The Wizard

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     The half-moon glowed, it's light making dim shadows on the gravelly trail. A girl walked down the path, her torn up shoes scooping in rocks which got stuck under the arches of her cold, wet feet. She pulled the sleeves of her faded blue-grey jacket down towards her hands, letting out a breath of air that was as white as snow. Her knees were red, blood had seeped through the small holes of her torn jeans. The blood had dried, turning the denim a dark brick red. The girl let out a wheezing cough and picked up the pace.

     The moon had reached its full height of the night, the light spotlighting the torn up girl. Her shoes were now brown, caked in drying mud and rocks, each step letting out a squelch and a crunch. She put her red hands up to her face, breathing into them and rubbing them together. Her breath snuck through the cracks between her fingers, like smoke from a flame. There was a thick log ahead, mossy and covering the trail about a foot or two off of the ground . The girl cautiously placed a hand over the moist surface, swinging a leg over as she did so. Soon she was straddling it, she swung the opposite leg over and slid off the log, landing on the ground with a crunch. The back of her jeans were wet, a dark blue with bits of moss and dirt dispersed in it. She shivered, but continued on.
     The night had just begun to fade, and the light of the moon was beginning to lose its reign to the rising blue sky. The girl rounded a corner of the trail, a small, worn down shack a few hundred feet ahead of her. Despite the almost frozen parts of her pants and shoes, she sprinted towards the moldy shack. Mostly dried clumps of dirt flew off her shoes in every direction, hitting the gravel and crumbling on contact. Tears began to race down her cheeks, carving paths of clear skin down her slightly dirty face. She quit running as she reached the door, her chest rising and falling once more as her hand slowly pushed the door open.
     A singular square of light illuminated the entirety of the sagging shack, showing that there was nothing but old pine cones and bits of branches strewn around the rotting floor. The creak of a withering rocking chair filled the silence, and the girl cautiously made her way towards the figure in the chair.
     As the girl neared, shoulders back, head up, with tears still dripping off her cheek bones, the figure stood up, the room becoming fully illuminated as he rose. The girl fell to her knees, wounds reopening. She had one hand over her face and another grasping a knee, sobs shaking her body. The figure stepped into the light, a clean tux clad his body, but a cloak was draped over his back, shadowing his face.
     The figure bent down, tipping the girl’s chin up towards him with his hand. He wiped the tears away with a few soft strokes of his fingers. The girl sniffled, eyes bright but cautious, looking into the darkness that shrouded his face. He took the hand off of the girls bleeding knee, holding it gently as if it was a newly hatched bird. He reached the other hand towards the blood covered knee, the wound becoming a scab as a singular finger neared it. The girl gasped, a small smile spreading over her face. He lifted her up, taking her hand, and he slowly led her to the door. The man held it open for her, gesturing for her to move along.
     The girl left the house, smiling, her wounds now scabs and the sun lighting her way back down the path. She reached into the pocket of her soaked jacket, where she pulled out a crumbled piece of purely white paper. She unraveled it, to find a note that assured her that if she remembered the wizard man, her wounds and sorrows would soon fade away.
     And so the half moon set, the grey giving way to a blue hue. The birds beginning to chirp and fly out of their nests in search for seeds. The tattered girl smiled, almost no care that her shoes were muddy and filled with rocks. She had found the wizard, someone who she could call her friend, and he had made her whole again.

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Love, my child is like this wizard man
Understanding, kind, with a gentle hand.
The road ahead will be rough,
Full of rocks, logs, and painful stuff.
And although the road may seem long,
When you meet him he will move your fears along.






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