Callisto Sims

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Annora let out a slightly confused laugh. “Why? What’s wrong with me going home?”

“There’s been more guards patrolling the woods lately,” Birdie said quietly, her head lowered in embarassment, “But if you’d like, I can walk you home.”

“If that was a pick-up line, than you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“N-no!”

“C’mon, lets get outta here,” Annora said with a wink before walking towards the gnarled oak tree with Birdie in tow.

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Annora saw that her failed attempt at ‘small talk’ was not helping the situation, so she decided to change the subject.

“So, I told you my name, what’s yours?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I’m not the one with a gun.”

She sighed and shoved the unused pistol back into her pocket.

“My name is Birdie.”

Smiling, Annora walked over to Birdie and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Birdie.”

Birdie, losing her usually reclusive nature for a moment, smirked at her goofy grin.

“Well, I hate to end this too abruptly, but I should probably head home now, as it’s already pretty dark out.”

Suddenly, eyes widening, Birdie remembers all of the guards patrolling in the forest. “No!” Birdie exclaimed, frantically waving her arms before noting her abrupt outburst, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I-I mean.. that’s probably not a good idea.” Birdie cleared her throat awkwardly. What the hell? Since when am I so bad at talking to people?

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Birdie’s mind was racing while looking at this girl. She felt a blush rising up to her cheeks, but quickly straightened her posture and strengthened her hold on the pistol, avoiding the loss of her dignity and the upper hand.

“Who are you?” Birdie asked firmly, furrowing her brows in determination.

The girl looked at her with wide eyes. “Annora. Annora Reese.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve lived here for 4 years.” Birdie fired back, still keeping her aggressive composure.

“You live in the Glade?” Annora questioned, a dubious expression on her face.

Birdie, not understanding the reason for her incredulous behavior, replied with a curt nod.

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Birdie got a look at the stranger for the first time, and was not disappointed. She was about the same age as Birdie, if not older, and had black hair that cascaded down the sides of her face and rested on her light brown shoulders. Her eyes resembled a color similar to that of a white amber gemstone. She wore a dark magenta beanie, a forest green sweater, black skinny jeans, and wine-colored boots.

But the most notable thing about her clothing was a white crystal that hung from her with the help of a black string and silver chain, all held together by a silver ring near her collarbone.

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[callistosims]

Chapter 3

Birdie’s hand trembled as she gingerly retrieved the small pistol she acquired from Mr. Ealdwine. Raising the gun and aiming it at the stranger, she cocked the gun, the sound catching their attention. The stranger’s hands flew up the moment they realized they had company.

For a few seconds, there was an awkward silence as their eyes raked over each other, the only ambience being the wildlife that dwell in the Sylvan Glade.

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[callistosims]

I sighed in relief after entering the Glade and shutting the entrance as quickly as possible.

I stopped to catch my breath before standing up and looking around, only to see something even more terrifying than before.

Across the Glade, a figure stood among the oak trees.

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While pondering over this, I started to hear a faint noise, almost like footsteps.

I scrambled to get off the tree stump I was sitting on and dashed to hide behind a tree.

The footsteps began to get louder, and I dared to peek out from behind the tree, only to see that the footsteps were being made by guards patrolling the outskirts of the city.

Shit, I thought, my eyes dilating and my throat closing up in fear, They usually don’t come out this far.

What felt like an hour had passed before I gingerly left the safety of being behind the tree and ran back to the gnarled oak tree as fast as I could.

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After being thoroughly stocked up with supplies and even a small pistol from Mr. Ealdwine’s massive stock pile, I started to gather my and stuff and head back to that gnarled oak tree I knew so well, waving goodbye to the old man.

It was around 9 or 10 o’ clock at night as I strolled down the old dirt road that led back to the entrance of the Glade. I’ve always loved the sounds of the night, as I’m never able to hear it at home. The crickets chirping, the sounds of a rushing rushing river in the distance, and the occasional croak of a frog.

I started to giggle like a little kid as I chased after the fireflies in the dead of night, wandering off of the dirt road and down into the forest brush. Engrossed in watching the blinking lightning bugs dance across the sky, I sat down on a tree stump and looked up, admiring the stars.

Sometimes, I forget what it was like to be a kid. Running around without a care in the world, worrying only about getting home on time for dinner. I feel like my childhood was ripped away from me when the government took over, even though that happened when I was 16. Now, at 22, I thought I would be in college by now, but here I am, living my life in fear of being caught and thrown into prison just because I stole a few pieces of bread when I was 16.

As I watched the stars, I wondered what was beyond the walls that surrounded Willow Creek, what was beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Maybe there was somewhere I belonged, because I definitely didn’t belong here.

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Mr. Ealdwine was a paranoid old man, which explains why his pig-sty of a living room was covered with newspaper articles and photos hastily pinned to the wall, leaving only small parts of the birch surface still visible. To anyone else, Mr. Ealdwine would seem like a crazy old drunk who probably lost half of his marbles by the time he was 60, but I knew why he kept all of these photos and newspaper clippings. Five years ago, shortly after the government put Willow Creek on lock down, Mr. Ealdwine’s grandaughter, Carrie, was taken away by the guards and was never seen again. He’s been trying to track down where they put her ever since, gathering all the evidence he could wherever he could. To be honest, I think I might be the only person that he’s seen in since Carrie disappeared. But judging by a picture on the end table, he used to have a wife, but he’s never mentioned her, and I know better than to poke a bear with a stick.

