Categories > Original > Fantasy > The Journey to Lagaspia
The Journey to Lagaspia
In the small Colorado town, wind blew across the street. Leaves went flying everywhere.
Lagaspiar enjoyed the breeze wavering around his face and hair as he dashed down the street, greeting an alley cat as he went. He finally reached his destination: the empty storehouse at the end of the street. Its outside walls were discolored from age and rain. It had one door that was always closed. It had been so for as long as Lagaspiar could remember, which happened to be fourteen years today.
He walked by the building and around to the other side, the side with the door. It was closed. He knew as much, but he still checked every day. From glancing into the small window, he saw, just like every other day, that it was empty. He just had the feeling that is was waiting. How buildings could wait, he asked himself, he had no idea. He just had a feeling, and those feelings have rarely proved him wrong.
Walking back around to the other side, the breeze ran up his neck and threw around his hair, greeting him like an old friend. The gray alley cat was waiting for him, and he greeted it. Hello friend, he said to it.
"Why, hello, what a coincidence to meet you again," came the reply. The reply was in his mind, and this was the way they would talk.
Lagaspiar knew this was no coincidence, and instead said: "I know it is you."
"What are you talking about? I am merely an old, gray alley cat seeking attention."
"Oh, ok, my mistake."
"So, tell me, what brings you here?"
"Oh, I am just having a look around. Can you tell me anything about that old building?"
"If I could tell you anything I would, but I know nothing about it. As I said before, I am just an alley cat."
"You do not fool me. You could fool me when I was young, but no more."
"You think because you turned fourteen that you, all of the sudden, cannot be fooled? I am not who you think I am."
"Yes, you are. I know that you are Wayward. You do not fool me!"
"Wayward, yes, that is what they call me. But are names really what make a person that person? Or, in this case, a cat?"
Lagaspiar laughed. "Wayward, you haven’t changed a bit."
Lagaspiar walked along the street with Wayward, chatting as they went. He tried to learn as much as he could about the building, but Wayward still would not let any information slip. Wayward always had a knack for keeping certain information to himself. And he wasn’t your typical cat. A cat, yes, but he had the ability to change different colors, shapes, sizes, and breeds. It was almost impossible to find him, but Lagaspiar knew that if you find him once, you can find him many times. Wayward enjoyed talking with Lagaspiar, and tended to follow him around.
After a short distance, Wayward left Lagaspiar. They both said their good-byes, and went their different routes. Wayward walked back into the alley he came out of (Lagaspiar supposed he wanted to eat), and Lagaspiar continued walking down the street.
In the small Colorado town, wind blew across the street. Leaves went flying everywhere.
Lagaspiar enjoyed the breeze wavering around his face and hair as he dashed down the street, greeting an alley cat as he went. He finally reached his destination: the empty storehouse at the end of the street. Its outside walls were discolored from age and rain. It had one door that was always closed. It had been so for as long as Lagaspiar could remember, which happened to be fourteen years today.
He walked by the building and around to the other side, the side with the door. It was closed. He knew as much, but he still checked every day. From glancing into the small window, he saw, just like every other day, that it was empty. He just had the feeling that is was waiting. How buildings could wait, he asked himself, he had no idea. He just had a feeling, and those feelings have rarely proved him wrong.
Walking back around to the other side, the breeze ran up his neck and threw around his hair, greeting him like an old friend. The gray alley cat was waiting for him, and he greeted it. Hello friend, he said to it.
"Why, hello, what a coincidence to meet you again," came the reply. The reply was in his mind, and this was the way they would talk.
Lagaspiar knew this was no coincidence, and instead said: "I know it is you."
"What are you talking about? I am merely an old, gray alley cat seeking attention."
"Oh, ok, my mistake."
"So, tell me, what brings you here?"
"Oh, I am just having a look around. Can you tell me anything about that old building?"
"If I could tell you anything I would, but I know nothing about it. As I said before, I am just an alley cat."
"You do not fool me. You could fool me when I was young, but no more."
"You think because you turned fourteen that you, all of the sudden, cannot be fooled? I am not who you think I am."
"Yes, you are. I know that you are Wayward. You do not fool me!"
"Wayward, yes, that is what they call me. But are names really what make a person that person? Or, in this case, a cat?"
Lagaspiar laughed. "Wayward, you haven’t changed a bit."
Lagaspiar walked along the street with Wayward, chatting as they went. He tried to learn as much as he could about the building, but Wayward still would not let any information slip. Wayward always had a knack for keeping certain information to himself. And he wasn’t your typical cat. A cat, yes, but he had the ability to change different colors, shapes, sizes, and breeds. It was almost impossible to find him, but Lagaspiar knew that if you find him once, you can find him many times. Wayward enjoyed talking with Lagaspiar, and tended to follow him around.
After a short distance, Wayward left Lagaspiar. They both said their good-byes, and went their different routes. Wayward walked back into the alley he came out of (Lagaspiar supposed he wanted to eat), and Lagaspiar continued walking down the street.
Sign up to rate and review this story