Walter's Hidden Quest

My disintegrating pencil dictates in my weathered journal the queries of man across history, a probable excuse, I must admit:

“The remains of society faded long ago, and I can’t help but notice how the complexities of right and wrong have blurred. Why do they call me Walt when my name is Walter? It's not really immoral per se. Yet, Socrates, I think, believed that these decisions stem from the ignorance or misperception of the real significance of virtue and worth. But I’m likely wrong. Who's to tell me? People like him don’t exist anymore, and look where it led them. I just had -”

Day - Late Blossom Bloom. Year 12.

The lead in my pencil, of course, decided to make a fool out of me by splintering on the paper. Or, is this just a sign that I’m both brains and bronze?

"Eh, doubly," I mumble to myself, sitting on a log adjacent to the verdant grove.

I shuffle around in my pockets and then my satchel for a knife to resharpen my engagement. Alas, I have no luck.

The pages rush to a close as I pick it up from off my lap, grab its binding, and clamp it shut. I always have a perfect slot in my satchel, so when I slide it in, it's both snug and secure. But this time I must be careful; It could get stolen.

I zip my satchel shut.

Hunger sets in. It’s not my fault I didn’t eat; who makes a sandwich solely consisting of a bundle of lettuce and a glob of jam?

I look around at the vast forest in front of me, trees positioned with precision, yet a splash of deformity. I hear a faint chirping like a flock of birds in need of food, but these chirps must be abnormal to a man like Socrates, who lived way before a mutated time like this.

My neck creaks up from my solidified position as my gaze fixates on a small pond in front of me— or rather, a shiny object flashing beyond it.

I squint to see my brother, Blake, a boy with no regard for my peace and quiet, running towards me.

"Walt!” Blake’s lengthy, tormenting, holler of what he often thinks of as my name ripples across the pond.

I can't help but chuckle; his run like a headless chicken accompanies his lisping voice. But who is to blame for him? He doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of how to cook! He decided to try and “experiment with new flavors and textures" today, but those ingredients did not mesh well by any means, even though his taste buds insisted. I mean, it’s just simple science after all, and we’re lucky enough to have a garden, let alone a lavish shelter compared to most.

He's a whirlwind of energy, like a 20-second fireworks display on an endless loop, sprinting toward me. "You've got to help me... us," he blurts out, pausing briefly to catch his breath by resting his hands on his knees. Then, as if signaling for a timeout, he raises one hand, “Hold on,” even though I'm standing still on my feet.

I wander my way over to him. Though I’d expect him to be more fit, considering his mind is a continuous, running marathon, he continues to take a rather lengthy moment to catch his breath.

"Okay," he managed, pushing through the breathlessness that gripped him. He rises to his feet with a gulp of humility, drawn in by his declaration: "Walter... she's gone!"

I follow him, eager to uncover who it is that he speaks of.

In a clearing, a dozen tiny creatures with white seed-like bodies held up by hair-like legs, whine and cry, pacing in circles and sniffing the ground. They have pink-colored heads like dragons. I choose not to dwell on it, my mind bypassing any second thoughts. Instead, I ponder why the ground around them emanates a serene, glowing beauty, like a Picasso painting.

Blake’s eyes filled with sadness. "Their mother’s gone! We need to find her."

I nod, but inwardly, a different thought churns. What forces do these creatures hold? It's peculiar, to say the least.

Nevertheless, my brother was in distress. “She’ll show back up. I assure you. I don’t know if we can do anything, Blake.”

“We have to find her,” he exclaimed.

Their melodic chirps have yet to be silenced by my actions. I didn’t know! The guilt of disrupting such tranquility scratched at me, but I pushed it aside.

“Well, they seem to be at that stage anyway, where any day now they will hibernate and transform into full-grown Orchids. Their lifespan is short, and their childhood, if this is what you'd call it, is even shorter. They won't even need their mother in a few days from now.” I tried to persuade him, but he's only just a kid.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what we could do. That's just the difficult part about nature.” I don’t mean to make his eyes water. I feel like mine should too, but they disturbingly don’t.

Is something wrong with me?

As we returned home, Blake's silence chattered around in my heavy heart. It clawed at my conscience as I hid the creature away next to today's reflections, yet my brain ticked with commitment.

I must dissect it in secret from him, to not disrupt his respect, so that more can be done to understand this worldwide mutation more thoroughly.

I’m sorry I took you away from your mother, though. It does stain my soul, but the promise of progress whispered sweetly in my ears. And later, within my notebook.