In Dreams of Trees : A Fair Ways

Wordcount: 285
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Character study, White; everyone has their door.

NOTE: This is a very rough draft with no editing at all (per National Novel Wiriting Month rules) and is presented for amusement value only. Think of it as a periscope into my writing process rather than a coherent story!

There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing. These snippits are also posted out of order, so please refer to the Outline to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.


A Fair Ways

There is one door that opens to an empty world. The tree that houses the door is the only thing that remains beyond the heavy ash and soot that covers everything. No life at all remains and the sky is a heavy leaded red that glows ugly in the sun. If there is a moon, they’ve never seen it through the haze.

No matter how many of times they open the door the view is always the same. They have no idea how long ago the fire happened or if anyone ever lived here at all, but it’s a sobering site.

White comes down to the door every so often and looks out. She doesn’t say anything and no one else bothers her. They all know enough to leave her be when she heads down the path.

It’s never the same path, but she never gets lost, never opens the wrong door by mistake.

Someone asked her once why she goes and she just looked at them and never answered. Some things don’t have answers in words.

And she looks out onto the dying world, looks but never steps foot through the door. There’s memories enough without that.

Someday she might tell them why the door is important and what she lost out in that rolling red darkness. But she’ll wait until the door closes for good. There are some things that should stay memories and she’s worried that they’ll try and save what can’t be saved.

No use in throwing new lives after old.

But she comes back, to pay her respects, and listen a while to the ghosts of what might have been, waiting on the other side of the thin blue line.

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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