It was a cold Autumn morning when the wind came howling through the wooden doors. I went to the window to see what was stirring and saw a raven staring from the oaks against the dawn. I drew back sudden, splashing coffee on my sweater filled with the spatter of a life left unearthed, fearful, and tattered. I snarled at the thought that one day I could be free from the sounds that gathered around those wind swept trees. Looking down at my hands, bitter to the memories of my once able extremities now gnawing with the numbness of eternity withdrawing ever speedily away from me.
“Bah!” I yelled and trudged to the roadside to greet the mighty bird, maybe ask of it a question as to why I always hurt. But the raven was gone, left only to lure me out. Perhaps to bear witness to the things he couldn’t shout. So alone I stood shaking, my bones aching from that comfortable house now forsaken, casting a shadow upon my mystic doubt. It was to my surprise however, it had been watching me all along. It showed itself in the twinkling of a puddle on that cold autumn road. It spoke to me through its stare to which the tiny hair raised listening at attention wondering if perhaps it really cared.
My eyes swelled up at the mystery it beheld and I began to clench my heart at the merciless that it felt. Bent over breathing with lungs that gasped for air, I knew I felt the universe and the greatness was unfair. I had wished for so long that I may be free, to swallow up the fears that wash over me. Unease all along was nothing to despond, nothing to prepare, but building with interest in every share. Life pushed when I should have pulled not for fortune sake, but with an examined glow. To see the cracks that lay in fear, to see if light shone through the mirror. At that minute my heart squeezed tight at the eventful stint while the sun rose over the trees with a sarcastic glint.
Falling on that road an old forgotten man, bracing myself kneeling, it had been up to me not to disband, the one who should have cared, and at that final moment in the puddle I met my own despair. I crashed into another me, the version still standing looking down upon his able feet. My closing glance was at the raven who stood beside me craving– a life that was no longer there.
Feast young beast for that’s the last I have to share. A good cold meal that time has worked relentlessly to prepare.
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