• Folklore


    A bright light pierced Rowan’s tightly shut eyes, awakening him from his absent state and arousing him to the warmth of bruises and other small injuries placed in scattered sections of his body, forcing him to wince as he shuffled his position, though he dreaded to open his sore eyes. He imagined waking up in the room his Uncle had provided him that he now called home.
    The sanctuary of his dark room where all his thoughts wandered freely and welcomed him as soon as his door shut behind him. He smelled the scent of the few candles that placed upon the pile of books he had been able to smuggle from his past library he adored to no end. He heard the pleasant sound of insects, there voices all forming together that made the old annoyance of his, sound like a symphony from heaven.
    Rowan remained in his memory of his room, smiling pleasantly to himself. His eyes opened¸ and instant regret washed over him. The bruises cluttered back to his mind, and he groaned to himself, staring at the complete blackness that made him wonder if he was dead. ‘No.’ he thought to himself. ‘Death is much kinder then this.’ His gaze trailed over the room, searching for the light that had awakened him. It was simple enough to find, he was amazed it wasn’t burning a hole through the wall it peeked through with its amazing light.
    Rowan clung his gaze to the light as if it where going to fade away at any second; disappear as simply as it had come. After several minuets, (or, that’s how long it felt to him.) his eyes where able to adjust, and the light that gleamed at him was, as he predicted only seconds before, the moon. He shuffled his position again, taking in a sharp breath through his teeth as every inch of him pounded in pain, and moved his head out of the light. He pressed the side of his face against the floor, sighing deeply again. His eyes closed, but in vain, for they where stabbed again by the light, and forced open.
    His gaze wandered sourly to the light, staring past the crack in the wall that opened to the moon. It had gotten bigger. Again, the urge to sit up and examine the light came over him. This time, he tried, only to discover a sharp pain in his arms, and he whimpered sharply, dropping his head again and letting it collapse against the ground. His teeth ground together, and he forced himself to take in a deep breath to keep from revealing the torture in the back of his skull.
    Before he could look again at the light, it had flickered away, suddenly appearing again. ‘Hell perhaps…’ He considered, drenched in confusion. The flickering light remained a mystery, and the crack in the wall became silently larger, soon stretching clear to the other side of his prison. It illuminated the walls, and showed Rowan the extant of his cell. It was about the size of his room, if not larger. A lonely door hung flat against the flawless, Grey walls, so perfectly placed it looked as if it was painted on.
    Another flicker passed the moon, and this time, he was able to see what had permitted the flash of darkness to occur. A branch was slithering is way through the crevice, entwining itself around the wall and clinging close to the ceiling, like a moth that hovered just close enough to worship the bright intensity of a bare light bulb, but not daring to get any closer to it then a few inches.
    The plant rippled to the center of the room, then froze, giving Rowan a perfect moment to pull away from wonder, and start looking at it with a logical eye. The branch seemed like any other plant to him, no doubt from a tree, though he knew it was impossible for a tree to grow so immediately, and have the ability to break though walls like the ones that contained him, however archaic they may be. Berries floated from smaller stems off the branch, accompanied by leaves that clustered around them.
    The congested limb shuddered slightly, confusing Rowan even more then he was moments ago. He felt the tension as his neck try to tip for clarification, but he stopped himself, knowing that that would only add to the perplexed moment more.
    The plant faced another convulsion, this time, the seizure was productive. One of the berries, (they looked brown to him in the dim light) plucked itself from the vine, and tumbled downward. Rowan had expected to feel a berry hit him when it landed, surely when a berry fells above you, and strikes you, you expect it to feel like a berry, or perhaps a rock. It didn’t.
    An unexpected splash echoed into Rowan’s open palm. His fingers twitched slightly, the warm liquid curving into the form of his hand. It took a great deal of energy to lift his arm, and stare into whatever had dripped into his hand, but not impossible.
    “Blood.” He clarified, blinking once. The boy glanced up at the branch again, and surely, there where berries clinging to the clusters of leaves, not drops of blood. His tired gaze trailed back to his palm, and he stared dully at the mark on his hand.
    A second later, the blood had caught all his interest. His left hand almost completely drown in the blood as it swarmed over his fingers, it’s color shadowing to black, then, when it’s task was accomplished and his entire hand disappeared, the color flashed to a blinding white.
    Blindness passed his head, and surrounded his sight completely in white, spinning in the direction of a disobedient clock that refused to tell time correctly. Rowan remained in that state a moment, unable to hear anything, or see past the pure white that delimited him. His gaze scanned his empty surrounding carefully, examining every little nothing possible. Finally, a dark spot blotted past the light, bruising the perfection of the white walls.
    The blob shifted its shape, and quickly began to make a familiar figure, one he would know anywhere. Color was added, and several more shapes took there places. He knew what was happening now, the enigma he was forced to stare at became clear, and it seemed almost foolish to not understand before.