Start Over

I found myself driving mindlessly. The road in front of me, meaningless. The road behind a fading and forgotten memory, like an elusive fly. I tried to figure out where I had been for the past few months, but every grasp at the past ended in a thick fog in my mind. Snow flurries we in the sky now; slowly dropping in the distance and whipping by my car as I approached them. In the rear view mirror I could seem them settling back on their path to the ground as if I had never been there.

The cityscape seemed so far behind me now, nothing but fields around. I swear I was just immersed in tall buildings, making fast sharp turns. Feeling the extra gravity press me back into my seat. The excitement imprinted on me like a kiss from a long lost loved one, felt forevermore. But now, there were no curves, nothing to add to the feeling of movement. The world was passing around me at what felt like a snails pace.

The sun glinted and blinded me from something on the horizon. My mind raced around all the possibilities of the cause. A companion for my ride? A bridge to a new land? A town? The drive to the object seemed to last forever. And, alas I was broken to learn it was a simple sign posted on the side of the road. It read, “10 smi to Forgict.” I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this. The sign was a cool metal, but the text on it looked hand written, it was sort of elegant and sloppy at the same time, if that’s even possible.

I looked down at the gages in my car, it seemed this was the first time they had any meaning. The fuel gage was strangely dropping fast to ‘E’. Something was pulling me towards this place. Who am I to go against a greater plan? On top of that, what else could I do? I drove on.

As I crossed into the town the snow abruptly stopped. It almost looked like summer outside of my windows. I chanced it and lowered the driver’s side. A blast of fresh warm air slapped across my face. It forced it way up my nose and pressed on directly into the back of my mind. Wildflowers and clouds were the only thing I could focus on for that moment. I drove right into the center of the town and found myself stopped in front of a statute of a beautiful women with expansive wings extended behind her.

Compelled I exited the car and walked up to the sculpture. Her hands were above her holding a sword that seemed to be engulfed in flames. I locked eyes with hers, and in that brief juncture the sword burst into real flames. Her face broke free of the stone; I could see tears streaming down her face. And then she brought the sword down.

-V-

Hunted

Each breath passes my lips into a crystallized cloud of white steam. I’m breathing heavy. How long have I been leaning against this tree? I need to keep moving. My left arm is lifeless now, the broken shaft of an arrow protruding just above my elbow. I used a bit of my shirt I tore off at the waist to cover the wound and collect the blood. I can’t afford to leave a red-hot trail to follow.

The winter chill seems to be dulling my senses. But in a counterintuitive way I feel and hear every movement and moment around me. Is this what it’s like for most prey animals? I can’t spend too much time worrying about that now. I must focus on my next objective; I need a place to hide. I am way too exposed out here on this tree. Every second I spend considering my next move is a second lost to my pursuers.

I can hear the rush water up ahead. Where had I heard it before? It’s damn near impossible to track something down a river. Well perhaps not impossible, but at least it should buy me more time. Movement, I need to get moving. I pushed as hard as I could against the tree to be back on my feet. I think the blood loss is starting to get to me. My vision darkened a little and I could feel myself sway in the wind, but it was brief.

The adrenaline kicks in again. I know I’m leaving a massively easy trail to follow in the snow, but if I can get to the water I bet I can buy enough time to think. It’s close enough that I can hear it, so that’s good, but distances can get sketchy when you’re in this state. I just need to keep focusing on each step, one foot in front of the other. Simple movement. The rhythm takes over and I lose track of how long I’ve been stumbling.

A hidden branch or log in the snow catches my foot and I start rolling. All I see is white and blue as the keeps whipping me in the face with each rotation, down the slant of the forest floor. With a slap to the face the water comes rushing into my mouth. It’s an insanely painful and invigorating sensation. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I could possibly be colder until I was soaked through. But water! I had found the stream; freedom is still a possibility.

It was about five feet across and two feet deep, just enough to ensure that I would be totally immersed. Not a time to think about being wet. I need to get moving. I can hear the voices in the distance. How long did I stay at the tree? How slow was I moving? What are they saying?

Pushing myself up with my good arm hurts immensely. Snap! Suddenly everything is a burst of pain. All my limbs no longer take my orders. Time slows to a near halt as I slump forward, my face dropping back into the cool water. The pain dissipates relatively quickly now. As my vision fades in the base of the creek I can see red pooling in front of me.

-V-