The World of Lonely People

The World of Lonely People



Cold dirt pressed against my face. Small leaves and grass rustled and stroked my sides and told me not to wake up. You can sleep longer, they enticed. Rest in our arms.



Resolve drilled my eyelids to open. Whatever the physical said, the mental knew better. There was only so much time to use, and every second was precious. Rolling over and scraping the dirt carefully away, I wondered what I would do today. My normally adventurous nature was tired. If it could be awoken, maybe I would see how high I could climb on the buildings, or how far I could run, but for now I was satisfied to walk and look.



Little green blades around me and under me made the only noise, touched just enough by the soft wind to whisper their greetings. That was all that was behind me. The infinite world of the field. Though it was not all flat, there was nothing to see about it - nothing to find. I had explored it many times, as far as I could go before I had had to return.



Before me was the real purpose of my being here: My Town. Had it a name? It might have, though it must have been years and ages ago. For the architecture, the great blocks of stone that pieced every house, the stringy roofs of straw, and the dust devouring the pebbled street, we knew that this must be an old town. Built, perhaps, by the first explorers. The first age. Nobody knew for certain.



Small and torn scraps of paper punctuated the village. They fluttered in the wind but stuck faithfully to their positions, wherever those may be. Some had been nailed to various doors. Some were stuck inside of specific books inside the houses. Others had no better place than to be left under a rock. Once a paper was in a specific place, it stuck and never moved.



All the papers had a sort of writing, though very few in common languages. The papers were shared: one person would write their portion for another to read, and when the other could read it, they would write their portion in response to the first, and so on. Keeping in touch by letters that never traveled but always reached their recipients.



I reflected often upon this as the odd one out. Not rejected or discarded, merely unable to participate. One could say that if everyone else had voice, I was tongueless; or if they had writing utensils, I was without pencil. If ever one could understand me, I was sure I would have found them, for the pages and pages I had written and left around to be found by others - only to come back, and find out that as they were never answered, they had disappeared and been forgotten. Taken with the moonlight like I was.



A chill wind whistled about my shoulders, and I shivered. I would have preferred a town in the forest. At least then, maybe there would have been the native animals to keep me company. Libraries in My Town had supplied me with endless information about the animals one could find and where to find them. It seemed anywhere would have done but here.



Quiet was both my best friend and worst nightmare. Inescapable, choking, always having the last word. It watched me wherever I went. No one cared for my noise. No one here to hear it, I could do whatever I wanted. It was sad, however, that whenever I shouted, screamed or sang, I was called back into the moonlight to sleep. During those hated times, I anticipated greatly the chance for freedom to come out and make music again.



Tonight, the moon was soft. He didn’t impose upon me as he sometimes did. How glad I was to be left to my own thoughts this time. Times had been strange, and I wanted to consider these things.



For some time, we had gone on like this. All of us little snatches of moonlight, sent down one night at a time to make our marks on this village, until we were called back up. Sometimes I imagined that My Town was one of many locations that people were sent to, all across the world. Out there in the wild and unknown, there must be forest villages, and ice villages, and such. Almost nothing did I wish for more than to see them. I knew it was impossible. It would have been a dream.



The loneliness bit harder tonight. My eyes strolled along that quiet street, patting and feeling everything as they went. I had lived here in My Town for years: I knew its every beauty and secret. Alas - there was no one to share it with. No one to laugh with, to explore with, to hug. Many books had I read about people who knew loneliness in their minds, but never one like this. They did not know the wracked, peace-less heartstrings so pulled and abused that I knew.



As I silently glided on I noticed, on my left, the only real restaurant in the town. Its name was Na-il, surely unknown by all who set foot in this part of town. One could not miss it for its colors. A sign with the words Welcome Na-il painted in red hung from the roof. The walls were coated in various designs and colors - it was a work of art on the entire outside wall. A yellow sun burst itself and ran over the door, giving it a coating of brilliance that bled in veins along the walls. The front and roof were all that were visible from outside, for Na-il was closed in on both sides by adjoining houses. That was all that was needed. Its extraordinary eye-catching ability made sure that whoever passed at least knew the place existed.



