Ash
....
Right now, I’m sitting in a tree.
The weeks since my departure from the mansion had been surprisingly easy for me. Virginia was an alien land to me. There were trees, grass, and fresh air where I was used to asphalt, cobblestones, and smog. I’d be lying to say I didn’t enjoy the change in scenery; in fact, the nymph in me loved it. However, it was very different from anything I’d ever known, growing up on the streets of London. Life was easier here, in a strange, unfamiliar way.
I had no problem getting enough food. In fact, edible nuts and berries seemed to follow me wherever I went. Not literally, of course, but they may as well have. While I kind of missed the companionship over French toast at the club, my solitude over stewed acorns suited me just fine.
A day or so after leaving the mansion, I had stumbled across a large farm, where I was able to filch some goose eggs and dig up a few potatoes. It generally goes against my nature to steal like that, but what choice did I have but to be a bit dodgy? I was a foreigner, and I would stick out like a sore thumb in this clean, nature-filled area. With my ripped, dirty jeans and baggy, oversized sweatshirt, and charming accent, I would leave an impression on the locals that they’d never forget.
And that just wouldn’t do.
It would be nice to be forgotten, to be anonymous, to never draw attention, no matter where I went. It’s been my goal, ever since I was a small child, to walk through life unnoticed.
When I was very little, my grandmother used to read fairytales to me, and my favorite was Tattercoats. These were the days before I had grown enough to become a disappointment, but even then, I remember being jealous of the girl in Tattercoats. In the story, after her mother died, her grandfather wanted nothing to do with her. She was free to do whatever she wanted with her life, and the people surrounding her always turned a blind eye to her. However, she was rescued from her life of anonymity by a handsome prince.
At the end of the story, I would always turn to my grandmother and ask, “Gramma, why did she go marry the prince?”
She would always answer, “Because he saw her for who she was.”
I gave up a long time ago on hoping anyone would ever see me for I am. I came to terms with the fact that I would only ever be seen for my outward appearance. The only place I ever felt accepted for who I am was at the MCC, but there’s no use in thinking of that. I left them behind to suffer at the hands of the scientists, left them behind to figure out a way of saving themselves.
As I sit in my tree, trying not to think of the fate I left my fellow club members to face, I watch a flock of geese bathe in a small pond a ways off. I hear music, but it’s so faint it might just be my imagination. Even so, I close my eyes and listen, letting the quirky little melody lift my moods.
I smile, and my mind drifts back to the story my grandmother used to tell me. The girl’s only friend growing up had been a gooseherd, and had always played music on a little pipe to cheer her up. He made sure she felt important, even if just to one person. He was the one who looked after her and made sure she was happy.
That’s when I realize that the MCC had been my gooseherd, or at least had tried to be. I almost start crying, right there in the tree. The club had been my gooseherd, watching out for me in its own way, and I had left it, weak and separated.
As tears tumbled down my face, I knew I would return to the club someday, and when I did, I would be the one playing cheerful tunes on my pipe, healing wounds the only way I knew how.
Metaphorically, of course.
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Sorry for the piece of crap writing! I just wanted to get it out there. I think around the time of my next post, a very special new character will be joining us. I'm sure you'll all love him! :)
