Pagewalker (4 page)

This was my dream.

This was my creation.

This was Northland, and in it the great story
I had finally finished “Dertrid’s deed”.

To many outsiders, looking on my holidays and my free
time, they would think I was a loner, a looser or a nerd. In all
fairness, they wouldn’t be far wrong. I was all of those things on
the outside but when I was writing 'Dertrid’s Deed' I didn’t have
to worry about being picked on, or let down, or hurt. The
characters I was writing about did exactly as I hoped and as I
said. They didn’t argue or oppose me. They listened, they valued
what I lay in front of them. It was refreshing.

When I had reluctantly finished the last
chapter on the last page I shed a tear. Quite a few actually. I
didn’t want to leave Northland! Like a parent awaiting the birth of
his first child, I couldn’t wait to hold my creation. I printed the
story out in its entirity. It was just shy of 17,000 words. I read
through it again that evening, proud of what I had accomplished. I
had not only written a story I was happy with but I had created a
whole world, civilisations, town’s cities, religions and conflicts.
Holding the manuscript in my hand, still warm from the printer I
felt like I was holding a piece of my soul. I had poured so much of
myself and images from my mind onto those pages.

I kept the pages in poly pockets along with sketches
and a map of Northland in a black file. I would pick it up and
flick through the pages every time I saw it sitting on the desk in
my bedroom. After much deliberation I decided to let my mum read
it. She was...no…. IS, quite a creative person. I could trust her
to tell me if it was good enough to share or not. In all honesty I
was torn with that decision. Part of me wanted to share it with the
world. Let others enter my world. I wanted people to feel the same
way entering Northland as they did the first time their minds set
foot in Narnia or Middle Earth.

The other part of me did not want to share
this hidden paradise. I didn’t want the rubbish and trash of
tourists ruining the paths and walkways. Vandalising the towns and
pissing in the streams. This was my heaven. To be enjoyed by me and
only me.

A few days passed, I hadn’t mentioned it to my mum in
case she was being too polite to tell me it sucked. I would rather
not know than for that to be the case. One morning however, when I
was coming upstairs with my breakfast, mum set the local chronicle
newspaper in front of me. It was folded back with a large advert in
the middle to left of the page. In a bold blue outline said
`calling all young authors’ my eyes opened wider and I stopped
chewing. Cereal and milk dripped down my chin into a puddle of
chocolate drool as I read the article frantically. There was to be
a young writer’s competition at the Newtownards library. Submission
was to be made by the 15
^th
, that very day!

I had my manuscript all made up. I readied a
black leaver arch file, made sure everything was in order and asked
mum to give me lift down into the town to submit my story. The
deadline was 12pm and it was 11:30 already! I was panicked; I threw
old clothes on and packed the manuscript, rushed to the door, threw
on my shoes and a coat and shouted for mum. I ran back into the
kitchen to see her buttering some toast with a look of confusion on
her face.

“What are you doing? Come on, please we will
be late!” I screamed with a cry.

“Christopher dear, I’m not even dressed, I’m
sorry” she said with her mouth full followed by a quick sip of
tea.

“Fine then, screw this!” I shouted as I burst
through the front door. Leaving it open behind me. I ran as fast as
my legs could move, I took short cuts through my neighbours
gardens, jumping hedges and fences to reach the main road. Once I
made it through the houses and gardens I was on a home strait. I
sprinted down the hill, pulling the straps tight to my back to keep
the bag from banging about as I ran. Every now and then I would
feel behind me to make sure the book was still in there. It took a
solid 20 minutes of running as fast as I possibly could! I didn’t
stop at lights or even look twice at crossings I needed to get to
the library to submit my story. This was all that mattered. As I
came to a large junction at the bottom of the street, leading into
the town centre I could see the pedestrian lights were still green,
without stopping I ran and ran to make it across the junction
before they changed. I made it to the slip road before the middle
crossing just as the lights were flashing amber. I looked to my
right and left and calculated that if I kept going without slowing
down I would make it before the cars started to move forward.

Jumping off the pavement onto the tarmac road
my heart was pounding faster than it had. It was a miracle it was
still in my chest. When my left foot landed on the road my senses
heightened, from the farthest peripherals of my vision I noticed a
blue Vauxhall Nova, one that failed to slow for the lights,
speeding through the now changing ones. My entire body jumped with
shock and instinctual fear as I turned my face to see it speeding
directly towards me. In that moment I knew it was over. I
envisioned my head slamming thought the wind shield, my legs
crumpling under the bonnet, my body flying farther into the road as
the breaks were sharply applied. I saw myself hitting the road and
paper flying from my bag and falling slowly like sheets of
snow.

The vision felt so real, I felt the impact,
the pain, the breaking of my spine and crunch of my skull against
the shattering of glass. I felt my body hit and slide on the tarmac
road. The life drain from my body. I could feel the loss my family
would feel and I had gone for real this time. I felt the vision
fade from my head as the light faded from my eyes.

Suddenly and inexplicably my eyes opened and
I was pulled back from the belt on my jeans. I landed on my
backside with my feet in the air. A blue blur shot past me with the
sound of a horn held aggressively. I sucked in a massive breath. I
felt I was breathing life in for a second time. Like a re-birth. My
blood was flowing so fast through my body. I felt dizzy, then
nauseous. As my breath slowed, so in turn did my heartbeat. Vision
returned and everything slowed down. A face was in front of mine. I
could not make out the features or recognise who it was as my
glasses had flown from my head as I was yanked backwards moments
before. Only the voice was familiar.

