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"SSC29 - To Where Do You Run"

The room was pitch black when Claire opened the door. A few hasty seconds of fumbling and she found the light-switch. As the room blossomed into view, she saw him. Lying on his bed with his legs propped up against the wall. His eyes were reddened and blotchy - he had been crying. That didn't really surprise Claire. He cried a lot these days. She silently slid onto the bed and gently took his hand in hers. He started, as if the sound of the door opening and the glare of the lights hadn't registered with him, and then looked up at her with a smile on his face.

"Again?" she said, sympathetically. It wasn't really a question.

He stretched out his arms behind him, locking the fingers together. "Yeah...It's stupid, I know. I mean, I'm 26. It's not as if I'm old or anything..."

Claire sighed. "I've heard you say this before, and yet here we are. Again. You sat in a dark room crying for days that can't come back."

"It's not...I don't exactly want them to come back." He muttered, relaxing his arms and returning them to his sides. "It's just...Don't you ever feel like there's nothing better ahead? Like your life has already passed you by?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't. But neither do you. What you're feeling is nostalgia, pure and simple."

He raised a single finger and shook it slightly from side to side. "See, that's what I thought at first. I was just missing the old days, y'know. But I'm sure it's more than that."

"How so?"

"I can't explain it that well. It's sorta like...OK. We've been happy. I mean, truly happy. Haven't we?"

She smiled again, warmly. "Well, yes. We had a good childhood."

"Good doesn't really cover it, does it? I mean, we're talking Enid Blyton and Anne of Green Glades style here. You know how most people look back on their childhoods with the old rose tint - but we don't. Our childhoods really were the stuff of story. Innocence purified."

"It doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life obssessing about them. We're adults now. You really do have to understand that, and stop fixating on some quasi-innocent meaning to life. Just because people swear, and have real problems, and everything's not golden all the time doesn't mean life isn't there to be enjoyed - because it is. I love my life, really." She sighed after saying this. It wasn't the first time she'd said this to him, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

He just stared blankly up at the ceiling and rolled back over. It was a signal to leave. Her words had no effect any more. She rose and closed the door behind her. The woman leaning against the wall outside straightened up, casually.

"You heard?" asked Claire.

"Yeah. Always do. What kind of person just stops living their life because they're not a child anymore?" quizzed Jen, in frustration.

Claire shrugged. "If I knew, rest assured, I'd be telling everyone...." A pause. "He wasn't always like this, you know."

"Of course I know. We grew up with him, didn't we? Claire, he's not the man we knew."

"See, that's the thing. The boy we knew is a completely different entity to the man in there. All that energy, all the charisma that he used to have..He's left it back there, with his memories."

In the room, the man wasn't listening. He had lifted himself from the bed and was hunched over a wad of paper on the desk, pen scribbling furiously...

--

When Jen entered the room a few hours later, he wasn't there. A window was thrown open, allowing the mist to crawl into the room. She quickly scanned the room, but he clearly wasn't hiding.

"Claire!" she called, in alarm, and the door opened almost instantly.

"Oh no..."

"Yeah. What's he gone and done now? I told you we should have listened to the staff." said Jen. Her eyes moved across to the desk, where a side of paper had a few scribbled lines on it. It was dampened by the rain that had poured through the open window, but still legible when Jen swept across and snatched at it.

"What is it?" asked Claire.

"It's not a suicide note, if that's what you're thinking."

"Of course not!" snapped Claire, because that had been exactly what she was thinking. "What does it say? Where he is?"

"No.." muttered Jen softly "Where he was...."

The handwriting was blocky, and child-like. Jen leant back against the wall and started to read.

--

'I remember a field. I remember the sound of a trickling river across sunwarmed rocks. I remember the sight of golden corn swaying in the breeze. I remember the smell of a summer's day. I remember a group of friends, laughing as if none of the world's troubles would ever rest across their shoulders.

You'll remember it too one day. We had a picnic. All sorts of food, mother had prepared. The food mother used to make, it was amazing. We ate and then we swam in the ice-cold river. It was such a relief after the day spent basking in the morning sun. I loved that field. There was a tall oak in the centre - huge, it was. Broad branches hung with ropes and swings that children put there. They have long ago grown old, but the swings remain. On a day as hot as this, it cast a vast blanket of shade across the flattened grass, and if the sun ever grew too hot - as it frequently would - we could collapse under it. The protection of the oak against the sun. It never seemed to mind being pelted with sunlight without rest. I think that's what I miss most, you know, the hours spent idling under that oak. We would talk for hours and hours, remember. About nothing of any particular consequence, I recall, but it still meant everything to me. It was only in situations like that, only then could I feel like I was me. I don't expect you to understand. You've let the world corrupt you, let the memory of those days slip from your mind as you fill it with bank details and shopping lists and office locations and other mundane things. These will be the death of you. Remember that. Please try to remember that. Just occasionally, if you have to, make an effort to be the children you were again. The sisters I loved."

--

After a moment's silence, Claire spoke. "What field?"

"I honestly have no idea, Claire, and we were supposed to be there. It seems like Dr Roberts was right, he really is troubled."

"So, you believe me. Do you?" came a voice from the doorway. It was angry. A man in a white labcoat swept into the room and looked out of the window. "Maybe, if you two had listened to me from the start, he would have been moved to a secure room and we wouldn't be in this situation. Yes?"

"He's our brother.." started Jen.

"And he's MY patient. Or at least, he was. I'll have to alert my colleagues."

"What will you do when you find him?" asked Claire, nervously.

"We will bring him back here." Dr Roberts stopped pacing, and looked at her. Somthing in her voice seemed to cool his anger. "Claire, his condition is treatable. In time. I promise you, we'll find him."

Then he was gone. Jen looked up at Claire. "I told you, sis, remember?"

"Yes, I know what you told me, Jen. And you were right, it seems. I just didn't want to believe it about him."

Jen opened her mouth as if to reply, then decided against it. She stormed from the room. Claire watched her go, then slowly crossed to the window and placed her hands on the still. Then she bowed her head and wept, silently.

Outside, somewhere, a man ran. He ran towards a field that wasn't there, longing for the touch of a river that didn't flow and for the shade of an oak that had never grown.

He ran towards a memory that had never happened.

And Claire wept.

Oh yes, fantastic. Loved it all ... you cracked the speech perfectly, which I always struggle with, the story unfolded with perfect pace, and the ending was just sublime.

Very good. Great idea, the magical childhood that never was. Enjoyed that.

The last couple of lines actually gave me goosebumps. Really got into that, it was mysterious, and even I could relate to what your character had written. The best days of my childhood probably happened in the sun at the park, or on holiday with my friends and family. I felt sad for him at the end of your story.

Excellent.

Nice and easy to read. I liked it, liked the idea AND I liked the last line as well.

I think the idea was good, to leave a lasting impression, but I just don't feel that the word 'wept' worked very well. Might just be me, though.

Well, the story is about Claire, so I thought the last line was vital, really. I didn't tack it on at the last moment - is that what it looks like?

It's probably the 'and' at the start. Knew that was a bad idea.

Excellent. Loved that muchly. Could have done without the last line, but otherweise fantastic.

Capitals make life better. Cheers for the read.

This is good. Good with a capital G.

I said the handwriting was childish, not the words. But yeah, maybe it does come off a bit contradictory.

Cheers for reading.