I am wet and I am cold. A wind drives the near freezing rain into my back. I am hoping that the wind is steady, that it's bite is driving me in some particular direction.
I want nothing more than to sleep and my body gave up shivering some time ago. I know that to sleep is to die and know also that I will likely die anyway.
I start laughing at that. To have survived everything only to die of cold in the woods of some unknown place. My laughter subsides into a hacking couch and I stumble to my knees. It is difficult to rise again. Difficult because I don't want to, difficult because I am tired, but mostly difficult because my arms are confined within a straightjacket.
I manage it though and keep on, away from the wind. I can taste the copper of blood in my mouth. It is a sweet taste, one which I have always enjoyed even if it is my own. I wonder if the crash has resulted in internal injuries or if it is only from coughing so hard and long. I feel no pain, but I never feel pain so that means nothing. If I could feel pain everything would hurt. If the cold doesn't kill me it is certainly likely that something else will.
I see a light up ahead. I blink a few time to clear my eye and my mind but still see it. It is as good a goal as simply away from the wind, even if it is imaginary. As good except that it allows the wind to lash my face though at least not into my eye.
The light resolves into a window. A cabin out in these endless woods. I stumble on, it's only a little further, surely I can walk at least that much more. The cabin seems to grow no closer, an illusion dancing just out of reach, my tired mind is mocking me.
Then I am there. Three steps onto the porch. One, two, and I fall. So cold. Will I die here on the porch, between the swing and the white whicker patio furniture? Not without a fight. I manage to swing my body around and begin kicking the door. I'm not sure if I'm knocking or trying to break the door down.
It's warmer here, out of the rain. I feel warmer anyway, comfortable even. My eye begins to drift closed. I know I shouldn't sleep but I can't remember why.
The door swings open and I glimpse a splash of blood red and violet, my fogged brain manages to make the connection. You can't be a man's enemy for so long and not recognize him.
Abyssinian. Aya. Ran. At least I won't have died of cold in the woods. Ran will kill me instead.
Then there is only darkness.
Abyssinian. Aya. Ran. At least I won't have died of cold in the woods. Ran will kill me instead. p
Then there is only darkness. p
I want nothing more than to sleep and my body gave up shivering some time ago. I know that to sleep is to die and know also that I will likely die anyway.
I start laughing at that. To have survived everything only to die of cold in the woods of some unknown place. My laughter subsides into a hacking couch and I stumble to my knees. It is difficult to rise again. Difficult because I don't want to, difficult because I am tired, but mostly difficult because my arms are confined within a straightjacket.
I manage it though and keep on, away from the wind. I can taste the copper of blood in my mouth. It is a sweet taste, one which I have always enjoyed even if it is my own. I wonder if the crash has resulted in internal injuries or if it is only from coughing so hard and long. I feel no pain, but I never feel pain so that means nothing. If I could feel pain everything would hurt. If the cold doesn't kill me it is certainly likely that something else will.
I see a light up ahead. I blink a few time to clear my eye and my mind but still see it. It is as good a goal as simply away from the wind, even if it is imaginary. As good except that it allows the wind to lash my face though at least not into my eye.
The light resolves into a window. A cabin out in these endless woods. I stumble on, it's only a little further, surely I can walk at least that much more. The cabin seems to grow no closer, an illusion dancing just out of reach, my tired mind is mocking me.
Then I am there. Three steps onto the porch. One, two, and I fall. So cold. Will I die here on the porch, between the swing and the white whicker patio furniture? Not without a fight. I manage to swing my body around and begin kicking the door. I'm not sure if I'm knocking or trying to break the door down.
It's warmer here, out of the rain. I feel warmer anyway, comfortable even. My eye begins to drift closed. I know I shouldn't sleep but I can't remember why.
The door swings open and I glimpse a splash of blood red and violet, my fogged brain manages to make the connection. You can't be a man's enemy for so long and not recognize him.
Abyssinian. Aya. Ran. At least I won't have died of cold in the woods. Ran will kill me instead.
Then there is only darkness.
Abyssinian. Aya. Ran. At least I won't have died of cold in the woods. Ran will kill me instead. p
Then there is only darkness. p