Crimson scorned the autumn night. A bitterness rose in the air like nothing anyone had seen before. I recall this night. Although mostly in frail pieces. Such as a story which has been told many times, and ideas being changed by different people.
I close my eyes again, I can still smell ginger and jasmine mixed in the air. It is so breath taking. The sky a trickling of stars. This is a night to be alive, and among nature. The air, so mellow and full of energy. It was the world winding down, and yet still preparing for the winter.
Somewhere behind me, a lone leaf falls, and I can hear its swan song as it slowly falls to the ground. The soft wind, slowly takes the lead and dances a final dance.
I feel a slight piercing of fear in my heart…final. Why it disturbs me, I am so well unaware. But it briskly jerks me back to my reality.
There is an urgent need to continue, a need to begin moving forward. So I slowly press on my short journey. A quick stepped motion, I begin to move along my journey, I was on a journey…..yes!
I begin hearing a crunching sound as I continue forward. Is this the simple sound of my own falling feet causing a hoax on my ears?
My heart begins to continue in a rapid rate of animalistic fear and agony. As a tortured animal, one whose only need is to escape. Something here smells….seems…feels…wicked.
A small pile of rock and dirt catches my foot, and I fall forward, grasping a tree and using its strong bark to steady me. Splinters invade my hand, and the bark scuffs me. There is no real time to be concerned about this.
I push hard off the tree, and continue to run, my back starting to crawl with the nerves so desperate to escape, and regroup. Something there is such a need to do.
Then from the left, I feel the first slamming on my skin. A rough and blunt smack, it stuns by vision, I blur, then regain focus, and soft tears form. A deep pain burns in my arm. It begins it demand for being noticed. .
But pressing on I know I must continue. For the other option is no longer anything that can characteristically assist me by any means. I just wanted to survive, this is something I know as my one last truth. Another whack hurls me to the ground, it pierces my back, and I feel myself slightly torn.
I know I mustn’t give into the pain, the finale, the warm blackness yearning to cover me. It’s still time to feel alive. From deep in my core, I slowly and unsteadily begin to rise again. Although, I know somehow it is in vain.
Again from the back I feel another whack, but with considerably less pain.
Almost bearable in fact, no quite like the first or second hit. It’s something rather peaceful. I turn and try to make out an unremarkable face.
I notice blue jeans, caked with dark brown mud. Soft velvet like grey work boots,and a blue t-shirt. I then look up to the face, but I don’t seem to care much more.
I make out strong lips, and a soft brown mustache. But I suddenly am tired. Much too tired to show and further concern for my assailant. I begin to slowly lose my balance. My footing is no longer strong.
The night slowly begins to welcome me, I feel free, so free. As I fall, I fall into him. His strong warm arms, and I slowly chill, and fade away.
(c) 2008 Joel M. Andre