RiverSparrow's Stories

Where to start? That's the immediate question I suppose. I've never had much interest in where things started, only where they ended. My whole life I waited for the end. I don't mean death or anything that dramatic - I'm a teenager, not suicidal - just... the end of nothing I suppose. Because that's what my life was, a big tunnel of nothing. But perhaps instead of searching for the end, I should have been preparing for the beginning, because if I had known what weird and wonderful (mostly weird) events awaited me, I would have bought an extra fudge bar.

And now back to my predicament. I must tell the tale of one young individual's impact on two colossal planets, a journey filled with creatures thought not to exist and the beings that ensure it remains that way; of a person who was once as ignorant as everyone else but learn to alter the course of these planets. Me. I must open your eyes to the world just out of reach, of the beings who teach you to jump. And I don't know where to start.

I'm not like you... or maybe I am. Only you can tell. Have you ever done something that seemed impossible? Made a pencil fly across the room just by looking at it; known that the door is going to slam into your English teacher's face 20 seconds before it happens. I'm not talking about superheroes, flying around in Spandex with flashy capes saving civilians from giant squid. I'm referring to normal people, the ones who only know they're different in their dreams. Well some of you, some of us, aren't normal. We never were. We were just able to hide it. But once they've found you, hiding your differences leads to certain death. So I guess that's where I'll start, when I stopped hiding.



To say that I found my life dismal would be an understatement. I lived with my parents in a 3 bedroom terraced house off Old Market Square. It was plainly furnished, with dull wallpaper and every room smelled strongly of cat due to my mum's obsession with buying a new moggy every time she and my dad had an argument - which was often. I actually found it hard to believe that they had voluntarily married as they obviously disliked each other very much.

My mum worked part-time at the Drop Buy corner shop at the end of our street. She had been employed there for years. How she could stand shuffling around all day, stacking cans of soup and being forced to tolerate even the most obnoxious idiots I would never understand.

But then my attitude towards people wasn't exactly what you would call... tolerant. I had severe anger management issues and was generally accepted to be anti-social. To me, I was just being careful. Trusting people was not something I made a habit of doing. I simply never felt like anyone had the faintest clue what I meant or why I did something.

Sometimes it felt like I was from a different race entirely. If only I had known then what I know now. The irony is quite spectacular, I promise.

About five years ago, my parents finally gave in to my school and got me a private psychiatrist. So far, I'd got through seven different psychiatrists as one after another either stormed out of the room muttering that I was the most impossible child they had ever met or simply broke down in front of me and sat crying in the armchair until I slipped out of the door.

In my defence, I think that particular shrink had just found out that morning that her good-for-nothing husband had been having an affair with her secretary for the past month. I had discovered this the day before- don't ask how- but seriously, come on. That's one of the most classic scenarios in the book. Any 12A rated drama movie will back me up.

No psychiatrist had diagnosed me with a mental illness. I wasn't ill. No matter how mixed up my life seemed to me, I knew for certain that everything I experienced was completely and vividly genuine. That was the problem... for as long as I could remember, I had witnessed totally obscure incidents at the worst possible times and known that no one else would see what I saw. That every time I felt my eyes begin to burn and the now familiar tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach erupt, everything would dissolve into an echo and a distant voice would bloom inside my head like a spring flower, divulging a half audible sequence of words that held meant nothing to me.

And yet I knew they were of extreme importance to someone. But not to me.

So I had never confided these moments of delusion to anyone. I had no desire to spend my youth in a mental institution. I didn't even know who these people where, not to mention that their voices should most definitely not be appearing in my head. No. If some great omniscient being was trying to communicate with mortals through me, then they had better get the message quickly. I wasn't interested. There is a point at which a person can get bored of being the odd one out. Of being alone.



My story starts on Monday. I hate Mondays. No sleeping in followed by a rushed breakfast of cold, burnt toast or soggy cereal that had been mouldering in the back of the cupboard for eternity. And then school. Need I say more? Anyway, you get the point - Mondays, not my thing.

On this particular Monday I was woken up by a screaming headache. I trudged through my usual routine and made my way to the kitchen. The third step from the bottom on the old oak staircase creaked as usual as I placed my bare foot onto it.

