𐌙/𐌍 Ᏽ𐌵𐌀𐌋𐌄 & 𐌕𐋅𐌄 Ᏽ𐌐𐌄𐌀𐌕 𐌌𐌙𐌕𐋅𐌔 ¹

Chapter 4

4 | Playing pinochle with myths

I had weird dreams full of barn-yard animals. Most of them seemed to seek a small pet from me. The rest, either ran away, or looked for food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard made no sense, so I went back to sleep. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blonde hair hovered over me, smir-king as she scraped drips of my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I shot another question back at her in confusion, "What?"

She looked around, as if afraid some-one might overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"Pardon," I mumbled. "I'm not..."

Someone knocked on the door, and the girl quickly stuffed my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blonde dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedr-oom, keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes-at least a dozen of them-on his cheeks, his forehead, the back of his hands.

❔࿏

When I finally woke up-for real this time-there was a nice view in front of me, green hills like the ones on calm pictures of books I read. The breeze had the obvious scent of straw-berries around. I was sitting in a deck chair, at a porch. Different from the bed I laid in the last time I woke up. A fuzzy blanket over my legs and a pillow behind my neck.

Next to me, in a table, laid a cup of-what seemed to be-iced apple juice, with a white-and-red straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

As I touched the glass a shiver ran up my arm and down my spine, feeling the cold of the cooled cup.

I brought the glass near my lips with a slight shake, I guessed my hands were still weak after the-what I decided to call-accident.

I took a nice sip, feeling the liquid mois-turize my tongue and my inner cheeks. Weir-dly, the apple juice was actually not apple juice. It tastes just like the caramel latte served in the cafeteria back at Hive.

I felt as my old caregiver-Mrs. Parker. Or how I used to call her: Aunt May-had just given me a Pat on the head and offered me a latte with a red velvet cupcake.

I looked down at the empty glass. I'd just drank a whole cup of warm latte, but there were still large cubes of ice mel-ting on the cup.

There was a shoe-box that I was able to see by the bottom of the glass. The leather wristbands Zaak gave me laid on top of it.

I placed the empty cup on the table and got out from the chair, tossing the blanket into the now lone spot after I had finished folding it.

I crou-ched down to look at the box better. I placed the wristbands on to take them out from the top of it.

I used my thumbs to lift the lid of the box, inside laid a small note with clear tape tying it to something under it.

The letters were nice and big, making it better for me to read, but it still took me a few seconds to decipher what it meant.

Found this on the top of the hill 3 days ago, hope it's yours. And if it is, wish you like it

P.S: By Grover Underwood. The satyr