Saturday, April 12, 2014

Fog 7 - 4/11/2014

Wind and a goddamn rock. The walls of this little cave pinch together only four meters in, get close enough that the wind coming from the far side blows through and wails.

Fucking goddamn rock and wind. Nobody here, nobody but me and rocks and goddamn winds and trees and more moss.

I'm not sure how long I spend there, screaming and crying in counterpoint to that wailing. It's not fair. It's not fair to have hope and lose it like this. It's NOT FUCKING FAIR!

Eventually, I come back. Blood from my hands on that point where the walls come together. I think I tried to dig through them, or maybe just destroy that wailing. It's still there, mocking me. I won't be able to stay here long, with that wailing.

I walk out of this new little cave and look around. Different trees, but still trees. Different moss and rocks, but still moss and rocks. The fern-things aren't here, nothing to take their place. I stumble down to the stream and drink briefly, but I can't bring myself to care enough to do more than swallow a few mouthfuls.

On my back again, I look up at the fog. It's still there, but fewer lights in the distance, and seeming far away. I could lie here, maybe, and just let it finish. Don't eat, don't drink, see if my body will just stop.

I wonder if I can die, here?


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