This evening, I decided to take a look inside Na-il, for no more than fun. What was there to do inside but look? I grasped the handle and moved forwards, not pushing the door but letting it slide back with the same momentum as my walking. It was well cared-for and never even made the smallest noise as it coasted. Indeed, the whole place was well cared-for. Originally it was meant to be a sort of cafe, semi-formal restaurant, but not the boring kind which one’s parents dragged the family out to; Na-il was a spectacle on the eyes, the taste buds and the imagination. There were two doors in the whole inside: one leading outside, and one next to the drinks-counter leading into a back room where I knew the cooking would take place. I had been here many a time and examined every crevice and nook. If I had a second favorite place in the town, this was it. Nothing of course could beat my Cliff, but this was more beautiful than other house and I felt glad to be able to trod its ground. Deep brown tables, empty of the families they should have had, laced a general rectangle around the restaurant.



~



I gasped and bent over, desperately choking for breath. My lungs, empty of air, pumped frantically to fill themselves. Thankfully the air that night was good. They filled quickly. It always frustrated me when that happened but woke me up effectively.



I stood up and looked around me. Back in My Village once more. As if I had a choice.



How crisp and fresh the night air was, I related to myself as I began my rounds. I determined to say hello to everyone - regardless of whether I knew them or not. They would need friendliness. After all, they never had spent a second with another person in their life - like me. I knew how it was to have no friends. They shouldn’t feel the same way.



As I walked between old, stone-laid buildings and past trees and green plants with long leaves, I looked for notes. Gripping my pencil tightly in my pocket, I stopped by every note I saw, and wrote a little something for the owner to read. Hopefully to brighten up their time.



Hi! My name is Samuel. You’re not alone!



Hello! I’m Sam! Nice to meet you.



My name is Sam. How is your day or night?



Sighing, I looked up at the sky. Twenty minutes left. I needed to move faster. Counting and thinking, I realized I had left but one note. This one was never pinned to the wall of a house, or in a garden, or inside a book, like the others were. This was the special one. I walked until I was almost out of the village. Before me lay a cliff’s edge, the edge of which led into infinite unknown. But before the cliff lay several small and large in diameter stone pillars, the tops of which had been flattened for sitting upon. How old they were nobody knew - the village had been around for years and years, I knew. These might have been three civilisations past.



Over rock and pillar I clambered - climbing with a purpose - until I had made my way to the farthest one from the village. This one, I knew, was one that nobody else had ever found. I could hardly take it and place it somewhere they would find it; it would just go back as soon as I turned my back on it.



The note was trapped in a crack in the pillar I sat upon. Picking up the faithful stick that was always nearby, I wedged it in until I had successfully pulled out the small bit of dirty paper wedged inside.



I fluffed the sheet out. It would have to be flattened a bit before I would write upon it. I wanted it to be neat, concise and meaningful.



But as I shook it off, something caught my eye. Something on the paper…that hadn’t been there before. Markings on the paper.



Someone had wrote something! Had somebody found the paper after all?



Shaking with fear and excitement, I slowly and extremely carefully turned over the paper so I could see the full message. My heart stopped when I saw it, for it was writing in my own language. All the others were, of course, but this note was the one that had never been touched! Nobody had ever made even the tiniest mark on it!



The note read as follows.



Hi. If you’re reading this, I know you. This sounds crazy…but I saw you. My name is Lina, and I saw you. Sitting on this pillar. Wearing a yellow cloak and a dark outfit. Come and meet me back here next time! I think we share a dream…



The note took my stopped heart, twisted it and stretched it, trying to pull it in two. I looked around me. I…wasn’t alone?



And then, for the first time in my life, I heard something. A voice. Clear but imperfect, sweet but scared.



“Hi. ”



Whirling around, I found the voice belonged to a girl. A girl! A person!



She wore similar clothing to me. It was as if we had been in the same family. She bore the same yellow cloak and dark outfit, as well as the distinguished boots and hat. She was tall enough, taller than me - but I was short. She was just less short. Her hair was a dark maroon, and would have been blowing in the wind if it hadn’t been tied back as it was.



Not knowing what to think or feel, I slowly rose, trying to find my own voice and make it do something. I choked back tears at the very sight of someone else. I wondered - who was this? How was she here? How was anyone here? Was she my sister?



The moon sharpened its gaze on me and spat out rays of light. I lifted my eyes, realizing with heartbreak that my time was over.



“No!” I shouted at the moon. “Don’t take me!” I looked back to Lina. She looked every bit as afraid and bewildered as I was, but she smiled.



“Next time?” she managed to say with an effort, herself holding back tears as I dissolved into moonlight. Until next time I was allowed to have a turn at visiting the World of Lonely People.