The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey

by Millerson, Brady

  He paused with an air of concern, leaving Sofia hanging on his word.

  “What?” Sofia inquired.

  “It just felt like,” he hesitated again, placing his fist over his heart, ”someone was calling to me, almost pressuring me to get us to leave the City, to show us something… and then all of this: Mr. Sanders and his plans. It seems far beyond mere coincidence, don’t you think?”

  The idea did have an almost queer, even alien, feel to it when the events of the day were placed into the category of mere coincidence. But attributing every detail to some conscious, self-aware intelligence was far beyond her comprehension. Was it possible that each event, each step of the day for that matter, was effected by a cause that was directing them in the way they should go? Unable to follow this train of thought into a deeper, more comprehensive series of musings, Sofia stepped off its philosophical path. She felt that, if the causal connections of the events of the day could be traced back to someone or something guiding them along this mysterious journey, then fighting it would be no more fruitful than living the life of a dweller in the tents of Labor. Someone had to make the choice for the two of them. Either she or John would have to take the lead.

  Placing her hand upon his, she consented to him all the responsibility of decision-making. The words were difficult to verbalize at first, but exonerating herself of this duty, she believed, would allow her a greater freedom to be the friend and companion that John needed, allowing him to grow into the resourceful leader they would both require to survive.

  “Wherever you go, John, I’ll always be there with you, following close behind,” she professed. “I may not always agree with you. And, sometimes I’ll express my dissatisfactions. But our little tribe, you and me, needs a chief.”

  She touched her finger to the tip of his nose, and said, “Tag, you’re it.”

  The day was wearing on, and the Savior, looking down from the sky above, was a necessary object for traveling the path ahead. As long as they had the light, the landmarks cataloged by Mr. Sanders would be visible. After many days, they would finally reach the sight on the map marked Food and Shelter.

  The first night’s sleep was difficult, requiring John and Sofia to secure a temporary dwelling in the back of an outcropping of boulders, of which they were able to locate at the midpoint of one of the hills. There was a small stream nearby that flowed gently through the valley below from which they refreshed themselves, washing off the scrapes and abrasions that they had accumulated during the day’s events. The drips and splashes colliding with the stones and soil along the water’s edge could be heard throughout the night, intermittently interrupted by the howling of distant animals, and the flapping of unseen wings. The snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves consistently startled the young couple out of what minimal sleep they were able to procure, so that by the Savior’s first light they awoke blood-shot in the eyes, too weary to continue at the same pace that they had traveled the previous afternoon.

  The brightly colored berries dangling from a nearby patch of green, leafy bushes helped to sustain their appetites on this tolerably cool morning. As neither John nor Sofia had ever had such fresh and sweet edibles before, they laughed and giggled with delight as they ate of the fruit of the land. With an overabundant supply at their disposal, the two of them consumed the treats with such reckless abandon that it did not take long for a sour nausea to settle into their stomachs.

  As mid-morning was upon them, the sugar rushing through their blood had awakened their minds, allowing them to think more clearly. Despite the weariness of their bodies, they finally descended the hill and entered into the valley.

  Following the stream that had eventually widened out by approximately three meters, the thickness of the brush was considerably denser than the hills above, forcing them to move at a slower pace than they already were. But unlike their travels upon the hilly terrain, they now had an unlimited source of water that would keep them hydrated and cool as the intensity of the Savior’s heat increased throughout the day.

  It was mid-afternoon. By the indication of the compass’ needle, and the strangely contorted dead tree that they discovered through the use of the map, John determined that they were nearing the halfway point in their excursion. Although it appeared that there were many more kilometers ahead before the end of the journey, a great deal of that distance would be covered by way of the valley and not in the uphill and downhill trudge that had marked the initial path.

  By late afternoon, the coolness of the water was relieving them of the hot, sweaty enclosure of their leather shoes, or in John’s case, shoe. As neither of them had ever had the opportunity to walk with their feet unprotected for any prolonged periods of time, the small stones and decaying branches and bark of the trees, were a minor impediment upon their path due to the tenderness of their soles. The mid-point to their final destination would not be met as planned, as they had once again significantly reduced the rate at which they were traversing the land. And, although neither John nor Sofia had any care about it, many more hours would now be added to the overall trek to reach their goal.

  Entering into the second night, John realized that they had fallen far short of their purposed point of rest: a place marked on the map where they could sleep in the protection of a grove of dead trees and large boulders. Flipping through the pages of the book, to a section marked Shelter Procurement, he quickly scanned the sketches and tiny notes left behind by Mr. Sanders.

  “Apparently a shelter could be erected anywhere, if needed,” he read aloud. And, being that they were somewhere, he felt that it was quite within the realm of possibility for them to set up a sleeping quarters right where they were standing.

  As the darkness of the night was beginning to bear down upon them, the two of them worked together under his direction as efficiently as they could. Gathering together as many of the large, dead branches that they were able to find, they followed the directions to the best of John’s ability to comprehend the engineer’s constructing guide. Finding a suitable starting point between a relatively large boulder and a nearby tree situated at the edge of the stream, they began to set up their temporary housing.

