Glitch (The Write Awards 2013 Winner)

Glitch - Chapter 6

It had been brought to Freya’s attention, by her mother at some point or another, that she treated blossoming friendships with the same trepidation of placing a toe into a potentially scalding bath. It was teasingly hyperbolic as a statement and not meant to harm. However, the remark held an element of truth. Sociability was not particularly elevated on Freya’s list of skills. She was merely cautious over the calibre of people she allowed to grace her list of friends.

A favourite method of Freya’s for testing out friendship candidates, was to categorise them into the weather conditions she deemed best suited their personality. Freya saw herself as a rumbling of cloud stretching across the sky. Laden with rain, threatening with thunder, on the brink of a storm but never quite reaching the crucial tipping point. Her father had been the storm in full swing; something she one day inspired to be.

The moment she had met Wren the categorisation was obvious. Oddly enough, only a day since Freya’s arrival had passed, the weather had broken into an exact replica of Wren’s assigned conditions. A rare breath of spring had unexpectedly crept into the air after a long stretch of wintry melancholy. Birds announced their melodic promise of changing seasons in jubilant chorus. The trees and plants seemed to awaken groggily to the prospect of returning once again to full bloom. Most importantly the sun embraced with a warming touch and ignited Wren’s hair in a mellow glow.

Surrounded by the setting of approaching spring, Freya followed her roommate through the rose garden. Predictably Wren trotted along with a joyful sort of bounce in her step. Her feet could not seem to keep up with the pace of her exhilaration.

“It’s not much… it’s not anything really…” Wren explained with a self-deprecating shrug of her shoulders. But the merry smile on her face remained perfectly in place. It occurred to Freya that Wren drew the supply of her confidence from the innate optimism and affability that gleamed from some inexplicable source inside her. She wondered how Wren kept it up. Optimism had always been a fleeting and sporadic experience for Freya at the best of times.

“I’m sure that’s not quite true.” At Freya’s reassurance Wren broke into a deeper smile.

They pressed on with a greater insistence of direction, without pausing for conversation, until reaching a particularly thick stretch of hedge that surrounded the lawns of Satis house. To Freya it looked nothing more than a pleasant mask of the walls that enclosed them in isolation. Another red herring to brush away the thought of imprisonment. To Wren the area of hedge represented something different. She stretched out a hand and examined the surface with a soft brush. It took her a moment. But eventually she found a particular branch and swept it aside.

A small passage through the thickets was revealed at Wren’s touch. It still contained nothing of great importance as far as Freya could tell. But with an expectant gaze the path was held open for her by Wren. The luxury of doubt was swiftly removed from Freya. In order to pass through the maze it was necessary to bow slightly. She did not mind the odd branch snagging at her jumper and greedily unravelling the thread. The clothes were not her possessions. They were a display of her entrapment and it was none of her concern what condition became of them.

Freya found it a struggle to navigate against the vines snatching at her feet. She trampled with an accompaniment of rustles, snaps and disturbance. Behind her Wren steered her route with dainty steps. The annoyance of traversing the secret path was beginning to snag on Freya’s temper much like the branches that surrounded her.