Finding X

Sitting on the grassy outcrop, Blake looked on to the horizon, past the mountains and on to where the sun had begun to set. The chain in his hand glinted in the fading light, and Blake absentmindedly held it up to the sun, its rays shooting out from around the silver cross at the chain’s end. When he was younger, Blake would often wonder if he were to stand on the edge of those mountains, and step off, would he fall, or fly? He always had a fancy for such things, the thought of going somewhere far away a seemingly splendid idea. Where would he go? That hardly seemed to matter, as long as it was away from here.

Blake pulled his knees up to his chest, breathing in the crisp evening air. Only a few minutes before, the world had been bathed in the setting sun’s golden light, but it had only lasted for a moment. Shadows began to creep across the ground, climbing their way towards Blake’s hunched figure. He watched until the darkness nearly reached his toes, before quickly pulling his legs back out of reach. With a sigh, he tucked the keychain into his pants pocket and grudgingly stood up to begin the trek back to town.

Barefoot, and with his shirt tied around his waist, Blake sprinted through the forest. When he got closer to the town, he retrieved his shoes from where he had left them, and pulled his shirt over his head. Peering out of the tree line, the boy moved his head left and then right. Judging it was safe, he cautiously stepped into the street. No sooner had he done so than he felt the ground shoot out from under him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A familiar voice snarled. Blake kept his face in the dirt where he had fallen, hearing three or four more sets of feet begin to surround him. “What’s the matter, Blakey? Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The boy stressed his last command with a swift kick to Blake’s side. Grimacing at the nickname, Blake willed his eyes to slide upwards, meeting the older boy’s smirking face. The boy pulled him to his feet, almost tearing his shirt collar; Blake heard the slight rasp of material ripping. He noted with mild disgust how the four other boys shuffled in closer, eager to see what would happen next.

Dragging Blake closer, his assailant wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, what’s that smell? Been rolling around in the dirt again, Blakey?” No answer. “I mean, really. You sure do love nature, despite what it did to you.” Blake bristled at the barb and attempted to land a hit on the boy’s exposed face. The blow felt sluggish - Blake knew the second he launched it. The spry, smirking boy ducked under it. Before Blake could even register the dodge, however, the first punch glanced off his chin. He noticed the second punch too late, and it doubled him over, the blow forcing the air from his stomach.

“My, gotten bold haven’t we? I can’t seem to remember the last time you actually tried to fight back,” the older boy gloated. The other boys surrounding him snickered amongst themselves. Darkness had really begun to set in by now, the entire group of boys ensconced in a blanket of shadows. Blake peered up from the ground, and felt just the tiniest flutter of defiance in his heart - he almost wanted to stand up again, just to spite the other boy. But it only lasted for a moment, and then his heart returned to its frantic beating. With a final laugh, the older boy roughly tousled Blake’s hair before swaggering off into the darkness. The other four boys were close behind, like a herd of sheep, mewing and congratulating the boy on his victory. Blake was left crouching in the street, just at the edge of a pool of light coming from a streetlamp. Gradually, he stood up, collected himself, and sprinted the rest of the way home.

The door creaked open, and Blake quietly slipped inside. It was damp and cold and dark, the moon shimmering through the window and casting long shadows across the floor. Of course, his mother wasn’t home yet; Blake would be asleep by the time she arrived, and probably still asleep when she left in the early hours of the morning. Sometimes, Blake willed himself awake around four, so he could hear his mother preparing his breakfast and grabbing an apple or banana for herself before rushing out the door; but he never went downstairs. That was okay, though, because he was used to being alone, his father having gone missing two months after Blake’s third birthday.

The house looked scary in the dark, the kitchen tables and chairs taking on strange forms and shapes. Blake shuffled around until he found the light switch, and the whole room suddenly brightened. Blake blinked until his eyes became adjusted to the new light, the shadows not as threatening. He walked over and shut the window that had allowed the evening dew to seep into the room, locking the shutters against the harsh wind.

Bounding up the stairs and into his room, Blake shed his clothes and slipped into his pajamas. He reached into his jeans pocket to retrieve his keychain, prepared to hang it over the window, so it would catch the sunrise in the morning, just like always … except it wasn’t there. Blake’s heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he checked his other pocket, and then the breast pocket of his shirt; the silver cross was nowhere to be found. He was sure he had put it into his pocket before he came back to town. Had he lost it during the fight? Blake paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do. As the darkness of the world outside pressed in, he deduced it would be impossible to find the cross now; all he could do was wait for the light. Resigned, he fell into a fitful sleep.

The following morning, Blake shot out of bed. Out of habit, his eyes wandered to the window, where the cross should have been hanging; of course, it wasn’t there, and Blake’s heart sank. Pulling on his clothes, he ran downstairs, ignoring the breakfast left for him and taking an apple instead before rushing out the door.

After crossing the threshold of his home, he was at a loss for what to do. Already the town was drowsily awakening, the baker just opening his windows to allow the sweet aromas from within to dance their way towards potential customers’ noses. Blake took another glance back at his home before taking a deep breath and continuing on, wandering through the streets, looking for the promising glint of the cross.