You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
(1st person POV)
In the swampy town, my presence seems almost like an anomaly, a blend of elegance and mystique that contrasts with the squalor around me. With each step, I carefully navigate the uneven terrain with practiced grace and, with a slight nod, settle onto the cushion, my demeanor retaining a sense of quiet dignity.
"My name is Yichen," I begin, my voice a mixture of vulnerability and gentleness. "I've come from a place, a past, that... I would like to bury." A weight lingers in the air as the words leave my lips, a heavy acknowledgement of the scars that mark my journey.
"I believe this town, with its story and its secrets, may offer me a chance for renewal," I continue, my voice steadier now, as if the words were helping me anchor myself in the present moment. Locking eyes with the old woman's, my gaze resolute, I speak once again: "In truth, I yearn for a fresh beginning, for a chapter that isn't tainted by what I've endured. And yet, the past has a way of catching up, no matter how fast I run. Hopefully, I can let go of it this time around."
As I finish speaking, the hag's eyes hold mine with a depth of understanding that goes beyond words. Her silence feels like a blessing, a moment where my story and the weight of my past is acknowledged without judgement.
