A Short Story:
Gin meandered down the street, wondering how to rid themselves of the horrid storm in their chest. “If I don’t find something to distract me, I will throw myself off this bridge,” they huffed.
What the hell will they find to do? They have lived in the same small moss-covered town all 30 years of their life, and nothing has changed. “Fuck it.” Gin’s mind forces their feet to face the direction of their favorite nature path. The trees are old and lean down in an attempt to touch your face, the branches drip with moss and glitter. The prominent path is perpetually damp but not wet, and the cold scent of earth floods all of their senses.
Living in Bluegrove has been both a haven for Gin and the reason for their soul being stuck in place. Never growing, never expanding, always still. The forest path begins sweet but quickly leads those who wander on it into a chilling version of a fairytale’s nightmare. To Gin, this feeling of being watched was a comfort. At least someone was witnessing them. Something about the air-filled Gin with clarity and the ability to look past all that was holding them in place. With lightened feet and a touched heart, Gin leisurely walks on the deep brown dirt. “If anyone can hear me, I need a change. I crave an adventurous life, a life worth telling. One that others will look on with wonder and awe.” These words seemed to echo into the forest and disappear into oblivion.
Gin feels silly yelling this wish into the void, but at least they said it out loud. Tears begin to well up in their heavy eyes. Before a salty drop could fall, an unnatural breeze passed by and engulfed them where they stood.
Something about this gust stopped Gin in their tracks. All of a sudden, a faint sound rang through the trees. No, not through the trees, it was the trees. Thousands of bells replaced the leaves, and the air was stiff with the lull of soft rings. Gin’s feet became their own person with their own agenda, ambling further into the trees’ song. Out of the corner of their eye, roots began to spring towards the sky. Violently. Earth rattling under their feet, air caked with soaked earth and rotten compost. Fear. Pure fear was all that Gin could feel. The more the fear grew, the louder the bells rang. The taller the roots climbed. Gin realized that the damned roots were forming into a small shack. The bells had become so deafening that blood trickled from Gin’s ears. Almost as fast as it began, it all ceased; the forest became silent. Gin was not sure if it was because they had lost their hearing or if it was due to the structure finishing its construction.
A deep, fluid-filled voice seeped into the space. “Come on in, lost one, I have all you may need in my home. Fear not, for my bells have taken you away from the anxieties of your mortal world.
At this moment, the only things Gin had control of were their inner dialogue and their mouth. Feet, direction, and decision no longer belonged to them. “Yo, what the fuck is going on!” Gin yelled. The bells reentered the forest and seemed to banish the foreboding voice. It took Gin only a moment to realize that the bells were no longer there but replaced with gongs. Large ones that seemed to be set in the center of Gins’s body. Without consent, Gin’s dirt-covered sneakers began to lead them over to the twisted storefront. As the hand they once knew pushed grassy curtains away from the entrance of the enchanted cave, they saw miles and miles of dust collected horror. The wicked voice rang once more, “Hello, lost one, finally I have caught you.”
- “Shit.”
The rocky voice that came from nowhere sang into the space, “Come and look around my lifetime collection of trinkets. Anything you need, anything you want, can be found here. Need to cure an illness? Walk through my apothecary. Need to remind people of your power, I have many tsantsa waiting to drive nonbelievers mad. Want to live forever? I have thousands of answers, each more gruesome than the last.”
Gin couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, yet it encompassed their entire being. Almost as if the unbodied voice were standing right next to them. Within them. What did Gin want? What did Gin need? To understand Gin, one must understand that they care only for a few things. Their job as a librarian, their pet pig Stan, and their ever-growing need to get the hell out of Bluegrove. After thinking for what felt like an eternity, Gin finally found their voice through the gongs, “I want a new life. One worth telling.” These words were all the gongs allowed Gin to squeeze out.
As Gin finished their request, the deafening chimes abruptly ceased. Absent from the ringing, Gin was left empty, their ears wet with pain. Once the numb feeling had subsided in their heart, Gin swore they heard a small laugh. Not a happy one, not a mean one, but a small one that was beckoning them to come closer. “Well, go on now, follow the joy of your new path.” Never once had Gin seen the body this voice emitted from, yet they could tell this last sentiment was said with a twisted smile creeping across its face. If it even had a face to use. Gin was overcome with the desire to find the new, crazed giggle that emitted from somewhere deep within the charmed store. Without another thought, Gins’ feet began to move. Slowly at first, paced with apprehension. This speed was not good enough for the root-twisted shack. All of a sudden, without warning, Gin broke into a full-blown sprint. Running, gasping for air, looking down every aisle, up every hill to find what was laughing at them. The giggle was growing louder. Panting with pain, Gin’s only thought was, “Why can’t I stop running? Please, I need a break. I can’t breathe. My bones feel every pound of my heel.” Gin’s pleas went out into the ether, but nothing cared to listen.
