one; alexander

by the time alexander reached the fork in the road, he had already forgotten why he had started walking to begin with. he knew he was mad about something – and he knew that something had happened to make him mad. but with every step he took, every corner he turned, he felt his anger slowly subside into a dull roar in the back of his chest. and now, now he had forgotten what had driven his decision – and he was standing at a very distinct fork in the road. 

to the left he was staring at a road paved with red bricks, lined with autumn swept trees and a smell of burning caramel – a scent that faintly reminded him of a grandmother he was sure he must have had, despite the obvious gaps in his mind. to the right he saw green, mossy stones lining an evident path, and trees overcome with green leaves and swollen berries, the air was crisper this way – he could taste the freshness that the right path took. and yet he still felt torn. 

he took the path to the left, because sentimentality overrides any other emotion – even when you aren’t exactly sure why it was sentimental. and so he walked down the red path, thinking of scorched sugar, almost tasting it on his suddenly hungry tongue. 

for a minute, alexander was sure he remembered a strange man being in his house – a strange man with a black top-hat and an almost-cape. he was tall and booming and he was leaning against the kitchen bench drinking tea out of a mug that alexander was sure he did not own. almost remembered. 

when his legs began to ache, and tiredness stretched out from his bones, clutching onto his flesh and dragging it internally – that was when he thought maybe he should rest for a while. 

as though by magic a house appeared almost instantly over the horizon. a small orange cottage with fields overflowing with lilacs and lilies and daisies. it was quaint and cozy and so familiar that alexander was sure he felt his heartstrings tug.

“hello alex” a voice said, creaking through the silence like an unhinged door.

“hello grandmother,” he replied – of course this is why he was here. of course this was why he had taken the familiar path. he must have been walking to his grandmothers on purpose. he must have been. how foolish he was to forget. 

she ushered him inside, almost as though he was a sheep that constantly needed to be herded. it was unlike him, his grandmother thought – he was normally so bright, so intelligent and so independent, and now he was running on an empty tank with a mind set in only one gear – forward. but she shrugged it off as she pushed him towards the isolated dining room table. she was tugging his coat off his back, and pushing tea towards him in a matter of seconds. and alexander was letting his eyes wander over everything. that clock, oh he knew that clock – of course he did, how could he have forgotten – he was sure he hadn’t. his mind was erasing everything that it had already erased. 

“how is your mother?” the grandmother had asked, and alexander had replied with “she is very well, thankyou.” but now the more that he thought about it, the more he wasn’t so sure his answer was very truthful. there was still a tall dark man in a very tall top-hat lingering in the back of his mind, and where had that man gotten his mug, when it definitely didn’t belong there. 

soon alexander found himself in a bed that he knew he once slept in, and his mind felt like it was breaking out of it’s shell. it was creaking and groaning and swelling where it once never dwelled. he was remembering what colour his bedroom really was, and he was remembering how his mother took her tea, and how he had a dog named buster. 

and then he heard the clock on the wall strike midnight and he was running from his bed as fast as he could. he ran back through the kitchen, past the empty tea-set and past his sleeping grandmother. and he was running down the autumn stained path until he hit the fork in the road – and he ran home. he ran home with all the force of the world propelling every step that he took. his heart swelled with fear, with terrified, horrible, ugly fear – not for himself, but for his mother – his mother who he turned and walked away from, sitting in the kitchen beside a tall dark man, with a top hat, and an almost-cape.