Please note: This is fiction!
It was his first time visiting the remote village his parents once called home. He had no idea what he was looking for or why he was even there in the first place. To get to know the two people who he wanted to get to know better but whose lips were sealed tight like two sheets of plastic stuck together by Gorilla glue? Hmm…
What were they so afraid of? Were they running for their life?
With just a backpack with overnight clothes and a camera, he parked the rental Jeep at the base of the mountain and began hiking. Higher and higher he went and by the first turn, his hands were on his knees, panting and out of breath. He looked down and all he could see was fog. Wiping his forehead of sweat and mist, he trudged forward.
After a good hour hike, the village appeared from nowhere. The moment he stepped across the village gate, the fog disappeared and the sky was a deep blue without a cloud in sight. “What is this place?” He muttered and wandered down the meandering path.
As he walked by, the village folks began to whisper in a language he’s all too familiar with. It was the native dialect his parents taught him the moment he spoke his first word. “Who is that?” The folks whispered. “Is that a visitor? How did he find us?”
I would return to inquire about my parents later, he promised himself, but first, he must do what all tourists do when arriving in a new place and that’s explore. He passed several brick building before something made him stop in his tracks.
It was a mural of a girl and a boy on a bicycle, laughing and having fun. Quickly, he pulled his phone from his pocket. A quick warning flashed in the top right corner. No Service. Of course not, he chuckled and tapped his photo gallery open. It took him a minute to find the photo and when he found it, he held it next to the mural. It was the exactly same picture from his parents’ photo album.
“Are you their son?” Out of nowhere, an elderly woman walked up to him, pointed to the picture. Slowly, he nodded. “Welcome home.”