My mum had already left for her morning shift and I neither knew nor cared where my dad was. I was pretty sure I could guess though. If he had a job I didn't know about it.

Often when I got home from school and he was there, he would immediately ask if I had any money. Frankly I would rather pay to have my eyeballs surgically removed than give money to him. Still, after years of being told this, he would sit back down on the creaky step with a surprised expression on his face and wait for my mum to get home so that he could ask her the exact same question.

As I was leaving, I set the alarm and double locked the door. I then checked that all the windows were firmly closed and that the hum of the radio could just be heard if you placed your ear to the door. Obviously there was no need to risk being burgled.

The journey from my house to school took me through the heart of the town. Most week days, various mobs of teenagers gathered around Old Market Square before school to pretend they had something interesting to say and compare completely fabricated stories.

Lounging under the dilapidated bus shelter outside the fish and chip shop were the usual cluster of sixth formers, sipping from a can of coke. To their left the stout figure of Skipper was leaning against the wall leading to a side alley. I failed to hide an amused smile at his attempts to appear casual. The alley was used by the shops around the square to store excess rubbish, but is also had an alternate, more common purpose. The entire neighbourhood knew that the alley was the local drug den.

As I passed the bus shelter, two students emerged from the alley and stumbled up to Skipper. They had lopsided grins plastered to their faces. There was a brief exchange between the three before Skipper clapped one on the back and made his way towards the alley entrance. He caught my eye as he turned to check that no-one was watching. A sly smile crept onto his face. Raising his right arm, he saluted me. Rolling my eyes I returned the gesture and felt myself smirking slightly as he turned and skipped down the alley, arms swinging.

I kept walking. No doubt morning registration would be interesting when Skipper returned from his 'breakfast'. Despite my hatred of the town, some people here still found a way to make me smile.

My amusement faded quickly however as my eyes focused on the old train station perched at the top of a gravel path which lead off from the square. Loitering on the wooden benches were half a dozen of my least favourite creatures in the universe. The pride of the pack, Marcus Stingly, stood with his arms crossed over a metal hand rail. Even from here, I could see his arrogant sneer.

I exited the square and began moving down a street that for the past year had had a burst sewage pipe turning the air rancid. For this reason I was surprised to see a significant gaggle of people standing around someone's driveway right in the middle of the street. I jogged over but could only see a jumble of dumped cardboard boxes over the crowd.

All eyes seemed fixed on a partly shredded refrigerator box resting on its side. I started pushing my way towards the box, still unclear on what was so terrifyingly fascinating. Then I spotted a flash of orange through a hole in the side.

"Oh my God! It's so grubby," squeaked one of the more intelligent girls in my class. She was hopping slightly from one foot to the other as much as was possible in her stiletto heels.

"Move!" I shouted, finally managing to shove my way to the front. My eyes widened when I saw what was in the box. A fox. Most likely a cub judging from its size. It was clearly frightened; cowering in the limited protection of its box, hair static and eyes wide.

It looked right at me. I mean at me. I stared back. This was impossible. It couldn't be... but it was. The fox continued to meet my eyes, seemingly searching for something in my face; the same thing that I was searching for in its. Recognition.

Suddenly a spark crossed its face. If a fox could smile, it did. For some absurd reason I had an overwhelming urge to smile back. It was like being reunited with an old friend, which in a sense I suppose this was.



Seeing the fox took me back seven years. At the beginning of the summer holiday, a leaflet was dropped through the door, offering half price booking at 'The Woodland Clearing' summer camp. For once my parents were happy to pay and packed me off to this camp while they enjoyed a vacation in Barcelona.

For the first few days however, the camp was bliss. Five snug log cabins were situated in a rough curve along a glistening lake. A pier stretched out into the lake with several canoes tethered to the end.

These canoes were responsible for soaking me to the bone on my first day and I followed this up by taking a mud bath whilst leading a pot holing team. By the evening, I was filthy. It was the best experience of my life and the closest I had discovered to my own personal Heaven.

I also surprisingly became friends with one of the camp leaders named Jasper. His hair would have completed an impressive camouflage as a tree due to his lanky limbs and bush hair if it weren't a vivid ginger.

