Free Writing on the Wall by Tracey Ward

recently.”
    Wraiths, yes. That’s what I said. I’ve entered into Mordor here.
    “Ah, it was inevitable.” he rasps. “The gates of Hell were bound to spring open again eventually. How many have escaped so far?”
    “I’m not sure. I overhead some men talking and they’ve spotted at least fifty in the area, probably more.”
    “You were in the company of men?”
    “No, not really. I was in the park and I overheard them.”
    “And they didn’t see you?” he asks skeptically. He’s a crazy old bird but he’s sharp. Irritatingly so.
    “One of them might have known I was there.” I admit grudgingly.
    “Be careful.”
    “I’m always careful.”
    “Be doubly careful.” he says, striking his staff on the ground twice for emphasis.
    “Ok, yes. I’ll be triple careful.”
    “You’re sure you don’t need anything of me? Tea? Food?” I shake my head, smiling at his generosity. “Water?”
    Suddenly I’m reminded of Ryan’s warning.
    “Don’t go to the watering holes.” I blurt out.
    He scowls at me, looking offended by the idea. “I never do. Why would I?”
    “I don’t know, but don’t go there. The men also said that the holes are dangerous. That the Colonies are doing a lot of roundups there.”
    He watches me in silence for an uncomfortably long time, his face entirely devoid of emotion.
    “These men,” he finally says slowly. “They said an awful lot, didn’t they?”
    I shrug, trying to look unconcerned. “They were chatty.”
    “All of this while you were in earshot.”
    “Chatty and stupid.”
    “No one alive today is stupid, Athena.”
    I roll my eyes, getting tired of the interrogation or accusation. Whatever this is, it’s wearing on me. People in general are wearing on me and I think I’ve had way too much interaction recently. I need to detox.
    “What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?” I ask, letting my frustration show.
    “I want you to be careful.”
    “And I said I would. I will be. I always am.”
    “What is more dangerous than the wraiths?” He asks it like a condescending school teacher and I have to suppress a groan. I’ve heard this lecture a million times.
    “Snakes?”
    “Athena.”
    “People. Living, breathing, thieving people.”
    “Remember it well.” he warns. Then he steps back, blending into the shadows. It’s very theatrical and I wonder if he practices when I’m not around.
    “You try and watch out for people.” I grumble, heading for the exit. I’m wondering how giving him a heads up ended with me being scolded. I want out of the woods, out of the park, out of the whole city. Out of this mess entirely.
    I’m debating what to do about dinner tonight and which water supply to tap when it happens. An early warning system goes off. From a tree about a block and a half down, a massive flock of birds takes to the sky. Aside from the beating of their wings they don’t make a sound. No cawing. No screeching. They’re not freaking out over the dead, so what are they running from? It’s something human or another animal. If it’s an animal, it’s big. Threatening. If it’s human, they’re not used to treading softly and only one type of person nowadays hasn’t finely honed their creeping skills. They don’t have to. They live behind fences and walls and sleep on mattresses and sheets and wash their hair with real soap, not with some beige bar made in Merlin’s Magical Shop of Wonders in the woods.
    Colonists.
    I hide myself deep in the bushes, close to where I was hiding with Ryan. As my breathes come in short and painful I feel so far removed from Crenshaw’s Athena or Ryan’s bitch Joss. Now I’m Jocelyn, eight years old and terrified, hiding behind a tree again while evil closes in on me. I can pretend to be as tough as I want, but the person who knows the truth is the only one who matters; me. I know every single day how scared I really am. How tired, how angry, how lonely. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks