And So He Ran.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The world went still, and the moments from years of living halted. The air collapses in a fast motion of a blink and dangerously to paralyzation. With your thoughts running blank of the abyss about to come. How big is the world? The world. - which seems so small compared to the vastness of the galaxy, the soft curves, and the bright burning stars of the Milkyway. I have no clue. But somehow, I can't seem to escape you.

"You are, Elijah. Correct?" She furrowed her brows, instantly wrinkling her nose like a deer breathing the first-morning breeze.

"I know we haven't met yet, but you are the only one who moved here recently. You're pretty popular. It'll be quite hard to miss."

My stomach turned at the sight of her. My head and blood reeled towards space. My skin was prickled with affliction and horror. She doesn't exist, yet she's here standing, asking me a question I would have readily answered if asked by someone else.

She isn't real, I told myself, but somehow those words are getting harder and harder to believe. I didn't even realize how my feet subconsciously moved, taking me away from the sight of her emerald eyes. The ghost of her angel face lingered in my head as I let her go.

I left the place without telling anyone, tears dripping down my cheeks as I sulkily entered the car. The sobs of my heart echoed through the dark mid-lit path of the road. Walking up the stairs of my empty room, I sat, lulled by the mellow melody of the night. I closed my eyes, laying down on the mattress, sinking at the comfort it gives that I can only willingly accept as I finally fell asleep.

The morning met the sun's burning warmth and the cold air's opposing breeze, the town resonating with the sounds the crickets make.

I hauled myself up, forgetting what happened the night before. Choosing between black slacks and brown pants, I figured I should wear the first one.

"Another point for the black slacks, huh?" I smiled, humoring myself in front of the mirror.

Slowly. Things, memories of last night's event crept into me. The laughter and joy, talking to people, my friends, followed by her voice, her presence that opposes everything I believed. Or what I made myself feel.

"Vibrant color, eh?" The vendor remarked.

"How much is this?"

"A penny or two depends on what size you want."

I started to scan the canvas used to illustrate the map, the rough cut edges smoothed with a blade.

Anarie was fully covered in the dough when I came to pick her up, although her eyes looked like she was witnessing a horror scene when she saw me laughing horrendously at her.

"Papa! Don't laugh!" She yelled, crossing her arms furiously.

"I didn't laugh, "dough." I smiled.

She frowned, puffing her nostrils like a bull. Then she laughed, smiling highly with a grin. And a handful of dough in her hands.

I didn't know what to say when Micheal came in, her eyes stoked in disbelief. The floors in her kitchen are powdered white, the counter sticky and messy. It looked like a tornado accompanied by a storm managed to raid her kitchen within seconds.

"Ehem."

"The two of you better help me with 'this' later." She demanded, waving at the mess we made.

"This was about to become a very long day." I thought, looking at Anarie, and I believe she felt the same.

Micheal let us off after serving us a hot pie, then packed all of Anarie's stuff before we bid goodbye.

Days passed by, and I started gathering pieces of information and sketches. I roamed, asking various folks in the town about the woman who looked like a replica of Elane.

Who is she?

"She moved here almost a month ago."

"She lives with her husband near the parlor."

"She's a quiet woman, I'll tell you!"

"No one talks to her, not that I know."

She lives in a two-story house with her husband, the General. Dumbfounded, I walked around the house; with twelve windows that readily carom any light. And a grand staircase at the corner daubed in white. Not knowing what to call her, they named her Mrs. Bazel from her husband's last name, General. William Bazel III.

I started following her from a distance, watching her daily errands, entering and exiting the library every week without fault. She looks exactly like Elane, but some parts of her do not. She has a more fragile frame, paler skin, and darker green eyes. I couldn't even comprehend how someone I now firmly believe to be an image created in my fantasy exists. People see her, and so do I. Some forget about her but often, on my sleepless nights, I see her more vividly than in reality.

Like a nostalgic drug that torments you between a world of reality and falseness. An anesthetic that brings you to the edge of insanity and despair by luring you to things that are far well-fetched. A mystery of the world that enslaves us in chains.

But my heart now beats for another. I cannot tire myself over someone thought you knew no one truly knows, a magnet of attraction, a woman of destruction, or a woman who rarely seems to speak. I cannot love someone who isn't real.