The Lost and Broken

in a world far away,

Perhaps you'd think deciding to skip a funeral of a boy you basically killed, or running into a burning building would be the epitome of bad choices, but you'd be wrong. It was that one word that really turned my life upside down. If you were waiting for it, that was the exact point where everything turned to crap, not that I knew it just yet.

It lead to this exact moment: the one where I heard my mother honk the car horn as she left me stranded, bag half covered in mud, face red from the humidity, and any shred of hope I had tattered and thrown into the wind. To my left, a worn-out sign quietly exhibited the existence of Camp Morior. To my right, a few wooden cabins lay scattered around in no order in particular, and if I studied them for just the right amount of time, I could make out moss growing in the cracks. Before me was the middle of the camp, where a lone open shelter sat, showcasing the glistening lake beyond.

I could see how, once, this place could've been beautiful. How if the sun hit that lake just right, and a group of happy teenagers were chatting and laughing around that single shelter, it would've been picturesque; a real tourist attraction. Musing it almost made it feel possible, helping me forget why I was here. But then the clouds above me broke, and time moved once again, damaging me and this place with each passing minute.

I sighed aloud as the rain pelted down, aware that this was most likely the average day here at Camp Morior. Gloomy. Muddy.

Lonely.

It took me five minutes to budge my rolling bag from its place in the mud, but once it was free it made tracks all the way to the cabin that had been defaced by a green "OFFICE' painted on the visible side. My eyes skimmed over the entire camp over and over as I stepped closer to the door, ensuring that I was, in fact, in the right place. Trepidation washed over me, and I swear a shadow watched me behind sheets of rain. I shivered. It's was just a tree. Or maybe it was a person walking leisurely through the rain – it seemed unlikely, but people did exist here, after all. I was yet to really meet –

"Come in dear, before you catch pneumonia!" A soft, feminine voice sounded from behind me. I had been too preoccupied in the eerie nature of the camp, I hadn't noticed the lady opened the slider doors behind me and walk out from the office.

Surprise tainted my words. "Oh! Yes, of course, I –"

I had turned to face the lady, fully appreciative of an actual person, and I watched a slight apprehension fall upon her weary face, as she examined me and something behind me. When I turned quickly to follow her gaze, I saw nothing but a grey mist obscuring the camp. The tree, or more likely human, had moved away.

"It's a gloomy day," the woman observed. "Haven't had one quite like this in a few weeks."

I was almost relieved – did that mean there was sun here occasionally? Perhaps this rain was meant as a sign for me, a welcome . . . or a warning?

Silence was broken as quickly as it settled. "Yes, well, quick quick, let's go inside where it's warm and dry then." There was no hesitation as I followed the woman inside to the office, she gave off a maternal, caring vibe that I found myself trusting.

Inside, I was greeted with a series of ligneous walls, though most were hidden behind miniature trees that hadn't been watered for a month, or odd paintings of subjects I couldn't quite decipher. There was one that held my attention for some time; it seemed as if I were supposed to be watching an angel through blurred eyes. There was something about it that, like the camp, hinted to something else.

"One of the boys at camp painted that," the lady said offhandedly, noticing where my attention was. "He believes everyone sees something different in it, but between you and me, I've been staring at it for years now, and I still see a bunch of colours mixed together."