…this place seems timeless. Magical. Enchanted.
Winnie, can you hear me?
Cory. Yes. I do hear you.
I’m not close enough to the front to see. What’s going on?
This desert is red, like Ribbon said. Spoke. Explained.
Yes. Plenty. I walk, and nothing changes. I am hungry, but continue to walk. I am thirsty, but have no need of water.
Are you sure? We’ll have to drink eventually.
Yes, eventually. But here, I feel timeless. Slow sun, slow time. Enchanted. Magical.
Yes. Timeless. I walk, and nothing changes. The rocks continue the same as I walk over them.
It would be really great if you could fly right now.
Of course. But this body is too big for me to float it. I made a duckling line of rocks to trail me. Bouncing. Bobbing.
Bored. Boring. Timeless is boring.
But it is okay. Anything magical cannot be so bad. Terrible. Difficult.
What is it with you people and magic?
Magic. Believing. Wonder is so alluring, Cory, I’m surprised it has never called you.
Yeah…very surprising, I suppose.
Perhaps I did not explain that so forward. You have not called it. Inside yourself. Within. Believed.
Believed in belief?
Yes. Believed. What better way home than believing the path there will find you?
It’s…not as scary to make my own path home. I’m in control that way.
You are like one of my duckling rocks, Cory, bobbing, certain you can fly. Magic is. Exists. Lives.
You’re actually not the first one to tell me that. Minus being called a duckling rock. But I think I get what you mean.
Circles. Loops. We will find the way home again. Find the way free of here. That is why we are magic, Cory.
I…suppose I’ll just have to trust you on that, Winnie. Finding our way home.
Cory climbed back into bed. Usually he would have been grateful. The quiet. The stillness. No more running around, frantic at a to-do list, at least until tomorrow. Usually.
He stuffed the pillow over his head, pushed the hanging pillowcase fringe aside so he could stare through the window. No monsters tonight. No muffled footsteps in the hall. No shoes tromping on the stairs, fists knocking on the doors and trunks.
The quiet, the still house, he had no more reasons to run to and fro. The wave propelling him forward gave out, washed him out to dry.
So Cory let the cloth fall back. Curled under the covers. Muffled his sobs in the pillow. He watered fractaling, shattered crystals to the sheets, like there an overgrown garden could bloom.
Thank you for reading! This is the end of Cory’s Story, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, you can show your support by buying me a pizza or sharing what you loved with a friend!