Marcus lay on his back in the grass at the edge of the garden, his hands folded behind his head, staring up at the sky. The clouds were scattered and slow moving, as if they had nowhere particular to go. He named them as they drifted past—first a dog, then a woman with her hair piled high, then a long dragon whose tail dissolved into nothing. The ground beneath him was warm, and the smell of turned earth clung to his hands and clothing. For a moment, the voices in his head were quiet.
He thought of Elsinor. He did not try to summon her, did not call her name aloud, but simply let the image of her come when it wished. She appeared to him as she always did—barefoot, her dress brushing her knees, her hair falling around her face like the branches of a willow. He wondered if she was real in the way other people were real, or if she belonged to some other layer of the world, one he could touch only when he was very still.
Without warning, the air around him seemed to shift. The light dimmed slightly, as if a cloud had moved across the sun, though when he looked there was no cloud overhead. He sat up quickly, his heart beating fast, and saw her standing a short distance away near the trees.
“You came,” he said, not knowing whether he was speaking aloud or thinking the words.
“I didn’t mean to,” Elsinor said. “I was just walking. And then I was here.”
They stood facing one another, uncertain. Marcus noticed how young she was, younger than he had first imagined, and wondered what kind of courage it took for her to stand there so calmly. He felt suddenly ashamed of his fear, of his hiding, of the rope still coiled in the shed behind him.
“I don’t know how to get to where you are,” he said. “I don’t know how to leave this place.”
Elsinor took a step closer. “You don’t leave,” she said gently. “You come. It isn’t somewhere else. It’s just…quieter.”
The words settled between them like seeds dropped into soil. Marcus did not understand them, not fully, but something in him recognized their truth. For the first time in a long while, he felt the faintest pull toward staying.
Reflection
As you sit with this scene, notice what happens when nothing is forced—no escape, no solution, just presence. What does quieter mean to you, right now?
As you sit with this scene, notice what happens when nothing is forced—no escape, no solution, just presence. What does quieter mean to you, right now?
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