The
Traveler
by
Todd Daugherty
The
cold wind blows outside as I write on these few pieces of parchment,
what I had seen these last ten years. I don't know if this place is
my home, or perhaps somewhere in the great beyond my family still
waits for me. My home which smells of fine food sits high top a hill
over looking a green meadow, mystic forest and ancient hollows. My
wife, Anna, would be in the kitchen cooking wonderful dishes, while
our two children, Marla and James would be outside with our dog Jake,
near the tire swing tied to the big oak tree. Our cat Felix would
lay on the porch as the white pillows of clouds would slowly move by
in the light blue sky. In the meadow, bubble bees would frolic to an
fro from one flower to the other, drinking their sweet nectar, while
the aroma of the landscape made it seem like a never ending dream.
Now
I sit here in this two room cabin in a bleak world were everything
seems dead. The cold wind streams through the cracks as strange
animals outside howl my name. The candle which I'm using to write
this down with is also protecting me from those things that lay in
the dark.
I
feel my time is slowly coming to a close as the candle which lit the
room and cast haunting shadows on the wall is slowly dimming, so too
will my life dim.