Half way through the week, the leaders set up a forest walk. The entire campsite was surrounded by thick woodland, hence the name.

I was the first to raise my hand when they asked who wanted to come. I love the forest; the curious movements of the trees, the multicoloured pattern on the forest floor when the sun breaks through the leaves above.

I grew even happier when they announced that Jasper would be one of the leaders on the trek. I glanced over at him and he smiled, his bright blue eyes twinkling and giving me a wink. I winked back, grinning because he had taught me to wink yesterday during archery. It had taken twenty solid minutes for me to master it, but he had refused to concede after I called him 'my favourite old person.'

The moment we set off, I caught up with Jasper in front. "Hey, look what I made," I said breathlessly, proudly holding up the sling shot which I had snuck out to finish last night.

"Wow, nice one kiddo." He held it up to his face for closer inspection. "Great detail." He smiled handing it back to me. "But I think you need a bow. You showed real potential yesterday in archery."

I beamed. Compliments were not something I received regularly at home. "Tell you what," he said, "Whilst we're in the woods, look out for a yew tree and if we can get enough wood from it, I'll help you make one. Deal?"

"Deal," I replied immediately.

We walked deeper into the woods, climbing over fallen logs and around rabbit holes, inquisitive birds peering at us from the branches above. After half an hour, the leaders decided to set up lunch. Everyone started grabbing boxes of sandwiches and laying out blankets over the leaves.

Just as I started attacking my second cheese sandwich, Jasper came over.

"Could you do me a huge favour and fill up this water bottle down by the stream? It's just over there." He pointed down a small hill where I could see the flicker of water through a cluster of bushes.
I nodded, clumsily stuffing the remainder of my sandwich into my mouth. I clambered to my feet and extended a crumb covered hand. Just for a second a look of hesitation passed over Jasper's face but then he seemed to dismiss it and handed me the bottle.

The stream was beautiful. I skipped between the lush green foliage that lined both sides down to the stream, and bending down, began to fill the bottle, watching the sun break through the trees and twinkle on the surface of the water.

Suddenly, a strange gust of wind made me shiver. It died down but a second later came back stronger. The force of it caused me to lose my balance and I abruptly landed on my bottom. Gazing around, a high pitched squeak escaped from my throat as I realised that the wind was only directed at me - the trees were still, the leaves quite. Not even the grass under my feet was swaying.

The wind was getting stronger, whipping my hair across my face. I stood up.

Suddenly an echoed whisper spoke on the wind. Gone.

I darted my head around but saw no one. The voice came again, fainter this time. I sat there, my hands supporting me, sensing the wind die down as the voice dissipated. Eventually it faded completely. I swallowed, realising that I had held my breath the entire time.

After several minutes of complete stillness, I swallowed. Darting to my feet I raced back up the hill not looking left or right, just wanting desperately to be back in the company of others...

Gone. They were gone. The food, the blankets, the people. Gone. It wasn't possible. I hadn't been down by the stream for more than five minutes.

Don't panic, I thought as my lower lip began to tremble. Just follow the path and catch up to them. Nodding to myself I looked around for the path we had entered the clearing on before lunch. But it had vanished, and only trees stood in its place. Was this a different clearing? No. I spun on the spot, turning back towards the stream. It was the exact same view of the water, twinkling through the bushes. I was most definitely in the same place, but nothing else was.

I felt my breathing quicken along with a tightening sensation in my throat indicating that I was on the verge of tears.

Then I heard a rustling to my left. I turned to see a fox emerging into the clearing. It saw me and stopped, one paw still in mid air. It slowly lowered its paw to the ground and edged forward.

I took a step back, not sure what else to do. The fox looked up at me with startling green eyes, then bent its head forward and crouched on its front paws. It was bowing. Bewildered, I did the only thing I could think of: I bowed back.

The fox stood up, looking... well, pleased. It turned, heading back towards the edge of the clearing. I stood still, staring at it. When the fox reached the tree line it twisted its head to look back at me then took another step. It wanted me to follow. Mouth gaping in astonishment, I tentatively put one foot forward, then another.

