Luna Zax's Story Blog

A collection of my stories and other erotic thoughts…. please enjoy…

The Grove part 1

Posted by Luna on May 2, 2011

I don’t know how it is with other ‘writers’, but I know how it is with me.  Sometimes my stories are scenarios that I have researched, plotted, and fantasized about in my head for weeks.  Othertimes, my stories are simple ideas that I just start writing and see where it goes from there.  Letting the story unfold before me.

This story did just that, unfolded before me.  This was meant to be a quick story, but it turned into something bigger.  And I’m not really sure what this is at the moment, or how big it can be, or what the destination is. 

This was intended to be an erotic story.  And part of me still intends on that.  But I am letting the story determine that.  If you’ve written a story, I think you understand that statement.  If you haven’t, then you’re just going to have to trust me.  It’s like going to a restaurant, planning on having chicken, but catching your eye on a menu item that was unexpected, and suddenly you’re having somethign completely different. 



That being said, please enjoy the following:

Luna Zax (05/02/2011)

The Grove part 1
by Luna Zax
Story Codes (no sex)

I parked the car on the street by the creek.  I noticed the basketball hoop without a net, and the cracked pavement.  I noticed the graffiti on the rocks that entered the woods.  I noticed some leftover wood from the demolished bridge that used to go over the small creek. 

But most of all, I noticed how much smaller everything was: the woods, the rocks, the creek.  I had visited the old woods since becoming the height I am today, but perhaps, even then, I saw it through the eyes of a young girl instead of a woman.

I got out of my car and pulled my windbreaker around me.  The sun was shining, but there was a definite chill from the wind in the air, and the smell of fresh dirt filled my nostrils.

I looked around, as the spectre of guilt hung on my shoulders.  I was doing nothing wrong, yet I was nervous, scared even that I would be found out… despite my assurances that no one else could see anything. 

I opened my trunk and changing my flats for sneakers, due to the muddy terrain.  I gave one last look up and down the street before entering the woods. 

I walked carefully through the woods.  My memory of the woods and the reality of the actual terrain crashed in my heads as I walked along through the ground cover.  I questioned the looks of the rocks, thinking that they weren’t there before.  It was still early spring, so the leaves did not obscure the sunlight, and I was able to determine where I was based on the glimpses of the houses I could see on the edge of the woods.  I knew I was heading in the right direction, but unsure if I could find my way.

Then I found the tree. 

I saw it to my left, and said to myself, “That’s not the tree.  It was further into the woods, and not that close to the stream.”  But as I approached, I saw the familiar hole in the tree.  It nearly caught my breath to see it.  The tree was in good shape, but had weathered greatly.  But I still found the familiar carvings into the bark that I remember from childhood.  My mark of RB, and the familiar markings of AZ, NA, and CM.  I laughed as my fingers found the carvings of the names of rock bands that Artie had liked so well.

Feeling the illusion of youth, I climbed the rock that stood close to the tree.  I remembered the day that I was able to climb up ontop of the five foot tall rock.  I scraped my knees that day, and came home soaking wet from a fall in the creek, but I wore my battle scars proudly remembering my accomplishments of the day.  The handholds were the same, tho my hands were different.  I sat down on the top of the rock, letting the cold of the stone enter my flesh through my jeans.

I closed my eyes and I listened.  A few crickets were chirping and buzzing around me.  The cries of the birds in the woods echoed through the trees.  I heard the rustling of squirrels and other small animals moving through the underbrush.  I listened to the trickle of the water as it flowed through the creek.

I opened my eyes.  “Cross the creek… Climb the hill…  Turn right at the skunk cabbage swamp…  follow the path…”

I jumped off the rock, as a young girl and landed onto my older ankles, disrupting my illusion for a moment. 

“Careful girl,” I scolded myself audibly as I walked past the rock and found the low point in the creek where the two flat rocks remained the perfect way to cross the creek.  My grandfather had always called it the “crick”, telling me that if you can’t drown in it, you can’t call it a creek.  I climbed the hill afterwards, which was only a slight incline of three feet or so, but always was ‘the hill’.  My legs were tired, having not gone hiking in years. 

I easily found the skunk cabbage, surprised at the scarcity of the plant.  I remembered a field of skunk cabbage that Richie used to hit with a stick and we’d all run away from the sulfur-like stench.  A stick on the ground calls to me to relive the memory in place of Richie who was not with me to do it, but the adult in me resists.  I was being childish enough. 

I wandered further, and stared at an overgrown field of tall grasses covering the path we used to take.  As I looked forward I could not see the path and the way to my destination looked overgrown with thorns and weeds.  I looked through the woods trying to get my bearing, and saw a red building that was falling down and in disrepair. 

The Old Barn! 

Feelings of surprise and excitement filled me, remembering my grandfather’s old barn.  The newer barn was built before I was born, was larger, and closer to the house.  But, Grandfather never tore down the old one, saying that he was going to when he needed the land.  The new barn was torn down along with grandfather’s house when the land was parcelled out to make 10 separate properties after his death. But in the ultimate irony, they didn’t demolish the old barn.  It was built on protected land for the county, and it would take a court ruling to demolish it.  So the developer left it, as is. 

I walked out towards the field near the barn, totally lost in yesterday.  I kicked my shoes off in the grass, feeling it between my toes.  I smelled early spring flowers and wet hay. 

Then I saw the rock.  The rock was an oblong angled rock that was about 8 feet wide and 3 1/2 feet tall at it’s greatest point.  I walked towards it and placed my hand on the surface feeling the chill.  The rock was our ‘secret entrance’ into the hideout, the small grove of willow trees where we felt safest.  I climbed over the rock, almost looking for the ‘clay’ pottery that we would dry on the rock in the summertime. 

I walked closer, and ducked to avoid the brush and low hanging branches.  I finally found the trees.    Three willow trees.  In our youth, we never learned whether the yellow vined trees were actually willow trees or not, but someone had told us they were, and we never questioned it. I amazed that my fellow humans had destroyed so many places to build megamalls and housing developments, that this simple place of three willow trees still stood.   I ducked under the vines of the trees and touched the trunk very carefully. 

There were no signs that anyone had been here in ages.  I could see from the other direction that the woods were basically inaccessible from the grove, due to erosion from the creek.  The connections that were so obvious to us were no more.  I sighed and closed my eyes as the cool breeze blew around me. 

I was tired.  I hadn’t climbed rocks and climbed muddy hills in years. 

With my eyes closed, I could smell something.  A smell so familiar, but was lost completely to memory.  A smell of wet chestnuts, horse hair, wheat fields, and pond water, if I had to describe it.  I opened my eyes, and she was there.

Her curly chestnut brown/red hair fell off of her head, but did not seem to end.  Her skin was the color of freshly cut apples.  Her eyes a greet that changed to blue if you shifted your head.  She wore a dress that covered her body that was the color of grey bark, and it covered her completely yet barely at the same time.

“Hello…” I said, but it became a whisper as it came out of my mouth.

“Rebecca…” came the response.  It wasn’t a question, but she was requesting confirmation.  I nodded. 

“How are you, Chay-sayich?”

She nodded as well, indicating that things were fine.  I had practiced our conversation in my mind so many times, but now that I was in the moment… I was at a complete loss.

She smiled and said, “Becca….”

I tried to smile, and tears fell down my face, “Chay!” 

I was openly weaping, and suddenly she was next to me holding onto me, saying my name over and over.  Each time saying my name was a different tone, reflecting different levels of concern and reassurance.

I finally got it together, and wiped the tears from my face

“Becca unhappy?” she asked

I nodded.  “Bad year.  My mother…. died”

I caught the words in my mouth, only for the unfamiliarity of the words.  My mother had “passed”, “passed away”, “gone to heaven”, “gone up to the angels”, “moved on”, and “it was her time.”  But I’m not sure she was ever “dead” until I said the words to Chay.

Chay cocked her head to the side, understanding, but still taking it in.

“And my boy… my mate left, because I was taking care of my mother’s affairs since she died.”

Chay looked very intently, “The daughter takes over for the mother, when the mother dies.  No?”

I nodded. 

“He did not know this?” she asked again. 

I smiled, “Knowing and seeing are not the same.”

Chay looked confused and just sat down next to me quietly.   Her nature was silence, and it could be very comforting at times. 

“You look well,” I said weakly. 

She looked at herself and smiled.  “The forest is clean.  The water flows from the melted snow in the creek.  The sky has been very blue, but is gray now.  The birds are very happy.  Oh!”

She stopped, looking at me with great intent.

“A new oak tree is beginning to grow close to the creek!”

I smiled back at her.  This was who she was. 

“Becca is happy again!” she said.

“Talking to you makes me happy,” I said back to her.

“How can talking make you happy?” she asked.

“Well… I haven’t heard your voice in a while.  Hearing it again makes me happy.”

“Oh…”, she replied before pausing a moment or two, “You have not been back.”

“No,” I replied.

“You did not come when the fields were covered,” she said.

“No,” I replied again.

Another pause.

“You did not come when the trees were destroyed,” she said a little angrier.

“No,” I replied again, feeling shame in my cheeks.

Another pause.

“You did not come when the creek flooded!” she said even angrier.

I wasn’t sure what she meant with this one, but again I replied:


A long pause…

“Why are you here now?” she asked without a trace of anger.

“I don’t know,” I said very quietly.

She looked at me.  Her face unreadable.  And we sat in silence for several moments.

6 Responses to “The Grove part 1”

  1. Woman said

    You know? You write pretty darn good dialogues!!!

    • Luna said

      Thank you dear.

      I didn’t think much of the talk between Chay and Becca, but it was totally organic in creation.

      But it certainly pleases me that you enjoyed it. 🙂


  2. Babykeiko said

    I like it. If I were to interpret this she has gone back to a place where, in her youth, she had a really intense experience with a friend from another dimension. People might call it “an imaginary friend” but it is quite real for her. And in her time of loneliness and heart break she knew of no better place to go for consolation. I don’t know that anything more then what you wrote needs to be said. Thanks as always for sharing your amazing talent. Xxxx

    • Luna said

      I thought about a lot of possibilities for imaginary friend stories. Other dimensions was one. Someone from another age is another. Even a romance with another version of themselves, experiencing it as both the teacher and the student.

      I don’t have a specific answer, but I have Becca’s theory. And that may be revealed in the second chapter.

      There definately is a second chapter (a flashback), and a third chapter (understanding). We’ll see what comes of it.

  3. Intriguing set-up – the theme of returning to one’s home, one’s youth, especially in the aftermath of trauma, is a powerful one. Many years ago I wrote two or three short stories that dealt with the idea of trying to go back to one’s roots, be it in reality or merely in the realm of dream/memory: maybe one day I’ll disinter them, give them a polish and post them at the site. Anyway, really looking forward to seeing where this goes!

    • Luna said

      Well, that’s the best news yet… that anything I write can spark a similar vein in someone else. Nothing could be better or more complimentary.

      I wanted it to feel as if it’s not the trauma that takes Becca back to her youth, but that she doesn’t have anyone to rely on in the moment, and attempts to find solace in something.

      Chay is meant to embody that something in a physical form. That’s the intention at least.

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