Sanctuary

• Kristina Le Marne, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2008

Walking down the grey pavement, passing white houses with perfect
picket-fences and flawlessly mowed lawns, I fled. I fled from the
ear-piercing yells, and the red faces, and the dark eyes; the slamming doors and the broken vases, thrown against the solemn walls to rest in pieces. I fled from the shadows in which I’d lurked, watching silently as the bitter fight unravelled, unnoticed. Or if I was noticed, then no one cared.
Eventually, I arrived at my destination. Moving off the path, onto the earthy ground, cluttered with leaves, I stepped into the woods.
The woods surrounded my hometown like wrapping paper covers a
well-decorated present; loved by the bushwalkers, and the athletic. And even the forgotten. Businessmen and those who wished to migrate further into the city cared less, and petitioned to have it torn down. But I hoped that would never happen.
Sunbeams trickled in through the canopy; the sky shrouded with treetops. From tree trunks protruded obese roots, which the stumpy nymphs hid behind, as if I couldn’t see them. Mossy rocks, veiled by spindly ferns, sat on the moist soil, as little fairies, dressed in cloaks of gold and green, dived to the small mushrooms (the sweet ones, with red-and-white spotted caps) which dotted the forest floor. Silky, silver bulbs, glazed with dewdrops, blossomed from stick-like stems, pointing towards the rays of light. Meanwhile, imps and pixies twirled about, weaving spells and casting magic, as they played with the vines which crept up the trees.
And I hadn’t even travelled very far.
All that could be heard were the sounds of breathing; baby birds chirping in their new nests at the sight of spring, high above my shoulders; and the voice of the wind as warm breezes swept past, rustling branches.
Lying on the ground, my back supported by a root, I quietly watched these special creatures; this special place, listening to everything and everyone; waiting for the magic to break. Yet it never did.
I inhaled, my mind massaged and pillowed by this soft scene filled with only pastel colours.
Slowly, I rose, steadily standing on my feet, and I walked in the direction from which I’d come, to return home.
It’s nice to escape and forget every once and awhile.