The land no one remembers.
The land no one remembers is a strange
place in comparison to our world of light and noise. Whenever you’re tired, whenever
you’re in need of the dark and silents. It is someone from the land you don’t remember
knocking on your door.
When you fall asleep it is when you open the
door and extra the world you down remember.
But I remember and that is how I have come
to write this story. Because I took the fence with the sheep and the thing
about a fence is that you don’t have to open it to get past it.
It was an especially tiring day. Every day
is grueling when you are a surf. But one gets used to it. It is the order of
things, or so I thought. I bent down as I entered my hovel. My back was killing
me from all the stones we were moving today. The lord is building new stables
and he wants it done extra fast or we will pay for it he said. I had a little
soup and then hit the hay. My eyes began to close and I looked up at the
ceiling made of sticks. Sticks….wooden fence….sheep. I closed my eyes and counted
1, 2, 3, 4….I counted for what seemed like
hours. The fence was old and warped; it was as high as a man and the white
sheep leapt over it powerfully. Soon every sheep began to watch me as they leapt.
There dark lifeless eyes seemed to push back and watch into my skull. They just
kept on jumping in the darkness staring at me. Then they stopped jumping. Only
the gate was left. A strange old gate, it seemed weak and unstable yet I feared
it greatly. I felt like it wanted to lash out and hurt me. I kept my distance
from the gate but I walked around it until I was facing it in front of me. Sheep’s
point of view as they are having their run up, if you will have it said that
way. I saw in the dark distance the flock of sheep walking away into the night,
one sheep with it’s behind bobbing up and down stopped and turned around and
looked at me. The sheep looked into my very soul, those strange lifeless
inhuman eyes, like nothing I had ever seen. I don’t know what it was thinking
if anything but I felt in my cold churning gut that I was not meant to be there
or not welcome.
Then it turned around and followed the
flock into the night. I stood alone, the gate and a surf boy. I wanted to
follow the sheep, where were they going? Why couldn’t I come? I suddenly took a
deep breath and ran for the old gate, I approached it and I felt weak with fear
I lost control of my strength and cold helplessness clung to my feet like great
clods of clay. The gate seemed as high as a church steeple. It seemed to bend
over me under the weight of being so tall. I tripped and stumbled and court
myself on the gate with my hand. A fiendish Shrek rent forth from the gate. The
grain of the old crooked wood cracked open and let rip a heart stopping sound.
Not the sound of breath being past threw a person’s lips but a cracking, whining,
deafening sound like tortured enraged spirit.
Quickly the cries stopped as the old gates
gaping grains quickly snapped shut like a rabbit trap and court my hand in an agonizing
vice like bite. I let forth a cry of pain and with my free hand I struck the
gate with all my might, I felt the gate buckle and I repeated to rain down
blows in the same spot until I broke threw one of the horizontal strips and my
hand was released. A shuddering tired sigh whispered from the gate.
My hand was lacerated in many parts but I
felt no pain, I felt like an energy had taken over me after my victory. Blood
streaming from my hand I took 3 paces back and bolted for the gate now it
looked like nothing but a decrepit old man unable to move. I cleared it and
landed on the other side with my heart beating like a drum.