Shaded Trail
I originally wrote this for a writing challenge. The challenege was to write a short story, 1000 words or less, that somehow relates to uncontrollable growth.
I tried to put a spin on it, and for being under 1000 words I think it's okay.
NOTE: I post the tags Macro/Micro, because it's 'implied'. Not much Macro occurs in front of you--you use your imagination.
In summary, a regular walk through a park becomes odd, and maybe scary in the future for one pleasant walker.
Please read (I mean, it's really short), and hopefully enjoy.
The cobblestone trail that I typically took every spring and fall weekend morning through the much-beloved public park, where children of varying species like to run and play, was what made the extra half-mile worth it.
I was quite surprised others didn't take this small route often. Since the day I had moved here and had used this route for years, I maybe saw a total of 15 to 20 people. I don't understand why that is. This route is nicely shrouded in shade from the surrounding maples and rose-covered shrubs; a sweet odor of a nearby bakery attacking my nostrils and the not-too-hot-not-too-cold rush of wind brushing itself against my fur. This felt like a paradise in itself.
The jogger, or more precisely runner, in front of me looked ready for a head-on collision with my body. A quick step to the side killed that conclusion. I could make out that she was a cat woman with, maybe, fur as dark as burning ash. I say maybe because what she wore covered and portrayed her as anything but a regular jogger, or someone who would even visit a park.
She looked like one of them psychics you could find in any residential area on the street corner. Hell, her clothing just screamed it--purple-shade hood with the too big bracelets on her wrists, a cloak of some sort running down her back, barely long enough to cover her out of control tail, and gold-studded earrings that just ran down the side on both of her pointy ears.
The moment she was a few feet away from me, her frantic breathing clearer and hazel eyes wide in some state of panic (what could cause panic here?), her height is what stood out the most. From afar she looked average height from what your mind plays with you, but up close, she was a giantess. She had to be seven and a half feet tall, maybe higher.
That wasn't all. Her hood, cloak, everything besides the bracelets looked abnormally tight against her body. There were clear rips on the shoulders and thighs, maybe more further south where I refused to look for the brief moment I could.
She had run to the side, but that still wasn't enough as my left shoulder got shoved. She stumbled for just a bit before regaining balance and continuing her run to who knows where. Before she disappeared, I could have sworn I heard cries.
It didn't take much to realize this was one odd day. My neck craned enough, I turned back to continue my regular walk before I felt my foot contact with something. I look down and see a small box. The psychic must have dropped it.
I pick it up and examine it. There's a fine sheen to the plastic gray box that just radiates obscure, truly out of the ordinary to add to the list of what I've witnessed so far. I find the opening to the box and peak inside to find a deck of cards and that's it.
I pour the contents upside-down into my palm and examine the deck. The back design of the cards really isn't your standard design for playing cards. Blue daggers from all directions aiming the pointed edge to the middle which contains, what looks like to me, some sort of blood-red planet, and I feel like a complete dimwit for not discovering earlier that they're tarot cards. I turn the deck around to see the even odder designs of people's supposed futures . . .
There's nothing there. There's nothing on any of the cards. Nothing but endless white.
I don't understand. What kind of tarot cards are these? A question I leave dead in its tracks as I suddenly drop all the cards to the ground and lift my finger to my mouth.
The rivulet stream of my blood refuses to recede no matter how many times I lick my pad clean. My finger remains in my mouth as I stare down at the ground, not in the mood to play fifty-two pick up. It remains to be seen, but I know my eyes aren't betraying me, and I know I'm not going crazy . . .
All but three of the cards landed face first on the ground; the already odd design of blue daggers everywhere ironically piercing my soul. The lone three cards, whose white background was originally thought up as laziness, now had something to behold.
On the three cards were the exact same figure--a lone little guy. Except, he was little in only one of the cards. On the second card, the figure's height seemed to have reached half way up the card. And on the third one, its ears reached the top.
This made no sense at all. There was nothing on those cards. Nothing! I didn't imagine it. But what really stood out on the third card were little blocks on the bottom of the card, underneath the figure's feet. I have no clue what they are. I have no clue what's going on. I'm scared now. I really am.
I look at the bleeding would on my finger pad, the pile of scary, very scary cards on the ground, the psychic who ran by me, her clothes ripping beyond belief . . .
Is . . . all that going to happen to me? I look down one more time at the cards, I ponder what to do. If anything else were to happen to me, I already know the first thing I'm doing this very moment . . .
This trail lost one more civilian.