Eliot Steven Saunders. His mom had
used his full name as he ran out of the back door of their house by the woods.
He honestly had no idea that the cookie jar would make such a noise when it
fell to the stone tile kitchen floor, he only knew that he really wanted a
cookie. It had been hours since lunch and dinner wouldn’t be served until who
knew when. If he were to ask about it for a seventh time he would only get
yelled at. Being eight years old afforded Eliot the wisdom of knowing that if
you’ll be scolded, it’s best if treats are involved; hence the cookie.
Crumbs and a smear of chocolate on
his lips would have been the only evidence, easily licked away at that, if not
for the broken container. He felt a pang of remorse when his mind circled back
to the broken mess on the floor. He really liked that jar and not just because
of what it usually contained. It was ceramic, tall and in the shape of a fat,
happy cat. Paint had rubbed off in some spots, so Eliot knew it had to be old. I just wanted a cookie he thought.
Chilly winds whipped past him as he ran, bringing a slight welling of tears to
the corners of his eyes. It would be light outside for another 30 minutes; not
nearly enough time for things to blow over at home. At the very least he felt
he could stop running.
His backyard technically stopped at
the chain-link fence, but the woods just beyond were included as far as he was
concerned. There were easily found trails so he could find his way home just as
easily as he could get lost. This allowed him to go just about wherever he
wanted as long as the sun was still up. He decided he would poke around for
another 20 minutes or so before heading home and facing his punishment. It
couldn’t be any worse than the other times he’d broken things around the house.
A hand mirror, his electric toothbrush and a wooden coat stand had all fallen
victim to his carelessness. He never once intended to break any of those things
and they had all been accidents, obviously. After so many instances of accident however, it began to resemble
less innocent reasons.
Eliot didn’t doubt that he could
convince his mother that his latest crime was more about bad luck than ill
intent. He did, after all, always like that cookie jar and she knew it. Maybe if I stay out past dark she’ll get worried he thought,
weighing his options. He had the uncanny foresight to be wearing his jacket and
hat before running from the house, so it would be a while before it got too
cold. As long as he stayed close to home he wouldn’t need to worry about
getting lost in the dark either. Those two factors settled it. With his
newfound, if short lived, freedom, Eliot decided to quickly get lost.
He jumped away from the trail he’d
been following and ran through the trees. Whenever he saw another trail ahead
he quickly turned and ran away from it. After a couple minutes he no longer
needed to change direction, though he did need to slow down as there were more
trees. Years ago during a similar run through the woods he had fractured a bone
in his arm after tripping from running too quickly. The trek back had been so
miserable that it was weeks before he entered the forest again. With the denser
collection of trees, less light came through. He knew he still had time, so he
pressed on. Sounds of life were harder to miss this far in, making Eliot really
feel like he’d gotten away to some secret place. He looked upward, through the
spindly branches and the leaves that stubbornly clung to them. Such a sight
took away from his concentration and he slipped, barely saving himself by
clutching an old tree with craggy bark.
His heart raced as he put himself
upright, blowing on his scratched palms to soothe them. In those tense moments,
the sun had finally set and only peripheral light remained. Eliot took a final
look around, intent on finding a path and heading home, when he saw a warm glow
from behind the craggy barked tree. I’ve
still got a minute he thought and carefully made his way to get a better
look. Twigs and dried leaves crackled beneath his feet, the sound somehow
amplified like the cookie jar shattering. The odd glow receded even as he
circled around to a better vantage point. He had time to inspect it, but he
didn’t have time to be toyed with. Irritated, he plodded forward. Instantly the forest in front of him deteriorated and
rebuilt itself around the glow, seeming very much the same but inherently
altered. He looked back to see how the change impacted the rest of the woods,
but they were entirely familiar. It wouldn’t be especially weird if not for the
semi-noticeable seam that existed where the two states joined.
Eliot resisted his every urge to
touch it, fearful of what might happen if he did. Given his history of breaking
things he could only imagine what would happen if he broke this. Before he
could properly examine it, the seam faded and the glow regained his attention.
It emanated from the ground, forming a perfect dome. Much like when he circled
it before, the light diminished the closer he got. The apex vanished first,
like a lid being removed from a cast iron pot. From there the perimeter steadily
melted until he could see inside, as if the light had been hiding an object of
value. The glow vanished completely when Eliot set foot at its former edge. All
that remained lacked any kind of observable significance; a pond. Shallow and
still with specks of frost on the far end from when it had frozen a few nights
before.
