flax-golden tales: journey without a destination

http://flaxgolden.dreamwidth.org/29586.html

journey without a destination







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I just needed to get away for a while.

The train wasn’t the cheapest option, or the most expensive for that matter, but it felt like the right choice.

Maybe it sounded romantic.

And it was the only mode of transportation that didn’t require a set destination. I paid the highest listed price at the station and no one asked any questions.

There aren’t that many stops anymore, now that we’re so far from the city. Long stretches of trees line the tracks, the scenery hasn’t changed much.

I keep telling myself I’ll disembark at the stop that feels right.

So far none of them have.

And I can’t help wondering, in the back of my mind, how far the train might take me.


Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.
About flax-golden tales.

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flax-golden tales: deceptively simple demands with deadly consequences

http://flaxgolden.dreamwidth.org/29272.html

deceptively simple demands with deadly consequences






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They told me it would ask questions but it doesn’t. Questions would involve question marks, these are demands.

They are fairly simple demands, which is good, since the only way to answer is with the blocks: carved wooden blocks like children’s toys, each with a single letter emblazoned on one side.

Your name, it demands.

I look through the blocks, already starting to feel familiar beneath my fingers, but there aren’t enough. There’s only one A, and no Zs.

I spell out “No” but that doesn’t satisfy it.

Your name.

I wonder what will happen if I lie.

They warned me not to lie.


Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.
About flax-golden tales.

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flax-golden tales: cures for what ails

http://flaxgolden.dreamwidth.org/29064.html

cures for what ails





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The sign on the door is so worn that if it bore a more elaborate description it might be rendered illegible, but because there is only a single word inscribed upon it, it remains discernible.

Cures, it says. No more than that.

A tinkling bell sounds the quietest of alerts when the door is opened or closed.

Inside, the shelf-lined walls are covered with jars and bottles, each clearly as old as the sign on the door, if not older. They are carefully organized and labeled, though some of the labels are fading or stained or torn.

Their contents can cure anything. Fevers of any type, colds of common and uncommon varieties, sleeplessness and restlessness, confusion and depression and allergies, broken limbs and broken hearts.

But the bottles hold only individual ingredients, they must be mixed to gain potency, carefully combined and measured to counter the ailment in question.

And though the mixologist has kind eyes and a secret-keeping heart, many customers find they cannot confess their needs aloud, leaving empty-handed while the tinkling bell echoes behind them.


Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.
About flax-golden tales.

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