“Close shave there eh son? Better take more
care, Look where you’re going ok? A Page walker does not fall so
easily. You have responsibility you know!” Came a voice in a strong
‘Culchie’ accent.

“A what? Who….how? Responsibility?” I spurted
out as I ran my hands on the ground to find my glasses.

“Those pages in your bag are more important
than you know. They are the lives of millions! The words have power
you can only really begin to understand by reading it yourself.” He
said as he stood tall again and backed away from where I lay.

“Wait! I shouted.

I crawled forward to follow the blur. My
hands feeling out forward like a snakes tongue. Feeling for my
prize, my glasses. I came upon them and fixed them to my face. My
vision much clearer I could see no one. No one of the path, the
road, anywhere near me. Only cars speeding past the lights before
they changed. I got to my feet with a stiff and painful extension
of my back.

I walked the rest of the way to the library.
Looking behind me at every turn to see if I was being followed by
my saviour. I was certain that man had seen me running, seen the
blue car and pulled me back. How did I know his voice? I was
comforting, like a voice from my childhood but I could not place
it. I could only think of the two green blurs I saw when I looked
up. Where they eyes? Two green eyes.

Where had I seen them before? It couldn’t be?
Could it?

I arrived at the library. The queue was long. As I
made it to the back of the queue, an older lady, the perfect vision
of a stereotypical librarian, came out to address those waiting.
I mean she was a cartoon stereotype.
She
was in her mid to late 50s, hair tied up in a tight bun. Bi-focal
glasses on her nose and a thin gold chain attached the sides of
them draped around her neck. A pink cardigan with yellow flowers
was draped over a white blouse, buttoned to the very top with
another white turtle neck underneath. A straight grey skirt that
reached past her knees to a pair of bland and worn black ankle
boots with kitten heels.

“I am very sorry to all those who have waited
so patiently today. Unfortunately we have been overwhelmed with
submissions and now have to close the competition. We simply cannot
take any more into consideration and have to act on a first come,
first served basis. I apologise again but thank you all on behalf
of the Arts Council for your interest.” She said from over the top
of her glasses. Looking down through the lenses she spotted me and
gave an apologetic shrug. Surly she had noticed the rips in my
jeans, blood staining the holes from the grazed knees I had from my
fall, my elbows bloody and bruising from landing on them? Surely
she had seen how hard I had ran to get here, the sweat dripping
from my nose now mixed with the tears from my eyes. It was
pointless.

Dejected, upset and in increasing paid, I
began my walk home. As I continued home the words spoken to me, as
I lay on the foot path, repeated in my head. Over and over.

“For you alone”.

“Re-discover your words”.

What could he have meant by that? Was it the same
little man from the forest years ago? How could he have disappeared
so quickly? What if the car had hit me? What is a page walker? So
many questions, ones no one would be able to answer. Events no one
would believe.

I replayed the whole scenario over and over
until I reached my front door. I looked thought the kitchen window
so see my mum still drinking tea and reading some papers on the
table. I quietly opened the door and proceeded to make my way down
the hall towards my bedroom. I hoped mum hadn’t heard me come in
but that hope was short lived.

“Well? Did you make it in time?” she said
from the kitchen without getting up from her stool.

“Uh, yea. But the queue was too big. Didn’t
get it submitted. It sucked” I said without stopping.

“Awk well Chrisey, next time sure!” she
shouted towards me as I disappeared down the hall.

I slammed the door, threw my bag into corner of the
room, kicked of my trainers, pushed the fresh laundry off my bed
onto the floor, turned my CD player on and blasted Alice in Chains
and slumped face first onto my bed. I sank into it for what felt
like 10 feet. I was swallowed by my duvet and mattress. I lifted my
pillow and pulled it over the back of my head, burying my face into
the bed. I pulled down tight on the pillow to muffle my screams and
anger and I let all my emotion out. I screamed until my throat
hurt, and sobbed through gritted teeth. I lay for an hour or so
alone and face down on my bed. The images of today replayed in my
mind, the prize I had never won, the opportunity that would have
changed my life was gone. The car that almost ended my life, the
exhaustion of the running, the pain of my knees and back. Then the
eyes, the bloody green eyes!

Every time a memory of today would flash into
my head the eyes would pierce me from nowhere. When I saw the car,
getting closer the headlights turned to green eyes and I awoke.
When I was running full speed towards the lights, the lights would
change to green eyes and I would awake. When I opened my bag to get
the manuscript out, green eyes, awake. When I librarian came out to
address the crowd? Yes you guessed it! Green eyes and awake.

I sat up then, just staring at the wall and the
corner of my room. Even the sweet tone of Jerry Cantrell’s guitar,
the beat of Sean Kinney on drums and the harmonies of Jerry and
Layne on `rooster’ couldn’t improve my mood. In fact, they were
perfect. I stared at my bag, knowing what lay within.

Getting to my feet I went over and got my
bag, dumping the pages onto the bed. I just stared at the final
product of all my hard work. I knew in my soul that this was
special but my mind convinced me it was just words on a page. Words
that would amount to nothing and a waste of my time. I pulled the
curtains, opened my bedroom window as wide as I could, grabbed the
folder and opened it. I prised apart the metal rings and grabbed
the pages all together in one hand. With one scream I ran towards
to open window to throw the pages outside and out of my life. My
arm extended with what felt like an Olympic javelin worthy precise
angle. I opened my hand and as the plastic pockets and A4 white
pages flew from my grasp, I felt time slow.