Another Short Story from my muse. This is my spin on things some point after the last book. As always, I cannot claim anything but the idea for the story.

Time's Passing

Five years. It struck him as unreal; it had really been five years. Hadn't it? He was seventeen now, that was sure. Five years had seen many changes in his life, from the very beginning. They had moved, gone south to Virginia, bought a house near a deserted stretch of ocean. Dad had found a job, a good one at that, and mom had finally gotten the rest she deserved. He had finished middle school, was now getting close to finishing High School. Man, it sounded plain weird, but it was true. Life had returned to normalcy, for an average teen of course.

Normalcy, now that was an interesting word. Everyone around him, at school and in town, said he was lucky to have such a great, normal, life. In truth, he knew he should be glad, that his life was so good, but something still lingered. Five years it had been. Five years of pretending, five years of ignorance. Five years of not thinking. He could still count the days it had been, if he put his mind to it. A smile crossed his lips. His sister could tell him exactly how many minutes it had been, if ever he chose to ask. No, it wouldn't be wise. She would get teary-eyed, and then he would, and that damned cycle would start all over again.

For five years a leather pouch had remained hidden, under the pillow, in his pocket, under the floorboard of his room. It had moved several times, just enough to reassure him that it was still there. It had appeared just before they moved, and he'd stuffed it into a trunk without thinking. He'd never opened it, never brought back the memories, but every so often he'd go and look. Now, as he walked down to the ocean, the vast and mighty Atlantic, it was held in his hand. As he walked, he looked at the thing. It was just ever so slightly larger than his hand, but whatever was inside didn't quite conform to the packaging.

He would know soon enough. It was time, time to stop running, and face the past head on. His feet were now on loose sand, and he found himself unconsciously heading for the outcrop of rock that he had come to know as his own. Wading out into the ocean, he clambered atop the biggest of the rocks, the one he'd so often sat on to read a book, or watch the sun rise. Finally, he reached the edge, and sat, dangling his feet down, feeling the gentle splash of the waves as they undertook the final part of their journey.

How long he sat there, staring at that leather pouch he knew not. Part of him was afraid, did he really want to bring back those painful memories that the leather hid? It was a mind game of the worst sort, for without realizing it, he knew exactly where the pouch had come from. For five years he had pretended that certain things in his life had never happened. Only the scars on his body, now faded, and the pouch tied him back to the past. And now, now was the time to remember, if he could only find the courage. Time and time again, his hand rested upon the flap of the pouch, playing with the tie, but never could he find it in him to undo the knot.

To reopen the past was dangerous, and as he sat there, he did not know if what was hidden inside would put him at ease, or cause yet more pain. Why should he acknowledge the past, it was already done and complete? He had a good life, why return the anguish? No, he would not open the leather, not today. There would be another day, another time, perhaps when he was older still, and time had dulled the past even more. He rose, and made to climb back off the rock.

As he clambered down, fate disagreed with human, and the pouch slipped from his hand. Down it tumbled into a crack between two large rocks. He noticed immediately, and scrambled down to retrieve the pouch only to discover that it was truly wedged into the rocks. Observing the situation, he realized that the only way to free the pouch was to open it, remove whatever was inside, and then retrieve the leather itself. Silently cursing fate, a hand was slid down into the crevice and the pouch's knot was untied, bit by bit, slowly but surely. When the knot was loose, he paused a moment, closed his eyes, and slowly reached a hand into the opening.

His hand felt something that felt smooth, but cool; it had a curve to it as well. Withdrawing the item from the pouch, the black claw met true sunlight for the first time. The past had returned, and a multitude of emotion overwhelmed the boy. Pouch forgotten, he stood there, claw held at arm's length, eyes examining it, but all the same, not seeing a thing.

"Ares." One word fell from his mouth, and in that moment, five years grief finally found a way out of his body. How long had he ignored the whole past? Not just the bad, but the good as well. It had taken a simple act of fate, but now he understood. One cannot hold the past inside, it must be allowed to go its own way. He had been holding the past inside himself for five years, and now it could escape, the bad memories could fade. As he stood there, knee deep in the Atlantic, eyes streaked with tears, Gregor acknowledged, finally, that Ares was gone. Denial had fled, as had ignorance. All that remained was grief. Grief that would fade over time's passing until naught but happy memories would remain.

Fin

There you have it. I've left an option here for other stories in this same variation. They'll be posted as additional chapters if I ever get around to writing them.

~The Author