Good morning all and happy Veterans’ day. It is Thursday of course and I personally feel the week slipping away as we start the slippery slope towards the weekend. Let’s see if we can keep from sliding by digging into the morning’s writing prompt. Its a bit like using a piton on a sharply sloped slip-n-slide. At least in my mental world. So ready those timers and let’s begin.
This one could be interesting. I’d have to settle on a time period I think, before I actually got down to a story. At the moment it could be modern or historical. I have no idea which way it would lean. So I’d have to find both the story and the time period. I think there is a story there though. And I think it will solidify once I hit on the right time period. For now, I don’t mind adding it to the files.
Thursday, November 11th: He slipped out into the darkness.
He slipped out into the darkness. It slid across his overheated skin like a balm. He felt it soothing his skin, comforting him. He took the first deep breath he had for hours. When he was with the others, he felt as though he was sitting in a spotlight. He felt the weighty interrogation of their eyes. They watched him, looking for hints, clues that he was anything other than what he seemed.
He moved away from the building, from the light spilling through the large windows. It was difficult for him to think of it as a house. Surely something this large should be considered a public building, a government office, something. But not a home.
At least not his.
Not yet anyway.
He shook off the thought. Legalities aside, he wasn’t certain he could ever consider a place like this home. Still there were the grounds. Right now the gardens drew him. In many of the warmer season parties, they were lit and he had to fear running into those strolling for a bit of evening air or lovers seeking quiet assignations.
Then the gardens were lit, torches spaced intermittently so provide light to those who wished it, shadow to those who didn’t. For him it was a filled shadow and he generally avoided it. Tonight, with most of the garden withered to nothing and even the hardier remnants sporting frosted white tips, thee was no need for torches. No one would go strolling, no one would seek out the benches.
Tonight the light stopped at the doors.
He took to the garden path. The pathways were placed in precise geometrical order. Sometimes he preferred the winding trails of the grounds kept more like woodland parks, but tonight, as long ass he had it to himself, he was pleased with the regularity of the pathways.
He grew up with a level of order that made this pattern comforting and he relaxed as his feet moved through the established design. He knew that this was his place. He was raised with the manners and skills needed to survive, thrive and even rule here. Everyone including him, knew that he would one day be brought here.
His skills were no shame on the family. He could see the pride on the faces of those who actually mattered to him. He understood his duty. But he hadn’t expected the others. The weight of their regard was an almost constant pressure. They knew who he was. They knew why he was sent off with his mother’s family. They knew why he returned.
They wanted to see if he was one of them, truly, of if he was something else. Every glance was a judgement, an evaluation. He passed, and he would continue to pass. He would not fail those who were counting on him to do so. But at times it itched along his skin, burning and choking the breath out of him.
As he walked his thoughts soothed. He knew he would have to return soon. But for now he just needed to breathe. He strode forward, inhaling deeply.
A voice from the other side of one of the tall hedges at the edge of the area caught his attention. Snapping his thoughts from himself and back to the world at large.
Ten til Midnight 