  Raising a thick branch here, leaning one there, tying together corners with newly cut vine: the image of a basic safe house was beginning to take form. With the final glow of light about to fade away, the outermost layer of dead leaves was spread upon the “roof” of their home. John held his hand out, assisting Sofia down from the boulder to stand beside him, to admire their work of art.

  “We did it. Can you actually believe we finished it?” John asked with a tone of accomplishment. “And so quickly, too.”

  “With just the two of us, I think we could do almost anything,” Sofia replied.

  Standing before them was the completion of the first project that they had ever created together. Lopsided and disproportioned, dangling tree limbs and drying mud, it was hardly a thing of beauty.

  John placed his arm around Sofia’s shoulders.

  “Yes, Dear, I think we can,” he said.

  Their final view of the shelter was melting away before their eyes as the blackness of night gained control, when suddenly, from out the darkness, the creaking, crumbling sounds of wood and falling leaves, snapping and fractured, the crushing annihilation of their project was proverbially crashing down around them. A lesson of Life was, although unwelcome, necessarily received. Due to the earlier waning light, John had been given little time to read the fine print in the manual regarding ground conditions when building a shelter. In his haste he had overlooked the warning: Build on dry, solid ground.

  “At least the roof will make for a nice, soft bed,” Sofia whispered.

  With muscles aching, and a hunger greater than mere berries and leaves could alleviate, the exhausted couple began their third day of freedom anew scratching at the raised bumps on their skin, an irritation received from the rash-inducing leaves used for their bedding. It was another one of Life’s lessons duly
received.

  Bathing in the cold water of the stream gave a mild, if not temporary, relief from the itching. Another delay in the journey had found them. As the newly unearthed, hindering event was out of their control once again, they attempted to ignore it, reminding themselves that their present predicament was merely an uncomfortable inconvenience when compared to the misery that they had left behind. It would be just like the day when they walked away from the City, its oppressive walls and darkened heart had disappeared into the past. So too would the current discomfort fade away. By the end of the day it would exist merely as a memory, nothing more.

  The morning’s light brought forth beams of golden rods that broke through the leaves and reflected off the dust of the forest. The terrain, stable and flat, made for a relatively simple excursion. John and Sofia, despite the burning skin that they were both in possession of, were now feeling the euphoric effects of their liberation from the confines of the City of Labor.

  With the ease of walking of which the valley’s floor allowed, John held the book in front of his face, taking in more of its data necessary to their livelihood, while Sofia held his other hand and led the way.

  “We won’t be doing this now,” he spoke, without removing his face from the book, “but, we’ll be needing to start fires on our own… to cook food.”

  “What kind of food?” Sofia asked, as she had never considered where meat and vegetables actually came from.

  Shrugging his shoulders, John replied, “I don’t know. I haven’t reached that part of the book yet.”

  “Well, I hope it’s good food, because I’m starving,” she said, kicking at the passing rocks.

  “Mr. Sanders was a resourceful fellow. I’m sure he thought of how to get tasty food, too.”

  As the trees of the valley began to thin out, John and Sofia eventually found themselves knee-high in a grassy clearing. Taking cover beside a group of large stones set beside a rotting trunk, they spotted a herd of four-legged creatures, antlers rising off of their heads like trees without leaves, dancing and playing with one another in the open land.

  It was a beautiful sight to see the creatures so lively and free as they methodically glided about in a choreographed display of jubilation. The fur covering their skin was short and silky, speckled with small, brownish patches of darker areas that gave the appearance of eyes covering their bodies. Their torsos were suspended about a meter above the tips of the herbage by their thick legs. Contracting muscles cast waves of shadows across their thighs as the creatures pushed against each other, butting their heads together and entangling the branch-like structures between them.

  “Let’s try to get a closer look,” Sofia said, beginning to sneak forward.

  Holding on to the hem of her dress, John followed close behind. Keeping low in the grass, the hair of their heads visible to only the most keen of observers, they moved along with cautious curiosity.

  The melodic, ostentatious display became more vibrant as another herd appeared out of the small thicket behind the two adventurers. Through the rustling leaves and moist soil, the rhythmical, steady gait of the approaching group of animals seemed to be dictated by the prancing creatures of the field. In the herd’s hypnotic trance, Sofia and John did not appear to be residents to their reality. Their uniform, almost robotic, movements by which they conveyed themselves toward their kindred soul mates, a testament to the bonding force between the male and female subset of any species, was a splendid presentation beneath the lights of the Savior.

  Passing within mere centimeters of the two wanderers, the towering bodies and muscular features of the creatures were made more distinct due to their close proximity. Sofia held her hand out, her curiosity overpowering her reason. Before John could put a stop to her folly, she let the smooth hairs of one of the creatures’ forelegs brush against her fingers. Looking back at John with a joyful smile, she could see he was not impressed.

