Dappled Sunlight

 This short story is inspired by my grandfather who died when I was four. He taught me the phrase “dappled sunlight”. It evokes a warm and happy sensation in my heart. This short story is also inspired by my great grandmother who is ninety-five. She has a terrible short-term memory, but her long-term memories can be told in wonderful detail.

By Zelene Cole

Beyond my home, over the hill, past the edge of the village there is a trail. If you walk along that trail, you will find yourself in a forest. The trees are tall and in the summer there is dappled sunlight all along the forest floor.

   Mother would tell me stories of the fae in the woods. The Queen of fairies oh so strong and graceful, elves riding deer through the mountains, tiny gnome villages sitting peacefully on riverbanks.

   Every summer Mother and I would go beyond our home, over the hill, past the edge of the village. Into those woods we would venture. We’d walk along the trail, the air fresh with a scent of sap, all the way till the very end where the worn-down dirt met the bright green grass.

   The bright blue sky above a wide-open meadow filled with wildflowers greeted us. In the distance were mountains, so mighty that clouds ringed their peaks. In the middle of the meadow stood a large monolith, covered in a language I couldn't understand. Mother said it was the protector that shielded the land.

 We would then pay our respects to the ancient stone. Mother would unpack the picnic basket, and we would eat. Sometimes Mother would bring tea, and when she did, she would offer the first cup to the stone. I asked one time why she did so.

 "To show thanks child,”

I was content with just that.

We walked the forest trail until the summer I turned twenty-three. Mother was lively and bold, but she had a weak heart, even when I was little, I remember her looking tired. She left me and I left her memory behind. It was too painful.

 I left that sleepy little village, I left behind our home, and the trail that led to the strange old stone. I wanted to forget. No, I needed to if I wanted to move on.

 I found a job in the city, fell in love, married, started a family, and soon my children had children, and their children had children.

The summer I turned eighty-six was when my beloved left me. I had known it would be quick, but I was not ready. I was not ready to feel what I had felt at twenty-three, something I tried so hard to forget. I was lonely, and depressed.

At the age of ninety-one I was alone. My children had begun to forget me even though I had not left. My grandchildren had families of their own, my great grandchildren did not know me. It was sad yet peaceful. I felt my memory starting to fade. 

 I started to forget the little things. What I had for breakfast that day, when I last left the house. Alone and lonely, eating, sleeping, watching mind numbing television, every single day. Was all I ever seemed to do. I felt I was withering away.

I miss my mother. Memories of childhood flood my mind, I'm scared. I can't seem to remember why I'm here anymore.

“Where am I? I don't understand! Who are you people! I'm not going! Stop telling me what to do! Where's my mother! Where is she! Mother said she would be back! You're all lying. Don't touch me! I don't trust you! I want to go home! Get back!”

 It's been about a year since I've been stuck in this place. I’m trapped in a body that is not my own. I am nine years old, but when I look in the mirror a frail, sickly old woman is staring right back at me. Strangers come and go every day; they force me to bathe, get dressed, eat, go to bed. I ask about my mother every day,

 “When is she coming to pick me up?”

They always give me a solemn look and avoid the question. Without my mother here I am lost. I feel like I've lost purpose, simply a shell with no soul.

Strangers tell me I am turning ninety-four this summer. Time simply stands still now, a never-ending bore, my world is dull. My mind, though cloudy, has a hole I am unable to fill, something or rather someone is missing.

This existence is exhausting, I've decided to give it up. Before I leave, I will set the house in order. Dishes are dried. Plants are watered. Time to check the mail.  

 A flyer? I never got anything in the mail, checking was just a way for the strangers to get me to step outside. I was supposed to leave today, why? Why did something different happen today of all days? I turned the brightly coloured paper over, "COME VISIT TODAY!!,” it said in bold letters. There was a picture underneath, in the picture was a highly saturated town, with modern buildings and a smiling young boy holding an ice cream. In the background were mountains so mighty that clouds ringed their peaks. There was a forest behind a hill that looked ever so ancient. 

A subtle flicker stirred within me. What was this sensation? Happiness? Anticipation? No, it felt more like a deep-rooted sense of connection. The further I observed, the more it enveloped me. It wasn't the vivid, modern town on the page, urging me to 'visit today', but rather the serene forest and towering mountains nestled in the backdrop. Something clicked within me. 

I remembered.... myself.

The day I decided to leave this world I didn't, I indeed left, just not what you might think. I left that dull old house in that lively, awake city and I went back to the summer, I turned seven in that sleepy old village. Back to her memory.

Somehow, I made it there. It was different but the same. The sky was still blue, and the mountains still strong. It wasn't a sleepy old village; it was a bright new town. Where my old home once stood, was a clean fresh cafe. 

 I purchased two scones and three cups of tea for us. I walked beyond the cafe, over the hill, right to the edge of town. A tall, sturdy gate blocked my path. Something ahead tugged at my consciousness, a wall would not end my journey like this. I found a stile and managed to cross the fence with little to no issues. I looked ahead and was able to spot the old trodden path. Still recognizable, though overgrown due to years of no use. The high summer sun shone through the tall trees. 

Soon I was at the edge of the forest. I felt the breeze on my face, the smell of wood and sap strong. A memory so clear, I could hear my mother calling;

“Come child! Let's join the fae for a picnic!”

No longer was I riddled with age; I was now merely a child catching up to my mother, strolling along in the dappled sunlit forest to the strange old slab, to share a cup of tea and eat scones.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, a smile beaming on my face. Then I took a step into that beautiful, dappled sunlight one last time.

   End.