The Sanctuary

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Follow beyond the trail of mind, towards the locks and stairs of thoughts and creations.

Submitted: May 23, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 23, 2015



You shake the collar of your jacket, bashing off a few heavy drops of rain water. The small splashes of the drops can just be heard from the dense natural silence. The crown above you holds no more sky as the soil you step on, it is completely clouded and covered by the leafs and branches of many trees. The trees stand tall, leveled among the many trees or growing from trunk to trunk, the nature has not hold back from this corner of the world.


You unbutton yourself a little at the jacket, accepting the light breeze the sways through the thousands of passages between the trunks and bushes. The stream of air could easily invite you to almost sit down and float away; if it wasn’t for the fact you know you would hit the soil with a thump.


You step over the first few roots, taking balance on the mossy surfaces. The doorway to sanctuary is what your grasp embrace; stroking along the mossy, coarse and bumpy surface of a majestic tree. Thumbing over the small grooves, you feel the runes of many races carved within the bark.


Your gaze flows along the darkness of the deep forest, yet it doesn’t seem like an uncontrolled dark, light gives life to the forest and just like the light helps the forest, it also helps you. Rays of shine cutting past the thousands of leafs, but doesn’t reveal the sky.


Your first stop past the gateway is quickly the first surprise catching you; the mossy surface brings you down from the top of the roots, bumping to the soft bottom between two small saplings. Your eyes turn to the right sapling, it looks almost like it had moved away to avoid the punishment of being squished by your rear.


At first your eyes are unable to avert this little plant, till your hands starts dusting yourself off. ‘Can’t be sitting around here all the time’ you mutter to yourself. You gently pet the little sapling as you rise to your feet, almost towering like a giant compared to.


To push yourself past small vines and roots, loose of the whole network of trees you fell between. As your head nudges away a birch root, you see before you a light stomped path. The moss had withdrawn from the middle to leave you a bumpy surface of roots, leafs and dirt.


Sprouting along the pathways, branches both high and low, almost even in the smallest creek, flowers of many colours and forms. Welcoming your eyes to a relaxed view of blues, purple, red and white flowers, even the yellow that might have made you squint your eyes when seen on the fields.

As you venture further between the large trees, the trunks of small starts to meet your road, birch trees twsting and growing together. Cherry blossoms giving their colours higher up, giving you a difference between the mossy barks and brown boring bark. The pink and white flowers are a soothing welcome.


You trail your fingers a long a few branches, the clean rain water seeps along your hand; it doesn’t fall in drops but streams through the giant guardians of the forest, dividing the water to the many plants below. The water feels chilling, yet refreshing for your being and body. Small petals cling to your finger just to then slowly slide off once you pass them by.


By the shrug of your shoulder, you manage to pass a quite clingy thorn bush, ripping at your jacket without managing to harm you. As your struggle finishes, your stand in an opening, a small hill yet still covered by the crowns of the majestic trees. In the middle of the small hill, a withered tree stands.


Your feet brings you closer to the small hill, already there you notice neatly placed flat stones as steps. Along the edge of the hell is a small border of red, brown and blue – or at least what looked like blue stones. The steps takes you by surprise, not normally like the staircases at home, you see yourself surprised as you tip over a little upon the first two steps. ‘Half-steps..?’ you think to yourself, taking the last steps more carefully.


As you climb the steps closer, you see the withered tree up close, looking like it at once a majestic oak itself. The bark turned gray, but still not crumbling. Your sight sneaks past the gray trunk and in to what would once have held a magnificent crown, to your amazement, not at empty as it should be. Upon the branches that are struck by the rays of light grows a wondrous mix of green leafs, flowers and small seeds. The tree itself would have appeared dead to all others but for you, this tree seems to not quit.


Kneeling down a little, you crouch closer towards the tree, between the many roots were two well shaped roots; almost looking like two door rails. And between the two rails, a little door stood proud. A few scratch marks of what could be a fox, or rots, maybe a dog but even that didn’t change the pride of the door. Above the markings, a brass doorknob was mounted.


