Wanderer.
“Where am I?”
The man didn’t reply. He found it difficult to talk to a child.
“Where are we?” the girl asked. A frown on her face as the winter wind billowed her long blonde hair.
To give her an answer would compromise his position. She could say “I want to go home” . . . but he could say little as to how she got here or where here was.
“Would you like a coin?” he said abruptly, putting more sincerity in his voice than he felt. With a gloved hand, he deftly produced a brass coin from his cloak and leaned closer to the girl.
She was wary of his intentions, he could see, so he pulled back a few inches. Children were difficult; though they were trusting and naïve, a moment of doubt could ruin everything. The coin did its own magic, a shimmer on a cloudy day to beckon the child’s attention.
“I-can’t, sir,” she declined politely. But her actions spoke as she shifted her stance and stared at the brassy gift.
"You see, this coin is special,” he said and put his hand farther out. “It makes decisions for you. All you do is flip it and let it direct you.”
“Will it take me back home, to my mother?” The girl showed hope in her blue eyes when she looked from the coin to the man.
Yes, he was nearing his goal. One more assurance and this girl would take the offer.
“It will, if you want it to,” he replied with a smile. This time he managed to let the smile creep into his eyes.
She looked back at the coin and held out her hand. The man placed it in her palm. Down went her hand, then upward to loose the coin in the air. He watched it turn several times, and willed it to land on the correct side. If the girl got her way, he would have to allow her to be returned home.
Self-preservation was a nasty business, but a business all the same. A deal secured his future until he had to make another. He had come to this place to await his victim. No, he thought, not a victim. A passport---one he didn’t take with him.
The coin landed in her palm. She was puzzled. “What is this picture?”
“It is called the Wandering Path.” He paused and thought about the best approach to take.
“Wandering is your path choice,” he explained vaguely. Her eyes were on him again, and they made him a little guilty. This disturbed him, for such feelings rarely affected him. He decided to explain more. “You flipped the coin, the coin answered. You have this place to wander.”
“But I don’t want to wander.” In horror, she gazed at the landscape around her. “I want to go home!”
Too late, the man thought. He pulled his cloak about him and left her standing there, in shock, and hoped she would stay that way until after he was gone.
The girl turned to where the man had gone. He had disappeared. Too despairing to cry, she stood there for a long time and stared at the emptiness in front of her, around her, and above her. She squeezed the coin in her hand. Instincts told her home wasn’t an option, so she shouldered her small bag and walked, bewildered, in a direction.
And thus began her wanderings.
The man didn’t reply. He found it difficult to talk to a child.
“Where are we?” the girl asked. A frown on her face as the winter wind billowed her long blonde hair.
To give her an answer would compromise his position. She could say “I want to go home” . . . but he could say little as to how she got here or where here was.
“Would you like a coin?” he said abruptly, putting more sincerity in his voice than he felt. With a gloved hand, he deftly produced a brass coin from his cloak and leaned closer to the girl.
She was wary of his intentions, he could see, so he pulled back a few inches. Children were difficult; though they were trusting and naïve, a moment of doubt could ruin everything. The coin did its own magic, a shimmer on a cloudy day to beckon the child’s attention.
“I-can’t, sir,” she declined politely. But her actions spoke as she shifted her stance and stared at the brassy gift.
"You see, this coin is special,” he said and put his hand farther out. “It makes decisions for you. All you do is flip it and let it direct you.”
“Will it take me back home, to my mother?” The girl showed hope in her blue eyes when she looked from the coin to the man.
Yes, he was nearing his goal. One more assurance and this girl would take the offer.
“It will, if you want it to,” he replied with a smile. This time he managed to let the smile creep into his eyes.
She looked back at the coin and held out her hand. The man placed it in her palm. Down went her hand, then upward to loose the coin in the air. He watched it turn several times, and willed it to land on the correct side. If the girl got her way, he would have to allow her to be returned home.
Self-preservation was a nasty business, but a business all the same. A deal secured his future until he had to make another. He had come to this place to await his victim. No, he thought, not a victim. A passport---one he didn’t take with him.
The coin landed in her palm. She was puzzled. “What is this picture?”
“It is called the Wandering Path.” He paused and thought about the best approach to take.
“Wandering is your path choice,” he explained vaguely. Her eyes were on him again, and they made him a little guilty. This disturbed him, for such feelings rarely affected him. He decided to explain more. “You flipped the coin, the coin answered. You have this place to wander.”
“But I don’t want to wander.” In horror, she gazed at the landscape around her. “I want to go home!”
Too late, the man thought. He pulled his cloak about him and left her standing there, in shock, and hoped she would stay that way until after he was gone.
The girl turned to where the man had gone. He had disappeared. Too despairing to cry, she stood there for a long time and stared at the emptiness in front of her, around her, and above her. She squeezed the coin in her hand. Instincts told her home wasn’t an option, so she shouldered her small bag and walked, bewildered, in a direction.
And thus began her wanderings.