The Capture

Once Upon A Time, in a faraway land called California, there lived a young boy named Pat. This boy lived on a high hill that let him see what he thought to be the entire world. With him on this high hill lived his ever loving mother and father. 
Pat's mother very much enjoyed to take him on walks through the park conveniently situated behind their house. To Pat, this was an enchanted forest full of adventure and danger. Ever trusting, he knew that if he stayed with his mother and father, that nothing to be found in the woods could harm him.
Unfortunately for Pat, he was entirely correct. The woods were full of danger and he was only safe within the embrace of his family. Unbeknownst to the happy family Pat had a secret admirer from afar. Behind every tree barely visible from the corner of your eye, on the top of every hill too far away to make out clearly, and under every bridge too dark to peer under, stood this admirer. It is impossible to say how long he had been watching, surely not before Pat could walk and not necessarily since Pat could venture into the woods, but long enough. Too long for Pat's sake.
The admirer would patiently watch, often making sketches in a worn book. Being an old man, he would often need to adjust his glasses after they slipped too far down his nose, usually from the disappointed shaking of his head and 'tuts' of disapproval as he observed Pat. Sometimes as Pat frolicked the man would allow himself a chortle or a chuckle as silent as a tree falling in an empty forest.
It would seem odd that Pat's parents would not notice such a persistent voyeur into their lives, but they simply lacked eyes with which to See, and the admirer wisely kept out of sight of the child. The family had only one warning of what was to come, which sadly went unheeded. For in the park lived a vagrant, unsound of mind, and dependent on liquor, a potent combination for giving a person Sight. Pat's mother often made sandwiches for this vagrant and Pat's father would sneak him cigarettes.  As the admirer watched Pat, the vagrant watched the admirer. Not realizing the full truth, but just enough to be fearful, the vagrant knew he must act. Sadly, the same ingredients that gave him Sight limited his ability to communicate. While never violent, the vagrant's lack of self-control proved his, and ultimately Pat's, undoing. On one of the family's routine happy walks through the park, the vagrant decided to scare the family away from the park forever. With tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving lines clean of grime etched across his face, he accosted the family with a branch, demanding they run and hide and never return.
Pat's father easily subdued the vagrant. The police were called and it was decided that it was time to get the vagrant the help he needed. No charges were pressed but it was decided that rehab and asylum were what he needed the most. As the police vehicle drove away the vagrant pressed against the glass and howled, "Don't let Pat out of your sight! For the love of God!"
The family was quite shook up by this turn of events, leaving Pat in tears. However, time has a way of erasing fear and lowering your guard. So, on a gorgeous spring day, a picnic was planned! A cherry blossom was in full bloom, the sun was high, and the sky clear. Pat insisted on carrying the basket. It makes one wonder why such a lovely day conspired against this lovely family. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, the food was rich and fatty, the drinks sweet, and the games of tag and kite flying exhausting. Pat's parents fell to giggling, then to kissing, and finally to dozing.
Pat, having no interest in such affairs as kissing, wandered from the clearing into the tree line. Boredom and contentment caused him to forget the dangers he imagined in the woods. The poor child soon found himself quite lost. As children are wont to do, he began to cry. Such a cry surely scared away any wildlife in the area causing each moment when Pat took a breath to be such a heavy silence as to crush your eardrums. The admirer behind the trees let loose a sigh and fished in his pockets for plugs of beeswax, placing them in his ears. He then retrieved a knife that seemed to disappear when looked at from the edge. Raising his arm up, he sunk the blade up to the hilt into the nearest tree and dragged the knife down as if the tree was but muslin to him. Cut from top to bottom, he pushed his fingers into the gap and pulled the hole wide open.
Reaching into the heart of the tree the admirer plucked out a tin soldier the size of a child, practically a statue. Surely this was a present to delight Pat, who at this point was quite blue in the face from his crying. The man arranged the tin soldier at the base of the tree then straightened his back, creaking with effort. Then the man took a step, a step that brought him where those with eyes can see, if not See. The man crouched before Pat, who was still unawares with his eyes squeezed shut from the effort of crying, and with a deep breath blew a puff of air into Pat's face. The startled Pat sucked in a deep breath; his crying interrupted and replaced with hiccups.
"Come with me, child," The man's voice was that of an oak tree bending to a strong wind, "I shall fix you." Lifting the child up he murmured of cheekbones too fine, movements too graceful, and cries too helpless for him to allow Pat to continue living in the wrong shape. Pat paid scant attention to these words, enthralled by a cold, blue, and distant star reflected in the man's glasses. With little trouble, the man gently placed Pat into the hole he had cut.
With effort, the man pulled the edges of the hole back together, leaving only a thin gap. Then with the knife, he shaved the emptiness of the line off, leaving only a wound in the solid wood already sealing itself with sap. Nodding, and then fixing his glasses as they slipped, the old man began to whistle and stepped out of sight to those without eyes with which to See.
From the east came the yelling of a woman. Emerging from dappled shadows, scared and short of breath, Pat's mother cried out to him. Running into the glade, she spotted the tin soldier left at the base of a tree. Her face lit up and silent prayers and thanks danced upon her lips. She ran to the tin soldier and lifted it far too easily. The father came soon after, rubbing a scratch along his leg. Seeing his wife carrying the tin soldier, he allowed himself a chuckle. "I told you he was fine, he must have cried himself to sleep."
The mother, the father, and the tin soldier all returned to the checkered blanket under the cherry blossoms and had quite the lovely afternoon.
Darkness. Paralysis. No lungs with which to scream, no eyes with which to cry. It was terrified, at first, and then it felt the Axe bite into it.
Characters involved in this Chronicle: Penny, Pat Takahashi
Category:Fiction