl are we? I see that look in your eyes, she must be quite the beauty to have a boy up and about all showered, prim and proper.