After dripping through the small spaces between time, space, and the surface of the picnic table, I picked the melted pieces of myself back into the plastic shell of a body. I watched shallow dark pools of water reflect thin wisps of gray cloud above. The sky merged with the ground in small circular mirrors scattered throughout the pavement. So beautiful the painting of reality moved. The paint brush of a God. Birds swooped down and disturbed the clouds drinking the mirror pools. I put back the puzzle of identity.
Sleepless afternoon. I am unsure if our brains ever turned off. Wired and tired. In and out of consciousness. Hunger replaced all thought. On rusty limbs lacked oil and a mind balanced on the sharp tip of a needle. Limbs became animated. We decided to venture towards the center of the small town in search of a gas station.
With the few dollars in my pocket I bought us 6 cans of soup, a bag of rice, and two bottles of water. Not my best idea. The cans of soup were heavy to carry along. I made sure to buy the self opening tops. We ate two of them out front of the store, spoon in can, delicious artificial flavors dripping down our chins. The trees calling us away. A long way from home. We began to walk back.
That evening after finishing more cold cans of human cat food, chicken noodle, and ravioli, we drifted to the edge of town. The original plan was to follow the shallow winding river through the forest that lead west back yo town. We’d walk the banks and have a water source. I brought a water filter for this trip. Inexperienced and optimistic, our determination carried through our now thick shit of an irreversible decision.
With bellies content and fatigued we wove through reality. Exhaustion took over us and we thought it best to rest as night arrived before venturing into the dark lurking forest. Stumbling upon a cemetery we decided to sleep. Somewhere out of view of inquisitive locals, hostile or not. Small towns can have certain attitudes about strangers passing through.
In the yard of tombstones we laid on stone benches careful not to disturb the dead or the living. Sleep like a thief took our minds into the dark quiet. All was still for a short period.
“Hey dude.”
“Huh?”
“It’s raining.”
“Huh.Shit.”
A light sprinkle began falling on us.
“We should keep moving.”
It couldn’t have been later than midnight, possibly 1am. Lightning flickered far off in the distance along the western horizon. Brightness illuminating dark fingers reaching up from the forest.
“Ok.” I said. “You have those garbage bags?”
“Yeah.”
We each took two bags. One to put our backpacks in. The other to wear as rain jackets poking our heads and arms out the bottoms. In the silence of distant lightning and approaching storm we crept out from the cemetery. In the gentle pattering of rain tapping on our plastic shoulders we took to the long road westward and towards the river that would hopefully take us home.
Hours down the wet dark empty road the rain tried to penetrate our will transforming from a pleasant trickle to a downpour. Tears of the sky weeping on us. Faces dripping, shoes squishing, we trudged on in the same slow motion continuing down the dotted line that would illuminate in the flickering of lights. Endless country road and an angry sky. With nothing else to do we walked on through the storm.
Reaching a junction in the road we turned North at the cross road. Making a deal in the night. Our river ran east to west north of our location. Hoping to find a road that would cross it.
Ahead we found salvation from the relentless pounding and pouring of rain. A bridge led over the river. The remainder of the night we slept or attempted to under the bridge and out of the rain, curled up, cold, wet, and shivering on large rocks. The stones embraced our tired bodies at strange uncomfortable angles. With twisted limbs we dreamt of nothing in total darkness that illuminated with each rage of thunder. I fell into a deeper darkness sheltered under the bridge.
