Save Me from my Solitude

Chapter 1: Awakening

Christine awoke from yet another dream she did not remember. Her father had fallen ill and she was left to do all the chores and take care of him. She looked around her familiar surroundings…then noticed that the morning sky was getting lighter. Well…no time to waste, she thought drearily. She quickly stood, got dressed and headed out into the early morning. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her. It was so very cold outside; she could see her breath perfectly. It would take at least half an hour to reach the market, another half hour to shop and then another to get home. And that was if she didn't get sidetracked or lost. Which happened sometimes…of course this is why she set out so early. Her father wouldn't be awake for another three or so hours. So by the time she was home he would still be in bed and asleep. And if she got home late he wouldn't notice anyway…he barely noticed anything anymore…this thing that was killing him was unknown. But it scared Christine and she couldn't help him get better. She hurried on, not wanting to be late at all. Just in case her father might wake and need her.

When she got to the market she quickly did her shopping and tried to hurry on. But she was stopped by a caravan of Gypsies making their way to a nearby field. As they all passed she looked at them with fear and wonder. Without even knowing it she followed them. As if drawn by some unknown source…but of course she was only a seven year old child…what would you expect? As soon as they arrived at the empty field she did. They began unpacking and Christine watched intently. As she watched a young boy also was unpacking. He was holding a crudely made monkey with a pair of cymbals on its paws, in one hand and had a cloth bag over his head. He was shirtless, skinny, dirty and had whip marks on his back and torso…his back was to her so she couldn't know for sure how many he had. I wonder why he wears a bag over his head…Christine thought absently. Without realizing it she crept forward, eager to find out more about the strange boy with a bag over his head. She followed him for a long time and then when she finally realized she couldn't see him anymore she got scared. She looked around fearfully, for she had no idea where she was.

"Why are you following me?" a low, angry, musical voice demanded.

She whipped around but couldn't see anyone.

"I repeat, why are you following me?" the voice asked again.

"I…I didn't know I was…honestly." She whispered, feeling terrified.

"How can you not know you are following someone?" the voice now sounded amused.

"I…I don't know! All I know was I followed…someone without realizing…a boy with a bag on his head…"

"I know who you were following…" the voice said sadly, "me…"

"Oh…I am sorry…I didn't realize…I mean—you're voice is so beautiful…I mean…um…"

"And I must be a hideous monster to wear a bag over my head?"

"No! That's not what I meant...me…I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you…p-please…how can I get back to the camp?"

The voice sighed, "Alright…listen. Where do you live? You might be closer to home than that…camp…as you call it."

She told him.

"Alright…you have a choice. Go back through the camp or go another way. There the same length as to your house. Of course the other way is safer. That camp is awful…"

"Then the other way…and if it's awful then why do you work there?"

"Alright, follow my voice…I will lead you to your house…"

"But…you didn't answer my other question…"

"…I don't work there…I am a prisoner there…"

When Christine arrived back to the road she almost ran home, then remembered the boy.

"When can I see you again?" she called.

"Never come to the camp…never come when their doing a show…" he replied sadly.

"But can I see you otherwise?"

He didn't answer.

"Where are you?" she cried fearfully. She felt a pull to this boy who had showed her home.

"I…I suppose if you wanted to…hear me again you could…but you cannot ever see me…"

She sighed a bit sadly, she had wanted to meet him, "alright…when?"

"…tomorrow night, at six. But don't be late. Or I will not be there. I will be back in the camp by then."

"I will be there." Christine promised.

"…alright…" the voice replied, miserably.

"Goodbye…wait…what should I call you?"

"Call me…Monster."

"…no…I will call you Angel. You're voice is that of an Angel. And you are very kind. You are not a monster."

"You and my mother beg to differ."

Christine felt tears well up in her eyes, "w-what?"

"Nothing…forget I said that…"

"But…are you saying you're mother called you a monster?"

"Sure, to put I nicely," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't your father need you?"

"Ah! Yes…I'm sorry!"

"No…it is my fault for taking your time. Please hurry along, and as I asked…do not come to the gypsies' shows…ever…please I beg of you…"

"Alright…but how do I know you're real?"

"Close your eyes…"

Christine did, she then felt someone very briefly take her hand and kiss it.

"I am real, Christine. I assure you," the angelic voice murmured near her ear.

She almost opened her eyes, but used all her will power to keep them closed.

"Alright, you may open your eyes now." The voice called from further away.

She opened her eyes, he was nowhere in sight.

She sighed, "Goodbye Angel…" she sighed again and quickly ran home