Excerpt:
Pascal was
late. Again. He stepped quickly over fallen logs and ducked low beneath
swooping evergreen branches. Though the wilderness was dense in this
part of the forest, he navigated it with remarkable ease. His footsteps as
light as a whisper over treacherous mossy rocks. With each exhale, misty clouds
formed in the shake of his breath, the biting cold of winter creeping all the
way through the thickness of his coat. He pulled his collar tighter to forbid
the chill from entering even more.
Yet, as he
walked, his mind strayed from his course, far from the natural beauty
surrounding him.
He
muttered under his breath as he walked over the gnarled roots, every step a
cautious dance. He slipped and slid in his frequent eff orts to stoop under
even more pointy twigs of evergreen that sought to block his path, to grab him
as he passed. Pascal had taken this route countless times before, and today,
that thought was a frustrating one.
After
spending the majority of his life at the orphanage, he wanted nothing more than
to leave, to see the world, to taste all that lay unseen and undiscovered. He would
soon have that opportunity. Yet, knowing that he’d soon be graduating also left
him uneasy.
Can I even
handle surviving on my own? He wondered. I´ve always had the comfort of
Mistress Alma and the orphanage to look after me.
The
bittersweet longing left him conflicted and a little in secure, truth be told.
How would he know when he was ready? What threshold would he finally cross?
The
forest, usually a great source of comfort and solace, felt somehow different on
this day. It seemed to be echoing his inner turmoil, causing him to lose all
sense of time.
The sun
stretched over the tree line of the Quiet Wilds, reminding him that his walk
should have ended about fifteen minutes ago. He picked up his pace.
Great. The
last thing I wanted to do was disappoint Mistress Alma. And miss dinner.
The final
approach was quick, as he nearly ran the remaining half-mile. Once he spotted
the entrance, he slipped in with stealth. The mess hall was already full. He’d
have to wait for the perfect moment to sneak inside.
“Have you
seen Pascal?”
Whispers
spread through the orphanage’s mess hall like wildfire as the children ate
their typical meal for a Wednesday night: potatoes and vegetable stew. A
classic, one that Pascal didn’t want to miss.
When he
peered around the corner, he spotted his friends Clarion and Danton exchanging
a knowing glance. Surely, they were assuming he’d been caught up in his
exploration outside the orphanage grounds. Which he had. In fact, that was
exactly what he had done.
His eyes
wandered down the table to Tania, one of the older girls at the orphanage, just
as she was motioning for Mistress Alma. Damn. Of course, Tania would notice his
absence. She never knew how to keep quiet about these sorts of things.
Removing her
pince-nez glasses, Mistress Alma scanned over the mess hall. She rubbed at her
eyes, which seemed to be sore at the day´s end, a fact that proved fortunate
for Pascal. In her scan, she’d somehow managed to Miss Tania’s raised hand. She
circled the room slowly and met children along the wall, all beaming in her
presence.
Then, she
turned on her heel to stride toward the kitchen, her simple brown dress and
jacket flowing behind her.
Poor Tania
was stretching her arm ever-higher, looking fit to burst from her efforts, but
still, Mistress Alma did not see. That was a relief. Though, the win was
short-lived; it was just a matter of time before she realized Pascal wasn´t
present and that he was late again.
Once she
disappeared into the kitchen, Pascal exhaled, his eyes glinting. This was the
perfect opportunity. Yet, when he glanced around the mess hall at the tame
expressions the children wore, he couldn’t suppress the urge to liven up their
evening a bit more. After all, he’d been working on a few tricks that he could
hardly wait to show them. Why not come in with a bang? He’d probably get in some
amount of trouble anyway…
He walked
around to the main mess hall entrance and burst through the doors with as much
dramatic flair as he could muster. He flipped into a handstand, pressing his
palms against the floor, and then strutted through the mess hall on his hands.
The room
erupted in laughter. Pascal could never do things quietly.
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