“So, what brings you here, Birdie?” Mr. Ealdwine asked curiously.

“What, can’t I just visit my favorite person in the whole wide world once in a while?” I blinked my eyes furiously while simultaneously trying to pull the cutest face I could muster, but he wasn’t buying it.

 “C’mon, Little Bird, we’ll get you stocked up on the stuff out back,” he replied, clearly seeing past my tactics. He tried to act annoyed, but the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a subtle smirk.

I smiled in return, which was the first time I’ve smiled in weeks.

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I had to walk about 20 minutes in order to reach Mr. Ealdwine’s cabin. As a 70-year-old veteran who went bat-shit crazy with bear and noose traps in his front yard to protect his house, he may not seem very approachable, but after you get past that and the shotgun in his right hand, he’s not so bad.

As I began to knock on the old, rickety door, I was not preparing myself for the door to swing open at the speed of light and for a shotgun to be aimed directly at my head.

“This how you greet all your guests?” I said incredulously, with just a dash of sarcasm present in my tone.

“Sorry, kid, didn’t realize it was you,” he said, lowering his shotgun, “hadn’t heard from you in a while, so I assumed the worst. “

“Please, I’ve been fending for myself for the past 6 years. I’m pretty sure I can handle not getting killed.”

The old man chuckled as he moved to the side of the door, allowing me to walk inside the small cabin.

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If you think making your breakfast in the morning is hard, you should try catching your breakfast with a fishing pole you found in a dumpster and worms you dug up five minuted prior. And even after all that work, all I could catch was a small trout and a minnow. After my unintentionally abstemious meal, I was ready to head outside.

Today was a generally uneventful day compared to the others, due to the fact that I was only traveling a few miles east to a friend’s cabin, which wasn’t anywhere near town-square or the asshole guards. Now that I think about it, I haven’t gone to town-square in about a month, meaning I’m due for a supply run soon, but that would be easier said than done for someone with a bounty on their head. And because of all these people tailing my ass, I have to wear a disguise if I go anywhere near town-square, which I despise doing. There’s just something about disguising myself in public that seems cowardly to an in-your-face and upfront kind of person like me.

As I ducked out of the tree trunk entrance, I see that it is still light outside in Willow Creek (I try to stick to a regular sleeping schedule even though I live in the Glade, a place where you can’t escape the eternal fucking sunshine and happiness. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I just looked up and saw the damn sun from the Teletubbies staring back at me).

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Hey guys! So Chapter Two is WAY longer than Chapter One, but I hope you like it! Also, sorry for any spelling mistakes in the writing. If you see any, shoot me an ask and I’ll fix it.

One of the downsides to living in the Glade is that it’s always daytime no matter what time it is outside. Of course, being the last person you would describe as a morning person, I try to be upset at the eternal sunshine, but trying to be pissed off at a place as alluring and tranquil as the Glade is like trying to be pissed off at a Care Bear.

But despite my dislike of the abiding nature of the Glade, I can’t deny that it isn’t a pleasing sight to wake up to as my eyelids flutter open and pupils become smaller to adjust to the light.

I groaned as I tried to pull the blankets above my head, only to have my feet become exposed to the crisp air of the Glade.

“Dammit.” I sighed as I threw the blankets off my body, leaving me under the lousy protection of my bra and underwear. I heaved myself up and stretched before slipping into my clothes and getting ready to start the day.

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Yes, I am a thief, but for a good reason.

After my parents died when I was sixteen, shortly before the government became corrupt, I had to fend for myself, which usually consisted of me stealing food and water from businesses in town in order to stay alive. This, of course, was before I came across the Sylvan Glade, which has all of the water to drink and fish to eat (even though I am almost sick of fish due to the fact that I’ve been eating it for 3 years straight).

That being said, I do enjoy getting out once in a while, like today.

I hope you guys liked chapter one! Before I go, I would like to thank simblroonies for inspiring me to start a story with her amazing writing skills and kind personality. For anyone reading this, I strongly suggest that you go check out her work as well. Keep up the good work, Rosie!

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Nevertheless, the Sylvan Glade is my home and will be until I am proved otherwise. I am the only one who knows where to find it and I plan to protect it as long as I can, for it may be one of the last safe havens in the town, let alone the country.

Willow Creek has been under to control of our corrupted government for almost 5 years now. Guards riddle town-square, making it impossible for people to live their lives with a semblance of normalcy. Towering walls are what keep citizens of Willow Creek from ever leaving town borders unless authorized by the guards, which almost never happens because the guards are pretentious, stuck-up assholes. In fact, the snobbish guards are one of the reasons I choose to stay in the woodland outskirts of the town, along with the countless wanted posters town-square is littered with that have my face plastered on them and usually read:

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     Ever since I took refuge in the trunk of a gnarled oak tree, I had dreamed of living in a beautiful castle complete with double french doors that could make any dull place look like it was fit for a queen, marble floors made of tiles chosen with a specific taste in mind, and a grand staircase that almost echoed the clicking of shoes made by the people who had inhabited the castle long ago.

     You may be wondering how the hell a person could live in the cramped and putrid trunk of an old, gnarled oak tree, but my oak tree is no ordinary oak tree. It is a tree that allows me to travel to my own little piece of Eden; the Sylvan Glade. Although it is a bit girly for my taste, the Sylvan Glade is filled with secrets to find and mysteries untold, the main mystery being how an entire forest could fit inside an oak tree.

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