Once, there was an island.... // MPHFPC one shots, imagines, and misc !

In The Woods Somewhere { Enoch O'Connor}

late 1900's, well after Abe left but also well before Jacob showed up//

There's a certain kind of peace you can only find in the woods.

Once you get far enough away from buildings and the endless noise, it's just you and the strange green-ish sunlight that filters through the trees. It's you and the little creatures that watch from the bushes. It's you and the wind, the sound of the distant sea, the eerie calm trees carry with them. Everything is as it should be, in an order that's lasted centuries. Millennia. Probably longer. 

Sometimes I find discarded bones from animals long since dead. Others, I find things knocking on deaths door, that look up at me with foggy eyes and don't struggle when I kneel down and pick them up. They don't even make much of a sound.

I'll sit with them until they pass on. Then I'll make good use of them. Personally, I think the most brutal way for someone— or something— to go out is alone. Sympathy isn't exactly my strong point, but the end of the line is the end for a reason. Besides, it's not that hard to be kind. 

Sometimes.

Back to the point.

The woods around my home aren't very thick. Enough to keep myself and my housemates- annoying bastards, for the most part, but I can't help but see them as siblings- safe and hidden, but not enough to satisfy that little need to escape. I think we all have it, though it shows differently.

Millard's is reading, Horace makes his clothes, Hugh and Fiona garden, Bronwyn cooks ( a lot. We have a ridiculous amount of sweets in our house, not that I'm complaining.), Emma used to sing. Well enough, I suppose, but I never really bothered to listen to her until she didn't do it anymore. Claire and Olive have this running fantasy game they play, usually chasing each other around the house with sticks they found outside and earning themselves some vile scoldings from the Bird. Me, I like the woods. My room in the basement reeks of chemicals all the time, so I always have a lingering headache, and they remind me of a time well before I knew I was peculiar.
Before y'know, the entire death thing became a lot more personal, rather than professional. 
On the other side of town, there's a deep area of forest that spreads all the way to the cliffs. I've explored most of it by now, on the days where Miss Peregrine doesn't turn up her nose when I ask to go alone. I think she likes it when I'm out of the house. Truth be told, I agree with her.
Early morning is the best time to go, because not many people are out yet. I've stolen Millard's notes in the past to figure out a time where no one would see me trecking through that desolate place at all, but we can't win everything. Imagine how strange that is to see! A random 13 year old just... wandering around at the first light of dawn. I give people nightmares with no effort. 
I bring a bag, with extra jars and something to eat, and my sketchpad, of course. I like to draw the woods, far more than I like to draw people. And then, with a brief goodbye to Miss Peregrine— at this point, I think she sleeps even less than I do— and walk.

Cairnholm is usually foggy, but even more so in the mornings. A heavy grey mist descends over the town at night, and by mid-morning it's just a memory. I've always tried to draw it, but I can't quite get it right.

Bloody fog, escaping my grasp once again. Damned thing. 

In the woods, there's a nice clearing I tend to go to. It's quiet, and surrounded by these massive oak trees that I bet look brilliant in autumn. If you look close enough, you can see the first signs of summer ending on their leaves, the slightest discoloration that reminds you that September is an autumn month. The best time to see them is late October, but considering I'm not supposed to be alive then, this is the best I can get. 

I spend most of my day nestled against one of the trees, sketching whatever catches my eye. Usually it's mushrooms, or a small mammal that wanders into view, or the sky. There's not much up there. A stray, deep grey cloud at the most. Clouds are just about as annoying to draw as fog is. 

I suppose that's the irony in everything. It seems like it would be so easy but I just can't seem to wrap my mind around it. I can master anatomy in a year but I get bested by mist. Horace would find that hilarious- not that he's any better. He can't draw anything but clothes, the idiot. 

I lean back and study the sky again. It's well past noon at this point— time flies fast on this island, apparently— and I'm kinda tempted to start heading back. 

Turns out, somebody had the bright idea to come and find me, because there's a ruckus not far away and like... 12 squirrels come tearing out of the underbrush in a panic. Then the tallest motherfucker on this side of the universe came barreling out right after. Hugh Apiston.

" Jeez, there you are!" He said, throwing his arms up like a dramatic fool.

" ...Same place as always." 

" You are killing me, Enoch. Come on, the Bird wants you home."

" Why?"

" Dunno. C'mon, before I drag you out of here by your hair or something." 

" You're not strong enough for that." I mumbled, shutting my notebook and tucking my pencil safely in my pocket. I've lost way too many at this point, and this one worked well, so I wanted to keep it. 

" Do you want to test that theory?"

" You'd make a wonderful puppet, bee boy. Do you think your pets would die with you, or would they become an annoyance?" 

Hugh stared at me for a second, a shocked smile playing against his features. 

" Asshole!" He eventually said, with a baffled laugh.

I flipped him the bird and trudged past him. Again, this tall idiot laughed, but he followed me anyways. Probably because he didn't know these woods like I did and was likely hopelessly lost. I am surrounded by idiots. Constantly. 

" How often do you come out here?" Hugh asked, ducking under yet another branch. He's walked into quite a few already.

" Often enough." 

" Descriptive as always, I see." 

" I don't get how you can see anything through those goggles."

" Evolution."

" Charles Darwin would hate you more than I do."

" Brilliant." And he smacked his head on another branch.