A smile might follow your face as you notice what the doorknob should look like, an open book. You reach to open the little door, feeling the book press in to your palm, your fingers almost feeling natural to close around it. You notice the knob feels warm to the grasp as you push against the door, torturing the old door hinges as they creak open in horror.


The chamber at first seems quite empty, a little messy even at so. Along the floor everything lies from carpet to books, even a darned pizza tray had managed its way all the way out here. You peek over one small carved railing, stairs heading downwards. Calmly and to avoid making too much noise, you push the mess to the side. The pizza tray being the lightest also seem to have been the easiest to push away of course, sending it flying across the small room and under a large dark green chair.


A sudden jolt is felt in your right shoulder, making your reflexes quickly turn around and notice your jacket has caught on to something. Two large battle axes were lodged in to the wall, offering as coat hangers. You shrug and allow you to slip out of your coat and backpack. Your eyes are still peeked towards the stairs at the side of the tree, keeping the gaze locked as you take a seat in the dark green chair. An old chair you would see from movies, the whole room felt like a might library pressed inside a small space.


Breathing out calmly, you sit back in the chair, almost sucked inside for a warm comfortable feel. This was different from the borders of the forest you’ve passed through first; there was no welcoming tavern, nor host to offer you a meal. The candles seemed to have an ever burning flame, and the gems inserted above, a gloom of warming light.


A low crackle of a small furnace is head in the corner, amazingly not putting the rest on fire as it is surrounding by a small ring of burnt wooden surface. The flames seemingly almost controlled within their shell of cast iron metal.


Your head is struck by a small book as you bonk your head backwards against the chair, sitting back even more comfortable, having the book landing in your lap. ‘Convenient’ you think to yourself. Your fingers slide over the book, the exterior is decorated simple yet fine to welcome people, as your fingers slide between the pages, the book flips open. Upon the first page, your eyes are treated what seemed to be a war of words to correct the book for your language.


The first word of the page suddenly faded in, “English?” you answer the question as you subconsciously nod your head, seeing the word flow away again. Within a few seconds, the book starts to glow lightly, vibrating as waves upon waves of words emerge from the pages.


“Page One.

A home of where your heart and mind lies, welcome to my home. Within the trunk of the withered tree lies the heart of my life, and the mind of…”


You blink to yourself as the word ‘mind’ was violently crossed out.


“…the plains of my mind that stretches among the many worlds that I seek refuge within.”


Your nose climbs the pages as you look about the room, the pictures holds images of many but not of the person in the book. The prizes are neat in rows, but some are either hidden away or unrecognizable. Some pictures are turned around, blocked from view of scratched over.At the right armrest of the chair is many small marking of scratches, seemingly to be of the owner.


The book shakes a little for itself as another page of words are formed and created to mark a new passage, it felt like a journal, but it wasn’t detailed enough or written in enough to be a journal.


“Page Two.

You have managed to visit the borders of the sanity I call my mind, beyond the core of the tree’s trunk lies many levels of engaged thoughts attempted to be misplaced, but right now…


….. Welcome to the Sanctuary.


Adventures beyond the stairs are at your own caution. The realm of thought can be unstable.”


You release a deep breath of a sigh, flipping the small notebook shut. Leaning back to inspect the room you see that has become clearer around you. Books containing a lot of information, but marks of past is almost a blurred picture for every moment. Your reach out to a small stand, the face of a blond female seen and then turned in to forceful static, the glass scratched and holding the forces back within the frame.


Branded in the ceiling of the room, in to the wood of the trunk, a map is marked.Rising to your feet, your fingers follow the burnt black and brown lines, ‘The Tavern..’ you softly speak out, ‘the person’s open and welcoming spirit?’ you ponder on. Your finger slides along the burnt line, cross many curves of trees to the heart of the forest, the withering tree.


You sigh as you slide your hands through your hair. A smile grows upon your face as you are reminded of the welcoming nature of this world, upon the tree stump stands a small plate and a clay mug. On the plate, many fine slices of fruit are lined up, as well as a freshly baked piece of bread. The glazed clay mug shows a few small cracks as it holds back the hot substance of chocolate with a hint of mint. The scent frees up your mind as you slumps back in the green chair, mentally prepares yourself to what the map in the ceiling calls, “The door ways”.

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