Eliot hunched down and gazed into
the water, rather nonplussed by the darkening reflection within it. All that spectacle
for the sake of a little pool in the middle of the woods that didn’t do anything
but exist. There was no way to break
a pond as far as he knew, so he gently dipped his right index finger into it.
Except his finger didn’t become wet. It didn’t even feel cold. There wasn’t as
much as a single ripple from the point of contact and that wasn’t even the
oddest thing that happened. In the far end of the pond, just by the frost, a small
point of light grew in intensity and spread out. Like the dome revealed the
pond as it disappeared, the pond revealed an extraordinary scene that Eliot could
hardly believe he was seeing.
Buildings of shining ivory stood
tall but had foundations that plunged far below the surface, down to bustling
city streets full of cars and pedestrians. Elevated trains rose above the
hustle and provided a fantastic view for the passengers within. They were
fantastic to watch as they circulated throughout the city. Even so, they couldn’t
hope to compare with the myriad of pure white zeppelins that lazily hung about
with the tops of buildings. All of this entranced Eliot to the point of taking
away his ability to even breathe. The city below and within the pond functioned
silently and smooth as the finest clockwork. He took in every facet of the
spectacle with delight until he realized his finger remained in the water.
Immediately he pulled away and fell backward. When he righted himself he saw
the city begin to fade. His eight-year-old mind panicked for a way to keep the
city in the pond so he could watch it for a little longer. The only thing that
made sense was to touch the water again. So with no apprehension he plunged his
right hand into it. The effect was immediate as the city reappeared, vibrant
and real.
However, the pond reacted unlike it
had before. Thin columns of water stuck out and froze in place, each capped
with droplets that shimmered in the glow of the ivory cityscape. Eliot eyed
them closely and followed them back to where his hand had entered. Abject
terror struck him when he realized that he had collided with several buildings
and part of the elevated rail. No no no,
not this too! He thought and removed his hand again, but the buildings and
rail had been untouched. As the city faded again he once more put just a finger
tip into the pond. It proved to be enough to keep the city from disappearing
and the pond from reacting as it did when his hand was in it. For such a marvel
to be hidden away in a forest surrounded by homes gave Eliot pause. He didn’t
want to leave it. A stern but plainly worried voice snapped him out of his
trance.
“Eliot! Eliot, where are you?” His
mother called him, trying her best to remain calm. “Please answer me, Eliot!
You’re worrying me!”
Eliot debated whether he should
answer. He would be in trouble when she found him and he might not ever see the
ivory city again. She called again, losing her calm with every word.
No,
he thought, she can keep looking.
I don’t care. He kept his finger in
the pond, and watched the city as his mother’s voice became quieter. This
miracle needed him and he would foster it. He then saw something familiar at
one of the train stations. A little boy standing all alone in a crowd of people
that either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he existed. This scene was as
silent as the rest of the city, but Eliot didn’t need anything more than the
sight of it to know what was happening. The boy wanted to cry, but he was so
scared that the tears refused to come.
The beautiful city no longer glowed
like it had, all of its luster coalescing onto the singular spot where this
lost little boy stood. The urgent need to help came over him, but he saw before
that his only possible interaction with the city was watching it. As the light
continued to dim, Eliot wished that the boy would be found. His own mother’s
voice continued to dwindle, and he felt his own predicament mirrored the boy at
the train station. Please don’t leave him
he thought. All the light now centered on the boy whose tears couldn’t come,
until another pulsed as it came closer. His
mom Eliot thought, as he watched the boy get scooped up and hugged tightly
by his mother.
Once again the city glowed brightly
and went about its perfectly tuned business. Eliot felt it no longer needed his
services and so he withdrew his finger and watched as it turned back into a
simple pond.
“MOM! I’M OVER HERE!” he yelled.
“Eliot Steven Saunders!” His mom
yelled back, obviously furious and relieved.
Eliot knew that kind of yell. So in
an attempt to make it worth it, he poked the pond again and was supremely
delighted to see the same point of light glow. He then ran off to meet his
mother and his punishment.
Other Worlds Than These by Cody Tilson. Inspiration for this story. |
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