The Little Figure

She walks outside the wooden door, from her cabin. No one has seen her in 3 years. The door has cracks around the edges, and squeaks at the hinges. She looks around the door, and touches the glass. She feels her face with the tips of her fingers. The dust on her face doesn’t bother her. Everyone wondered why a pretty young lady hid away for so long. She looked in the mirror and wondered the same, every day. But the spiders were still crawling up the blinds, and she found herself immersed in every bit of fascination with every curl of every molecule in front of her.

She walks towards the trees, the trees that she watched change shape through the windows. Her senses are magnified now. She can hear sounds from farther away. And something is grabbing her attention near a tree that twists and winds its branches around its trunk. She’s as every bit fascinated by the tree as she is by the figure grabbing her attention. She comes closer to the little figure. “You can see me?” A voice whispers.

He holds celery root in one hand. “I grew this here”, he says. “No one else bothers with it.”

She isn’t ready to speak yet, and he isn’t concerned with it. They can feel each other. It’s easy. She walks to her garden to get her cherry tomatoes, plucks some basil, and oregano. While the little figure places celery root in the pot of a little simmering water, he pays no mind to her walking away silently because he can feel her direction. She adds her pieces to the pot.

They don’t speak. They watch every bit of simmer, and every bit of movement in the pot, and watch it slowly cook down into mush, until the sun comes down. And she contemplates a moment in time and says to the figure, “It’s strange how we can struggle so much on one thing, only to find out the solution was so simple, and easily possible to do. And then everything shifts in just a few moments.”

To be continued….

The Imaginative Stories Series.

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