and turned away, gazing unfocused at the sky. “I don’t know what, but something isn’t right. Everything is… restless,” he answered.
His grave expression sent a lump in my throat as we stood in silence. A moment later, he looked back down at me. His hardened face was soft again. He didn’t say anything else on the subject. I didn’t ask. He took my hand and we strolled quietly along the beach. I was not used to this much touching from a man I hardly knew. In fact, I was not used to this much touching at all. I loved Mitchell but he was not affectionate, besides the bedroom, that is; and especially not in public. I couldn’t recall the last time we walked together holding hands. We never kissed in public - that for sure I knew. Maybe the lack of physical contact from a boy is why my heart raced from Orion’s touch. Whatever the reason, I felt excited, and a little guilty, as his warm skin touched mine.
It’s just his hand; it’s just a dream - I repeated to myself to push the guilt aside.
We walked for a long while. He asked many questions about my interests and my life. I told him, reluctantly, about Mitchell, about my childhood and how I spent most of my days. He listened intently and never removed his attention from me. His constant staring was awkward, but I kind of liked it.
“Enough about me. Tell me about you? How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“And how do you spend your time?” I probed.
“About three kilometers down that trail is the town. Come, I’ll show you,” he said, pointing toward the dense forest.
He released my hand and began jogging toward the dirt trail. I followed his lead and we ran through the forest. Our pace never slowed and I never worried whether I could keep up. I ran for a long time with a steady constant breath and heart rate. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed until we arrived at the town’s border.
“Welcome to the town of Onasius,” he announced with outstretched arms.
I was flashbacked to a different time, unfolding a pristine historic town. Each building had its own charm and character, yet flowed together like an ocular symphony. The buildings were made of brick, clay or wood siding with earthy tones in palettes of red and brown. A multitude of heights outlined the sky, one to four stories tall. Quaint custom signs hung in shop windows and on porches. The streets were scattered with people meandering through stores and mingling in small clusters. Their attire was not dated however. The clothes were similar to our but more basic, less accessorized. They were made of cotton or linen and were designed much more simplistic than the styles of today. The ladies wore no heels, wedges, or skinny jeans. The clothing looked more practical, designed for a purpose and comfort, not to appease the eye.
A trolley drove by on the cobblestone street after stopping to let a family pass on their bicycles. We passed a farmer’s markets with fruits and vegetables that were so rich in color my mouth began to water. The beautiful melody of a jazz band carried down the street from a nearby café. Orion pointed out the different restaurants, art studios, and boutiques as we passed by. The townsfolk seemed friendly and some stopped to say hello, intrigued by the new blood in town.
We walked for several blocks and paused in front of a grand brick building scattered with stained glass windows. There was a park next door where a group of children played soccer and a handful of younger ones were tangled on the playground’s monkey bars.
“This is the schoolhouse where I help teach kids, ages 10 through 14,” Orion said.
A teacher. Now that makes sense.
“What do you teach?” I asked intriguingly.
“Science, mathematics, survival and life studies. There’s another teacher, Helen, who teaches art, music, literature and the history of our land.”
“What are survival and life studies?”
“Survival is how to farm, hunt, build, repair, cook… things like
His grave expression sent a lump in my throat as we stood in silence. A moment later, he looked back down at me. His hardened face was soft again. He didn’t say anything else on the subject. I didn’t ask. He took my hand and we strolled quietly along the beach. I was not used to this much touching from a man I hardly knew. In fact, I was not used to this much touching at all. I loved Mitchell but he was not affectionate, besides the bedroom, that is; and especially not in public. I couldn’t recall the last time we walked together holding hands. We never kissed in public - that for sure I knew. Maybe the lack of physical contact from a boy is why my heart raced from Orion’s touch. Whatever the reason, I felt excited, and a little guilty, as his warm skin touched mine.
It’s just his hand; it’s just a dream - I repeated to myself to push the guilt aside.
We walked for a long while. He asked many questions about my interests and my life. I told him, reluctantly, about Mitchell, about my childhood and how I spent most of my days. He listened intently and never removed his attention from me. His constant staring was awkward, but I kind of liked it.
“Enough about me. Tell me about you? How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“And how do you spend your time?” I probed.
“About three kilometers down that trail is the town. Come, I’ll show you,” he said, pointing toward the dense forest.
He released my hand and began jogging toward the dirt trail. I followed his lead and we ran through the forest. Our pace never slowed and I never worried whether I could keep up. I ran for a long time with a steady constant breath and heart rate. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed until we arrived at the town’s border.
“Welcome to the town of Onasius,” he announced with outstretched arms.
I was flashbacked to a different time, unfolding a pristine historic town. Each building had its own charm and character, yet flowed together like an ocular symphony. The buildings were made of brick, clay or wood siding with earthy tones in palettes of red and brown. A multitude of heights outlined the sky, one to four stories tall. Quaint custom signs hung in shop windows and on porches. The streets were scattered with people meandering through stores and mingling in small clusters. Their attire was not dated however. The clothes were similar to our but more basic, less accessorized. They were made of cotton or linen and were designed much more simplistic than the styles of today. The ladies wore no heels, wedges, or skinny jeans. The clothing looked more practical, designed for a purpose and comfort, not to appease the eye.
A trolley drove by on the cobblestone street after stopping to let a family pass on their bicycles. We passed a farmer’s markets with fruits and vegetables that were so rich in color my mouth began to water. The beautiful melody of a jazz band carried down the street from a nearby café. Orion pointed out the different restaurants, art studios, and boutiques as we passed by. The townsfolk seemed friendly and some stopped to say hello, intrigued by the new blood in town.
We walked for several blocks and paused in front of a grand brick building scattered with stained glass windows. There was a park next door where a group of children played soccer and a handful of younger ones were tangled on the playground’s monkey bars.
“This is the schoolhouse where I help teach kids, ages 10 through 14,” Orion said.
A teacher. Now that makes sense.
“What do you teach?” I asked intriguingly.
“Science, mathematics, survival and life studies. There’s another teacher, Helen, who teaches art, music, literature and the history of our land.”
“What are survival and life studies?”
“Survival is how to farm, hunt, build, repair, cook… things like
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