MOIRAI

Chapter One

MOIRAI

Chapter One

     He lived twenty-five miles from the nearest town, and fifteen miles away from another house, he lived deep into the auburn forest, alone in a cabin, that him and his father built, thirty-three years ago. He was eleven then, he is forty-four now, and has lived alone for only three years. He handled living alone with ease, but did he like to live alone was a question everyone who knew him asked, he didn't quite answer the question full on, only because he knew the real question was "Are you okay?" And that question frightened him, so he avoided it all together, and he simply answered "The house can be lonely at times, but I have the trees to keep me company." But he knew things weren't as okay as he made them out to be. He didn't step into the forest as much anymore, and he mostly spent his time on the computer or fixing up the cabin. No more adventuring and wondering for him. He kept his time occupied with work, because if he didn't, he would adventure into the forest, look back, and never want to come back.

    So he avoided all connections for the urge to leave and never return. Any associated actions that left him in deep thought, and pondering life, was muted a little more every year, though his mind worked itself to sleep at times, some thoughts just could not be muted. They leaked into his bones and made his body hurt, they spilled into his muscles and made him dreadful. Talking hardly and listening often was a new trend and he was beginning to grow weary of his new life. Though he yearned for the past to come to life again, but he knew, no matter how much he prayed and wished, things will never be bright again, and he knew dreams was the only way to escape his reality, the life he lived day to day was beginning to drown him, that he began to give up a little more each day, because occupying his time with work couldn't keep his mind silent anymore.

    So on a dark silent night in the auburn forest, he decided it was time to go. He thought he didn't put much thought into this, but he did, they were the thoughts he muted, and tried to bury. So really, he thought long and hard all about this. Pacing back and forth in his living room, trying to put the pieces together, and curious on where he will end up, but so excited he will be gone. Sadness took toll, and it grabbed the wheel, and made a sharp turn to his bedroom, running to his fireplace he grabbed the shotgun above the fire. Three years of only looking it, and now he finally held it. His feet growing numb, his leg muscles feeling as if they couldn't bare to hold his weight any longer, he grew unstable, so he decided to sit down on his bed slowly. His heart racing, he was emotionally overwhelmed, that he began to cry a little. Swallowing so hard that it hurt, and feeling the pressure behind his eyes, he grabbed the bullets above the bed stand. Sitting back down at the edge of the bed, his heart ached.

    He loaded his gun slowly, every bullet loaded with such accuracy, that for a brief second he was scared for himself, but he knew there would be no pain. When he was done, he grabbed his gun, and held it at his side, walking from room to room, turning off the lights, and shutting the door, he made it to his living room without collapsing. He sat down at the edge of the recliner chair. Feet flat on the ground, putting the gun between his knees, he wrapped his hand around the shaft of the shotgun. Warm hands touching cold metal. So sharp it made him wonder if this is really what he wanted to do. The tears swelled out. As he was becoming more and more ready, tighter and tighter his eyes closed. He put the barrel into his mouth, and just as he was about to pull the trigger, he heard a scream. That of which sounded just outside his cabin. His head shot towards the door. Wondering if reality just really threw that at him, at this time, at this moment, purposely, but he was a thinker, and things like this he didn't throw away, debunk, or ignore. Holding the shot gun with his right hand, he grabbed his flash light and headed out the door.

    Right when his face hit the air, it grew red. It was 15 degrees, and he hated the cold, he constantly wondered why he picked living here. Out of all the places he could have picked, he chose the cold one. Clearing his throat, listening close, he didn't hear anything, it was dead silent, standing on his porch, with the flashlight pointed down at the stairs. He moved the flashlight across the black forest night. He didn't see anything, nothing moved. He swallowed, wondering if what he heard was real, assuming it wasn't, turned around, clicked the flashlight off, stepping towards the front door, underneath the sound of the floor creaking, a rustling noise just to his left. He slowly clicked the flashlight on, and pointed it towards the direction of the noise.