The Key Between Stranger Realms - Day Five

On this ordinary morning, a mother and her toddler chase each other around the grassy field whose shade has become my comfort these days when the heat is greedy. They wear fruit themed outfits: one strawberry and a little lemon. As the toddler runs toward me in my respite, threatening to cross the imaginary boundary of the overhanging palo verde’s shadow, the mother calls, “Don’t bother strangers, love,” to her son.

Strangers? Yes, entirely. I sigh, sipping water instead of coffee or a smoothie. I breathe in the warm, early air and wonder if the grass has yet memorized the shape of me, imprinted. What a life to live, so earthly and undramatic.

Then, the boy stumbles clumsily into my shade, reaches out his dimpled hand, and taps me on the shoulder.

“You’re it!” he exclaims, giggling as he runs away.

There, I discover his secret life: a lonely boy, abandoned on a little island whose shore has just been delivered a bone-tired cast-away.

“Are you alive?” he asks, poking me with a piece of driftwood.

I jostle at the vehement memory of the knight and her sabre. Grasping my arm, I am still sore from our last fight. Wait … how long has it been since I dove off that cliffside, met the merman and his folk?

My wounds are sore but not piercing. They sprawl over my shoulders, arms, and thighs. How many times has she attacked me to spite the runaway king? The king, where is he? In this realm or the next, will I ever find him again?

“I live,” I huff, spitting out salt and sand.

“Oh, are you hungry?” he asks, kneeling beside me.

“Starving,” I whimper as I try to stand.

He offers me his little dimpled hand as support while I struggle onto my feet. He is surprisingly sturdy for his age — maybe three?

Goodness, where are his parents? The image of the strawberry woman running through the field surfaces. Another realm, yes. But perhaps it is not entirely different.

“Your mother, did you run away from her?” I ask as we stop at the edge of a tropical forest.

The scent of lemon and orange permeates the air.

“No,” the little boy swears, and he passes me a grapefruit the size of his head.

“What happened?” I question, digging into the fruit’s skin with trembling hands.

“Our ship sank yesterday. I cannot find her,” he explains, tears marking the curvature of his plump cheeks.

“We will, together,” I promise, offering him a slice of the ripened citrus.

to be continued ...

***

Hello, again, wanderer.

This is part of a daily series. You can continue with Day Six here:

If you are enjoying this fantasy series, you may like my poem, Lotus Eaters:

If you are looking for a longer work of fantasy, you might want to check out my ongoing series, Ersoa's Awakening:

If you made it this far and are following this daily series, I truly appreciate it!

xoxo,

for now,

-your friend, lost in thought