The fox jumped over a fallen log and weaved between the tall trees, glancing back every so often to ensure I was still close behind. Trying to keep it in sight, I tripped over a protruding tree root and landed face down in the dirt. This was not my day. When I rose however, I realised that I was holding something. It was a small silver statue of a fox. Its eyes were tiny violet gems - amethysts I guessed. Every individual hair on its delicate body was perfectly sculpted. It was the most beautiful object I had ever seen. The intricate details had not even been obscured by the muddy forest floor.

I heard light padding and glanced up to find my guide squatting next to me. I held the silver statue down to the fox and it sniffed it. Seeming to approve of my discovery it began trotting away, then stopped again. This time its ears were pricked and the fox stood perfectly still and straight. After a moment, it turned to me, bowing again. Almost on instinct I bowed back but when I rose, the fox was gone.

I stared around, clutching the statue.

"Cali! Cali!" I jumped so high that my head nearly hit a branch on the tree behind me.

"There you are." It was Jasper, walking towards me a look of relief evident on his face. "We've been looking for you for hours. You shouldn't wander off kiddo. Everyone's been worried sick. Are you okay?"

I just stared at him, wondering how I'd been lost for hours when it felt like minutes. Without saying a word I slipped the statue into my pocket and let Jasper lead me back to camp. I glanced back on more than one occasion but the fox was nowhere to be seen.





Now on an ordinary Monday morning on my way to school, here it was. The fox. I reached into my pocket and felt the familiar cold metal of the statue I had carried everyday since, unable to part with it.

One of my long-suffering psychiatrists had spotted the statue peeking out of my pocket mid-session and questioned me about it. When I refused to tell her anything she had eventually given up, they always did. Nevertheless she had voiced the idea to use the statue to channel anger in much the same way as a stress ball. Using actual stress balls had failed miserably as they simply exploded every time I got angry enough to use one. But the statue worked brilliantly.

I simply gripped it as hard as I possibly could, letting all of my dark thoughts travel down my arm and into the statue. It almost seemed to absorb these feelings.

Thanks to this, it had been a full 6 months since I had punched anyone in the face. Result.

The fox was still starring at me intently, its expression now pleading. I suppose being gawked at by a herd of mindless adolescents was not on its to-do list. But why was it only focused on me; why not run away? There was no chance that it actually remembered me. Those animals only existed in fairytales. And this was most definitely not a fairytale.

I pinched myself, hard, on the arm in an attempt to regain some focus and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Tensing for the inevitable reaction to what I was about to do, I stepped out of the circle. Silence descended. Without looking at anyone, I slowly approached the fox, which didn't move a muscle, and scooped it up into my arms.

It was lighter than I had expected and fitted neatly into the crook of my elbow. Its legs were pointing vertically into the air, but it didn't appear to be bothered.

I swallowed. Its orange face was just inches from mine now. The startling green of its eyes made them glitter slightly, like emeralds. It rested its small head on my shoulder as I walked back through the crowd. They parted to let me through, most likely not wanting to touch the dirty street fox.

Once we were out of sight of the crowd, I bent down to let the fox clamber back onto the pavement.

"Well... now what?" I muttered to myself, patting my leg in uncertainty. The fox however, seemed to assume I was talking to it and set off down the street back towards Old Market Square.

"Here we go again," I whispered, glancing around me before jogging to catch up to my old time guide.

The square was now mostly deserted. No one looked twice at a teenage girl casually following a fox along the road. Honestly, this town had serious community-spirit issues.

Once we reached the fish and chip shop alley, the fox slowed its pace. It sniffed at the cracked tarmac before raising its head and trotting down the passageway. I followed. Skipper and his mates had long ago left for school.

At the far end of the alley, the fox turned, stopping. It seemed to be waiting for me to do something. When I continued to star at it in confusion, it shook its head, quite literally, and bowed.

"Oh," I chuckled, bowing my head. When I raised it, I half expected the fox to have vanished, as before. It hadn't, and I didn't have time to consider whether this was a good or bad thing, because just then it did the one thing that would never have crossed my mind.

"Right, let's get down to business shall we?" it said.