Changeling

The path that he follows in the woods is a familiar one, he visits often, he likes the quiet but also the innate hum of life around him. It is so incredibly different from everything else in his life. His home is a busy one, his life is loud and too much. The headphones around his neck make it more bearable, the sunglasses he wears always make everything less bright and obnoxious but what they don't do is make him seem less…other. Everyone around him has always looked at him this way, like he doesn't belong, like he doesn't deserve the very air he breathes. Other people's gazes or opinions are not the ones he worries about though.

There are points in his life that his father looks at him like he doesn't know what he is, they are seldom and brief but those looks have always stuck with him. 

His mother says he is not different, he is not lesser, he is not apart from everyone else. She is adamant that there is nothing wrong with him, that he is just like everyone else, even when the only thing he can do is wail and curl up on himself until everything is gone and bearable once more.

He isn't sure what's worse.

That is why he is here, in the woods, on the worn path that his mother wants him to stay on so he doesn't wander. It's easy for him to get lost in sensations, to feel the way the trees breathe with him, to hear the animals running and living, no matter how small they are. 

There are times that he doesn't understand why he goes back.

The wind knows him, the trees do not judge him, the animals are just as alert and wary of loud sounds as he is. He does not have to be anything but himself when he is here. Sometimes this place feels more like home than his house he grew up in.

Darkness comes softly over his surroundings, everything becomes hazy in the falling light, the beauty of the woods really shines as the light fades. 

He should turn back. He knows he should but the path is clear and his parents don't expect him back so soon. They know the dark has never deterred him from this place, from his sanctuary.

There is a rush of a feeling of being lost, it is a new feeling, something he's never truly felt while being out here. The disturbed gravel behind him proves he has not strayed away from the path and the trees around him are familiar. He doesn't understand why the feeling persists, there is no one around him and nothing to hear.

The observation stops him; the crinkle of the gravel stops with his steps and there is nothing else. The ambient noise has gone completely quiet; the chirps of the crickets, the settling of the underbrush, the flap of wings overhead. All of it is gone. Silence is something he usually craves; this nothingness makes him want to dig his fingers into his arms to peel away the wrongness from under his skin. 

He needs to escape.

Running is something that he isn't very good at, he stumbles often and tires quickly but it doesn't deter him. The need to get away from the awful nothingness drives him forward. He's not sure how long he has run but his shoes are now dirty and his hands and knees sting from his falls. He needs a second to breathe, to take in where he is, he's still on the path so he knows he is safe. 

He is finally able to look; the trees are still so thick here, he can't hear over his loud breathing, and his louder heartbeat. He doesn't understand. He looks in front and then behind himself, they look the same. Exactly the same. The light, the gravel, the trees, the dead leaves on the ground make the same patterns. He doesn't know which way he was going, he doesn't know which way he came from anymore. Routine and sameness are what help him day to day but this sameness is wrong. It's the same sort of wrongness that came from the nothing before he started running. 

The path he has taken for most of his life, is no longer safe. He searches for something familiar, something that he knows.

His name vibrates through the trees. It gets louder and then softer as if someone is walking away from him. He doesn't think, he just runs. He stumbles off of the worn path that was his salvation not so long ago and tramples through the dead underbrush, rushing towards the voice that calls his name. He wants to yell out to get them to stop but his tongue is heavy and useless, his jaw won't open to let the words free that are stuck in his throat.

He hears his name once more before it fades off completely. He stops, wanting the voice to come back, to guide him where he should be. There's nothing around him, the trees have thinned out to a clearing, he can hear the liveliness of the woods again. The sounds of life calm his nerves even though he is not sure where he is. An unfamiliar voice calls his name from behind him. 

He turns. He stares.

The person in front of him is himself but different. The face is the same but his own is more sharp. The curve of the ear is familiar but his other's don't come to a point like his does. He smiles wide and his teeth are normal, while he learned from a young age to not show the sharper points that lurk further back in his mouth. He doesn't know who this other person is but he offers his hand and shows no fear, unlike everyone around him.

"We don't belong here. I'm here to guide you home."

He takes his hand because he always knew the woods are where he belonged.