Chapter One

Odd Friends and Sob Stories

The bleak, dreary fog hung about on my shoulders heavily, as despair hung onto my heart. I had no where left to turn, no where left to hide, and I didn’t know what to do. One could only so long escape others in forest and deserts, mountains, and plains where none or few dwelt.

Furthermore, I didn’t really know who I was running from, besides my own self. I was just trying to get away from where my ties held me, that cursed town! Never did I want to see it or any of inhabits again. For they were prejudiced...so prejudiced. Much like southern people once were again blacks in the United States...or so I heard, that had been centuries ago, probably about five.

I did the math in my head, yes, five centuries ago, though I guessed it didn’t really matter to me. I was never interested in history. I always liked the adventurous parts though. And no here I was, wandering.

I kept walking, finally reaching a town. It was dark and dusty sort of town, much like the one I had tried to leave behind, but right now I didn’t care. I just wanted a refugee.

I sat down on a doorstep of what looked to be an abandoned home. Tears flowed freely down my face, much to my shame. I didn’t try to hide them- I knew it would do no good and I figured there was no one around, then it didn’t matter.

Slowly the door behind me opened. An older man, about forty I would guess, came out and sat beside me. He didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him, but he wiped my tears away and invited me inside.

I glanced at the old, rotting house with contempt, but I did not voice my opinion of the house or let it show in my face. After all, he had a home, even if it wasn’t in great shape, while I had none. If there were any rights for contempt, then they were most certainly in his favor.

The inside of the house was dusty, but otherwise, quite pleasant, to my surprise.

“If you don’t mind me asking...what are you doing here, and what sorrow is it that forced you to those tears?”

My mind raced, and I thought about making something up...but I knew even though I could sever ties with my old life, it would always be in my past, and it was better just to tell the truth. Besides...perhaps my only help lied here, in this room. The first person who had been kind to me since I was seven. I was seventeen now.

“That is a long story, and I guess I’ll just have to tell you my life. I guess my name would be a good place to start- it is Mala Draer. I was born in a small town, much like this one from the look of it, though I do not know for sure. You know...crime rocketed, poverty on every street corner...and no one really having a home and having a family. My dad died shortly before I was born. My mom...she was taken from me, though I know neither how nor when. I fear she is dead know. That was when I was seven.

I had two older brothers, or have I should say, though I do not claim kinship to them. They were attached to liquor behind human reason and could become quite violent. Without Mom around to at least keep them under some form of control, my life was a nightmare living with them.

So I grew up, as all girls do there, in the filth of poverty and the danger of crime. Well, you can imagine, a young girl living like that around all those criminals...I will not go into detail, but I’m sure you can figure what was done to us.

A year ago, I ran away. I have seen so many beautiful parts of the world now- beauty that I have not known exist. But recently I have grown tired...and I feel weary and lost. I have no home, no family, no friends. No one knows me. It makes me feel...like I don’t matter and I don’t belong. That is the sorrow that you saw in my eyes. ”

I told my entire story with one part left out, for though that had already been years, it was too painful to remember...just too painful. I did not trust another soul with that knowledge. I didn’t even know if I trusted my own soul with that knowledge that I desperately did not want. But even if I didn’t remember that, it would do not good, for it had still happened.

I glanced around once more, before speaking again, “Now you know about me, but I know little about you. It’s your turn.”

He smiled. “Fair enough. You have been quite open about yourself, so I suppose I should be the same way if only out of politeness. My name is Eron Lieght. As for origins, much like you...small town, orphaned at a young age, only I was raised by my sister...who, from the sound of it, wasn’t much better than your brothers. Oh, she despised alcohol with a passion, make no mistake about that, but she was never around and when she was...well, let’s just say she wasn’t very kind.

I waited it out until I was of legal age, twenty, and then hightailed it for the big cities...for there were still big cities then, a few left. Of course, now we have gone back to being much more primitive...it is so odd...at first, Men were very simple...technology grew to it’s height, where everyone had a computer, everyone had a television...or several. And now we are simple again, yet again, growing back to new technology. But now is not the time for philosophical ramblings.”

“I too, have traveled many places in the world, may beautiful places and many despairing places. I am a traveler, a wanderer if you will. It’s in my heart and I can never let go of it. I have tried to get rid of it, but there is no good in it. I have settled here finally, but I no not for how long. It has already been a year. Perhaps one more, perhaps one more day. I go where I feel. For I am one of the few of the free people. Nothing ties me down. I do not collect unnecessary object- I eat, I sleep, and I wander. Of course...the downside is I have not heard from my friends- for that is where we differ- in ten years. I still count them my friends, but I wonder if they feel the same way about me. I doubt it. But I’m not too upset about it.

But be assured, the reason you feel lost is because you are a wanderer. It is in you to be lost, and to see everything. But you are hardly useless. Wanderers have often discovered magnificent places that before, no one else knew nothing else about. But tonight you are not a wanderer, tonight you are a guest here. There are two extra rooms- help yourself to either. You look like you could sleep where you stand!”

As much as I wanted to deny it, it was true. Even though I really just wanted to be on my way, I knew I could not deny his hospitality. And I had his words to think over, though for some reason, I accepted his judgement about myself quickly. It was like he knew me better than myself- a wanderer.

It is often said that artist- painter, sculptors, writers, actors, playwrights and such, are often the most quiet, lonely, desperate souls. But after wandering, I learned different. Wanderers, the ones who always end up saving the day and being noble in stories, are the real suppressed despaired souls of the earth. We just chose to be lost instead of making sense of “it”, whatever it is, through poetry or song or plays or what-have-you.

I feel a sleep with all of this on my mind.

When the dawn broke through the cloudy night, I was up at first light. I went down to the table, where there were some eggs sitting on a plate, along with a note.

Mala,

I know you will want to be gone soon, with your travels, so go ahead, don’t wait around for me. I am tending to some gardening stuff. The eggs and toast are for you, and then I expect you to be on your way. If you want to stay, feel free, but I know you won’t, as a wanderer. If you come this way again, stop by and we can talk of travels in more time then we had this meeting.

I slowly ate the eggs and toast, wondering about this man’s uncanny ability to know people. I did not dwell on this though as I packed my stuff and got ready for another windy journey. I knew where I wanted to go now- to the mountains, and beyond. No one was able to tell me what was beyond the mountains. Was it normal? Fearsome? wonderful sight? Aching with beauty or shivering with fear? I wanted to know.

And soon, hopefully, the knowledge would be mine.