Return to the Haven (562 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.33 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by indigogecko (View user info) at 2005-06-21 19:53:20 EDT
OK, some of you more on-the ball people may remember.. some time last year I posted this story:
http://www.ubersite.com/m/41771
Promising more. It's been a long time, I admit, but here, for your delite, delectation and probably a bit of flaming too, is the long awaited second installment.
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The Director met me at the door. I must have been quite a sight. I hadn't slept in days; I'd barely eaten in that time. The week so far had been spent lost in the blackness of a broken mind, praying I could find the solace I knew sleep would bring. And tonight my prayers had been answered, and here I was.
"It's been a while, my dear. Do come in."
He took my rather grubby zip-down hoodie and steered me towards a quiet library, where a tiny knot of desolates were sitting around a low table drinking coca and doodling. Only one even noticed my arrival, pushed a mug in my direction and gestured to the old coffee-pot style jug of cocoa before he turned back to his drawing.
I scanned the table as I reached for the pot and filled my mug, taking in the images on the pages scattered among the mugs. Storms and wreckages at sea and on land featured prominently, and I began to realise why it was that I had been brought to this room. These youngsters were all victims of the same fate that had led me back to the comfort of the Haven.
And somehow there was paper in front of me, a pen in my hand, and pictures began to arrange themselves on the page under the inexpert guidance of my fingers. A boy hauling the sheets of a yacht far too big for him to crew alone, yet alone he appears to be... A boy sits, shivering from chill and fear, on the deck as the hull is dashed to pieces around him by a storm... a boy drowns. My brother...
My reverie is interrupted by a knock at the door, and I realise I am crying as the Director appears around the door and crosses to where I am sitting. He leans in and whispers in my ear.
"There's someone who wants to see you, if you're ready to enjoy the hospitality of the Haven."
I follow his gaze to where, framed in the doorway, a gangly youth stands with hands outstretched to me.
Familiarity nudges thoughts somewhere at the back of my mind. It's as though I recognise him from a dream all but forgotten, lost to too much time.
And slowly it dawns on me, and I wipe my eyes, now flowing with the fresh tears of relief, as I come to his arms.
It's Ludo.
He once told me, "I'm the most beautiful thing in the world, by night." By day, he is a brutal man who hurt his wife, and refused to pay child support when he finally left her. She was a friend of mine in school, but we lost touch when she met him. He goes by a different name in the real world, barely even looks the same. But in the same way as you know, in a dream, that this is such-and-such a person even if they don't look quite right, if you dream of someone and then meet them... you just know.
But the Haven changes people. By day we are all half-people, haunted by grief, loss, pain, suffering of varying degrees and causes. Here we are who we remember being, our pain can be left behind. There are rooms which act as a sort of Limbo, when wounds are fresh they are harder to let go even under the spell of the Haven, and the library had served as just such a waypoint for me.
And now I find myself once more in the warm embrace of Ludo. As always, the Haven is recognisable, but houses different distractions to the last time I was here. Today, it's labyrinth of halls and chambers hold landscapes and gardens, water features and sand features, exotic locations with exotic plants and even more exotic wildlife. We walk, had in hand, and he weaves me stories and sings me songs. We watch a hundred magical sunsets, sunrises, meteor showers and eclipses in as many different places.
In an arid desert we share cocktails and watch a line of camels march past, oblivious to our existence. In a rainforest, we shuck layers of clothing under torrents of warm rain, supporting each other sliding through mud and leaves. And in a clearing of a dense pine forest, we lie down, and make love, tenderly and unhurried under a harvest moon.
As we relaxed out of the height of passion, the forest faded, and I found myself back here, in my own bed, dawn just breaking over the cold, heartless city beyond.
"Wake well my love..." a whispered voice rang at the edge of hearing. Had I imagined it? I couldn't tell, but the sentiment left a smile on lips that had almost forgotten how.
"You too Ludo, you too."
User Reviews
Submitted by lordofthedance (user info) at 2005-06-23 18:53:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Cry some more.
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2005-06-22 04:46:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is really good - can't quite follow it from last time (perhaps because of the big gap :-P) but I can still picture everything clearly - hope there is more! :-)
Submitted by PokeyPecker (user info) at 2005-06-21 20:58:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Didn't Ann Rice do all this already? I didn't read your first one, and there is no real mention of vampires here, but.....
Anyway, it's pretty well written.