  With the animal continuing onward with its forward pace, she paid little mind to her friend’s prudish expressions. Refusing to retract her arm, her fingertips came into contact with the animal’s hind leg. As if it suddenly became aware of its surroundings, it immediately suspended its movement, rearing up and standing upon its hind legs in an erect fashion, stiff and controlled. With its breathing heavy and forceful, it seemingly held the others at bay. It appeared that Sofia’s touch had broken the spell under which the creature’s mind had been held captive.

  The tugging at her skirt by John was all that was needed to convince her to scurry back beside him into the safety of the grass. With its nose to the sky, the herd’s leader began sniffing into the air, its ears pricked up and attentive.

  “What are they doing?” Sofia whispered inquiringly.

  “I’m not sure. Just don’t move.”

  Following suit, the rest of the herd, one-by-one, took up a similar posture as the as their point guard. Ceasing with their jubilatory exhibition, the other party in the open field began posturing up in the same fashion until the two opposing groups were a mirrored image of one another.

  A mild disturbance emanated from a yellowed patch of grass, equidistant from a stony cluster in the field to the conjoining parties, sending a panic response throughout the clearing. Multitudes of small winged creatures fled to the sky, violently rustling the leaves of the outlying trees and the field’s heavy blades.

  As the heavens began to darken under the clouds of flapping, screeching fowl encircling above, the two herds, their members dropping back to their four-legged stances, heads looking about with overpowering fright, dispersed in a disorganized manner in an apparent attempt to become as equally scarce removed from the open land as the feathered creatures now suspended between soil and Savior.

  A blur of Reddish-brown fur began filtering through the grassland from whence the original disturbance had its beginning. With innumerable directions, it split up, like particles of light sifting through the clouds, scattering at various angles. Although difficult to see in detail, these newly arrived beasts traversed the field with the greatest of speed, plowing forth in the several directions by which their antlered victims hastened to escape.

  Unsure of which way to flee, John helped Sofia to her feet. Keeping a low profile in the grass, he desperately scanned their surroundings for a path to a secure refuge.

  The antlered beasts began toppling over and disappearing into the grass, leafless branches rising and falling in the struggle to survive. Their horrific screams and agonizing cries joined with the fluttering of the winged flocks.

  “Come on,” John yelled, his hand grasping Sofia under the armpit.

  Forcing her to run towards the nearest hillside, where the security of the woods awaited, she could scarcely maintain his pace. Tripping over her own feet and the small stones hidden among the foliage, John bored Sofia ahead in spite of the fear that was consuming her.

  “What’s happening, John?” Sofia cried.

  “It doesn’t matter… just keep running,” he panted.

  Behind them, the screaming, tearing flesh and the snarling of a multitude of beasts, was instilling a terror in Sofia with such intensity that her heart began beating with a force that made her vision a disorderly spin. Her mind, cast into a surreal world of blackness and gloom, was so overcome, that she slipped on an unseen stone and fell to the ground.

  Sobbing uncontrollably she wailed, “I’m so scared. I’m so scared.”

  Dropping to her side and placing his arms around her, his mouth beside her ear, laboring with exhaustion, he spoke, “Sofia, we need to keep moving. We don’t have the time, girl. There’s something bad out there. Get up, let’s go.”

  She was lost in her own world of horror. She had become another irrational creature waiting her turn to leave the land of the living, along with all the other beasts in this arena of death. He had to think for her… he had to make her listen!

  Placing her arm around his neck, John stood Sofia up and began the slow and steady trudge towards the tree line a
head. With the weight of his overwhelmed companion upon him, the soft, stony soil added to the difficulty of each step. The macabre screams of a murderous rampage were continuing to feed their ears with a symphony of destruction. He was afraid, too, but he was equally, if not more so, determined not to let all that Mr. Sanders had worked for come to nothing. The muscles of his thighs scorched with the planting of each foot. His lungs burned with each breath he grasped at, causing a sheering of his already wounded ribs. But this was not their end. Whatever it was that was killing those poor creatures it was not getting them. He would see to that.

  The first trees of the woods were just within reach, and the screams were beginning to fade in the distance. John felt the relief of seeing the cover of green leaves and the thick trunks so near.

  “We made it girl,” he said. “Everything’s going to be…”

  Before he was able to complete the sentence, a flash of blurred fur and a sharp blow sent him tumbling forward. Finding himself face down in the damp soil, he lifted his head to catch his breath, but found himself face-to-face with Death. Snarling through the bloodstained fur at the edges of its mouth, a creature crouched, hideous and cruel, staring him in the eyes. It strafed to the side slowly and methodically, as if it was uncertain as to what the new threat was that was standing before it.

  Lifting himself slowly, so as not to startle his predator, John raised himself up. Grasping onto a fist-size stone, he motioned with his other hand to Sofia, who was frozen in fear behind him, to slowly back away.

  The crimson tinted saliva dripped from the mouth of the wild animal while it circled about, growling, gnashing and displaying its jagged teeth. As John lifted his hand in preparation to throw the stone, the creature lunged at him with open jaws. Falling backward John instinctively thrust his weapon into the animals face, sending shattered remnants of teeth and flesh into its throat. The beast’s long snout, crumpled inward by the force of the blow, blew streams of blood and tinted excretions across the stone and along John’s hand and arm.