Y Ddraig Goch

May 22 2025 - Beyond the Gates

Prompt: Beyond The Gates. Use this as your opening line for your Blog entry today.

It spiralled from a micro fiction to a short story....

“Beyond the gates lies the outside world. It’s dangerous! You must promise me that you’ll stay in the safety of the garden. Do not wander off!”

Those were the last words my mother ever said to me. I often wonder if she tempted fate that day. If fate actually exists that is; the series of unusual events that led me to this desolate part of the forbidden forest, to stand before this peculiar looking tree, makes me think it does. That, or the world is even stranger than my mother's warning.

That day the suns had been high in the sky. Second noon had already passed and the parched earth that wound pathways through the garden scorched the soles my feet. I danced my way to the shade of the large muddleberry tree that grew in the corner next to the pealing white picket fence and then climbed up into the branches that leaned over the boundary of my home. This was not cheating. My feet had not touched the ground beyond the gates.

I reached for the purple berries that hung heavy amongst the leaves. They were my favourite. This early in the season they still had a tart, sour taste them. They would be sweeter in a few weeks. Perfect for when Mother and I made the first batch of jams to sell at market. But even now they were hard to resist.

As I stretched to reach the berries I heard a loud crunch. The branch bearing my weight juddered and dropped as a crack formed along its length and it began to break away from the trunk. I was too far along it to go back, and the branches below were too spindly to take my weight. I closed my eyes and braced for impact. The branch cracked again, and gravity pulled me downwards. I landed on the ground in a heap of limbs, but nothing was broken. Bruised. Scraped. Slightly bloody. But not broken.

I should have gone back. I should have turned and rush towards the gates, but I was already on the other side. I would be grounded for the foreseeable future regardless of how long I stayed beyond the perimeter. With the suns still beating down on my neck and the absence of any sensible supplies I started off down the hill toward the tree line on my first adventure.

The air was cooler in the forest. It made the ground damp to the touch. My toes wriggled in the mud. Everywhere I looked there were vibrant colours that pulled me deeper into the forest’s embrace. Flowers with large velvety petals and long tongue-like pistils, and tall peduncles with puff of white along their stalks that resembled clouds or cottonwool. I had never seen plants like this. They weren’t like the ones in the garden.

As the temperature fell further, and the light began to fade between the canopy I realised how far I had travelled. There was no sign of the meadow. I could no longer hear the soft rushing of water from the stream that neighboured it. The trees here were tall and straight. Their bark was dark and coated in tiny, mirrored shards that overlayed each other like a snake’s scales. They were impossible to climb.

I studied the trail of footprints that meandered in different directions. My footprints. Thousands of them. They circled in on themselves, crisscrossing at multiple intersections. I must have walked for longer than I realised. I was lost and night was setting in. I sat at the base of a tree and pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms tight around me to retain some heat. I closed my eyes.

When dawn broke, I picked a path and set off at a steady pace. If I kept going in a single direction, I would eventually leave the forest and be able to find my bearings. Dirt and debris clung to the frayed hem of my dress. My feet and ankles were caked in dried mud that cracked as I moved. I had a lot of explaining to do. Mother would be furious.

I reached the edge of the treeline just as first noon was breaking. The heat of the day was steadily climbing, and sweat was trickling across my brow, making my hair stick to my face. On the horizon I saw our small, family cottage. It lay eerily silent. The chimney stack void of smoke. My mother had usually set a pot on the open flames by now to prepare for our evening meal. A shiver rippled down my spine.

I crossed the field and climbed the hill, swinging the gates wide open with a rusted squeak that grated against my ears. The garden was overgrown. The bushes unkempt. I entered the cottage and surveyed the bare stone floor. No furniture. No Coverings. No mother. Empty. The thick dust and established cobwebs denoted a cottage that had been long abandoned. In the space of a night the world had changed, and I was alone. The forest was forbidden for a reason, even time stayed away.