So, Gin ran, searching for three days in the bleak magic realm. The spell that must be within the cursed trinket shop left Gin needing no water, no food, but the lack of sleep seemed to grow taxing on their brain. With a bone-splintered ankle and bleeding feet, Gin fell into an insomnia-induced craze. Their body confidently propelled forward with a crunch every stomp of the way. Gin couldn’t separate the cave’s laughter from their own lunatic belly roll. Without a warning, their tormented feet stopped moving. Gin’s body stood no chance with the sudden halt. A new gash ripped above their eye as their face met fiercely with the ground. Gin moaned and cried on the dirt floor, their body reeling from the continuous 3-day marathon. They lay there still, not daring to move in fear that they would once again not be able to stop. “The laughing. Where did it go? Why did it stop? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!” The words tore out of Gin’s raw throat.
Before Gin could have another thought, they heard a sweet voice, “Ah, my broken child, I am here and have always been. Unlike the collected trash in this place, I was made here. I was created in these maddening halls. For you and only you.”
“I want to go home, away from this dreadful place. I am terrified. I am exhausted. My feet are broken, and I can’t feel anything from my neck down. Please let me go.” Gin choked through sobs. Unable to get control over their breath.
“Home, you say. You have indeed been in my domain for three days and two nights, running your body and mind into the ground. Yet, the mortal realm is a slow one; you have only been gone for one night in your world.” Lulled the matronly voice.
“Where are you? What are you!” Gin screamed.
“Open your eyes, you waste! Come and find me, and your new life will begin.” No longer did this voice emit sweet tones. It had turned impatient and unimpressed with Gin.
Gin got up and dared to bear weight on their exposed bone. At this point, they didn’t care. Why would they? Time was fake, they couldn’t trust their brain, and their body was damn near useless. “Ok, find this thing and get the fuck out of here.” Gin howled with agony as they hopped down an aisle on their bone-snap foot. Looking at all the unknown ever-changing objects from the dirt floor to the unseen ceiling, trying to locate the object that had called to them. Finally, Gin got to where the laughing was coming from. A glass jar filled with floating light that reminded them of the lightning bugs they used to catch as a child. They reached for the jar and stopped halfway, almost as if there was a force field around the glass prison. Their brain can no longer regulate their emotions, and the lack of sleep was beginning to help Gin slip into a comfortable phase of loon. Gin pushed through the force field, breaking every finger on their hand in the process. As blood and bone became as exposed as Gin’s desire for change, the jar was finally in hand.
The jagged voice returned, “Good choice, lost one. Let your new life begin. Let adventure find you at every corner of the globe. And remember, you asked for this and you cannot take it back.” The shack quaked with its last statement.
With a blink of an eye, Gin appeared back at the trailhead. The pitch black of night welcomed them back to their familiar town. Gin’s body is no longer broken, yet it was still caked in blood and forest floor.
Confused and empty, Gin began the walk home still limping on the invisible injuries they had sustained. “What just happened. Did I pass out and dream it all?” This, they knew, was a lie as they looked down and saw they still held the twinkling jar in hand. As Gin gets home and turns their house key into the familiar lock, they finally feel a new emotion: bliss. Gin is home, safe, and away from the unbelievable cruelty of the forest bodega. The sweep of the door, the smell of home, the sound of Stan running to welcome them, hungry and confused about where Gin had been. The promise of a shower to rinse off the pain and sleep to reset their weary system washed over Gin. Once the haze of comfort washed away, Gin realized all they thought they were seeing, smelling, and interacting with was synthetic.
Gin peered into their home, and with sharp disbelief, they went still. Breath caught in their throat matched with their heart dropping to the floor. The laugh, the smell, and the never-ending halls lay out in front of them once again. No. No, this isn’t right. As if falling back into a routine, Gin’s feet no longer belonged to them. In front of Gin was not their home, no Stan, no shower, no bed to lull them into sleep. What was now once again in front of them was the cave. The god damn cave with its endless towers of cursed shelving, insane giggles pouring out of every crack, and the jar vibrating with demanding instructions. “You wanted adventure, you wanted a life worth telling. Now run to your fate.” Without notice, Gin began to run, and they kept running until their shoes were washed with the blood of forever. New life and new adventure await them in their never-ending marathon to find new beginnings.
